Stephen Daldry is once again drawn to a tale that alternates between (and often parallels) intrinsically connected pasts and presents.
Dark Streets may only be a quasi-noir and quasi-musical, but that doesn’t stop it from being a wholesale slog.
The film operates under the wretchedly false assumption that it can cover up its derivativeness with flashy sound and fury.
This semi-autobiographical film always manages to counter its indie clichés with a sober sense of the volatility.
Proving that the third time’s not always the charm, War Zone should, with any luck, end the grim character’s celluloid fate.
The film resembles the bloated, unfocused full-length albums that would become an industry’s stock and trade.
Who needs a director’s commentary with this much bonus material?
This yuckfest (in the truest sense of the term) makes sure that, at every single moment, its audience knows exactly what’s coming next.
No measure of ostensible abstinence can alter the fact that Twilight ultimately hinges on a hilariously skeevy implicit suggestion.
Bolt is perfectly amiable but rarely brisk, with neither its premise nor its execution quite inspired enough to elicit more than faint admiration.
This slight documentary is less a look-at-the-nerds freakshow than a portrait of the means by which Harry Potter has inspired others’ creativity.
Hal Haberman and Jeremy Passmore’s story is fit for a 15-minute short rather than a feature-length narrative.
The greatest respect Gini Reticker’s Pray the Devil Back to Hell pays to its war-battered Liberian subjects is simply an unwillingness to embellish.
The film’s vibrant animation and innocuously rollicking comedy remains endearing.
Kind of like a roller coaster ride—on a Transsiberian cross-country train—without any of the amenities.
For those who find bloody noses and whispered voices bone-chilling, heeeeeeere’s The Haunting of Molly Hartley.
With low aspirations come low expectations comes modest surprise, at least in the case of Role Models.
Exactly what a B movie should be, Toby Wilkins’s resourceful Splinter uses its limited means to its advantage.
Rodrigo García’s monotonously deliberate, portentous latest is solely predicated on its twist ending.
Deadly traps may remain the bread and butter of the Saw series, but the real trick has become keeping these fetid sequels moderately fresh.