It endures as one of the finest Flynn-de Havilland collaborations, providing a grand stage for the duo’s playful, poignant rapport.
Cinematic happy endings are enjoyable so long as they’re earned.
To borrow one of its character’s put-downs, King’s Ransom is a film “dipped in stupid.”
Strictly for cock-juggling thundercunts and the people who love them.
National Treasure knows how to keep things moving but I was more entranced by the DVD’s interactive menus.
Jacques Audiard’s film is the optimistic flip-side to James Tobak’s Harvey Keitel-headlined Fingers.
The film world doesn’t need any more Guy Ritchies.
Errol Flynn’s wicked, wicked charm helps keep this high seas adventure afloat.
Shiver me timbers, that Errol Flynn’s got some pretty hair for a pirate.
The film allows Ken Lay, Jeffrey Skilling, Andrew Fastow, and the rest of Enron’s upper management weasels to hang themselves with their own words.
This modernized Amityville Horror deserves little more than condemnation.
This amusingly introspective family film, despite its self-analytical conceit, never devolves into cloying narcissism.
Yvan Attal’s film never satisfactorily balances the funny with the sad.
A mainstream J-horror flick that dutifully regurgitates the apparitions, aesthetic, and themes of its genre predecessors.
Any fondness the filmmakers have for Africa’s natural beauty is sabotaged by their infatuation with colorful “foreignness.”
For God’s Sake, doesn’t anyone in Long Island own a flyswatter?
That the film ends in the most anticlimactic fashion imaginable is no surprise given the pathetic preceding scares.
The film quickly devolves into a depressing imitation of The Exorcist
Amityville 3-D is too poorly written, awkwardly staged, and pathologically stupid to register as campy fun.
It is an anthological example of attentive students surpassing their teacher.