Between its quarrelsome banter, over-the-top goriness, and homages to its 2D roots, the game wisely keeps matters tongue-in-cheek outrageous.
Parents faced with overexcited children on Christmas Eve now have the perfect way to get them to sleep.
The King’s Speech barely buys what it’s selling.
Avatar looks more like a cartoon on the small screen than it did in theaters, but anyone who owns a Pixar film on video knows that isn’t meant as a slam.
As with its predecessors, Deathly Hallows’s narrative is driven by gobbledygook devices.
The sheer amount of fighting going on, coupled with each level’s (usually well-integrated) mini-cutscenes, creates a moderate sense of being detached from the proceedings, as if one’s own actions aren’t completely affecting the ongoing battles’ outcome.
Colin Strause and Greg Strause’s Skyline has one semi-inspired moment, and an hour and a half of intolerable ones.
Socio-political preaching takes a backseat to pulse-pounding suspense in The Next Three Days.
Jim Sturgess sweats, pants, and emotes with abandon, but Heartless is as witless as its protagonist.
If the film paints in purely black-and-white shades, it at least spreads its bland censure around.
The film is, at heart, a platform for The Skeptical Environmentalist author Bjorn Lomborg.
If Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench’s storytelling were up to its filmmaking, it might have been the masterpiece it often seems capable of becoming.
The film is part ironic farce, part politicized treatise, and mostly a snooze.
Tawdry is as tawdry does, yet The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest often seems at a loss over how to channel its sleazy impulses.
Allegories don’t come much more leaden than Monsters.
If a WWE-produced film can’t get squared-circle action right, what can be expected of it?
The 3D format is stupid, and Jackass is stupid, so Jackass 3D should be a marriage made in stupidity heaven.
That Medal of Honor feigns reality but delivers only standard video-game combat makes it no more reductive, misleading, and insensitive to the wartime experience than its legion of genre brethren.
The film alternates between third-rate combat sequences designed to cover up the athletically challenged nature of its leads.
This trifurcated tale of death, grief, and the great beyond that finds Clint Eastwood succumbing to eye-rolling corniness.