Adam McKay and Will Ferrell’s latest generally succeeds at having its cake and devouring it too.
21, in which Kevin Spacey lecherously sizes up a line of female strippers at a Vegas casino, now serves as the greatest testament to the man’s talent as an actor.
The film is a series of pertinent moral predicaments delivered via sleek procedural-genre circumstances.
The film’s bizarre energy benefits from the directors’ refusal to get bogged down in weighty psychological analysis.
The film too frequently comes off as a TV-ish human-interest story distended to feature length.
Writer-director Charles Oliver’s climactic twist merely nullifies any engagement with the characters’ prior plights.
Transsiberian eventually reveals itself to be scatterbrained thematically.
Writer-director Roc Roman Waugh crafts his narrative with a minimum of aesthetic or screenwriting affectation.
Milestone Films liberates Kent Mackenzie’s 1961 debut from undistributed purgatory.
Never thought I would stay this, but give me another hit of Crank instead.
Teh film is a groan-worthy SNL sketch distended to feature length.
Special effects have come a long way since Jurassic Park, but you wouldn’t know it from Journey to the Center of the Earth.
Its stumbling and bumbling makes the Cubs’s century-long ineptitude seem charming by comparison.
The film strives to be nothing more and nothing less than Cinderella in a de facto brothel.
Red exudes a distinct ’70s Southern-exploitation vibe.
Its indictment ultimately feels like a secondary issue to Polanski’s apparently incontrovertible guilt.
Eager not to overstay its welcome, Hancock ultimately sheds essential exposition in a mad, foolish dash to the finish line.
Judah Friedlander’s character is the only one in this pretentiously darling little indie dud who earns our compassionate respect.
The film depicts, sans nuance or insight, the collapse of a tech firm during the dot-com era.
War games reach surreal heights in California’s Mohave desert.