As the series comes to a conclusion, we take a look back and rank all 77 episodes.
It’s disappointing that so much of the film feels like mere tilling of the soil.
Despite the subdued anger and drawn-out suffering on display, the documentary is primarily a work of hope.
A knowing mélange of recognizable genre tropes bordering on shopworn cliché, with little else introduced to the equation to justify its existence.
The film is spare, empathic, and deeply introspective, and its imagery, such as a pelican fascinated by its own reflection, is so sublime in its kookiness as to be worthy of Werner Herzog.
At 50-plus minutes an episode, The Newsroom brings to mind Jeffrey Jones’s words from Amadeus: too many notes.
By modestly embracing its inherent minimalism and finding the emotions underlying even the most schematic of scenarios, the film taps into something unmistakably human.
It’s safe to say our cultural fascination with the blood-sucking undead isn’t going away anytime soon.
By formally acknowledging the material’s inherent silliness ad nauseam, the filmmakers have distanced themselves from the spirit of the parody, robbing it of its gruesome pleasures.
The film is at once enabled and hindered by its utter strangeness, an intrinsic quality surely exacerbated in its English-language release.
The doc does a good job of avoiding partisan caterwauling, limiting its argument to a clear thesis and well-articulated supporting statements.
It might hit you right in the feels, even as your eyes are rolling.
In the end, any and all potential B-movie fun is extinguished by the film’s depressingly listless anonymity.
The film fluctuates haphazardly between semi-serious reverence and tongue-in-cheek camp, with no shortage of opportunities for the inevitable Rifftrax accompaniment.
The doc is beholden to the same plethora of taboos, half-truths, and outright lies traded en masse by mainstream conservatism for the last seven years.
Stuart Cooper’s film now has the chance to find the audience it always deserved. Criterion does right by the little-seen masterpiece.
This 40th-anniversary package is reason enough to add Mel Brooks’s populist cherry bomb to your collection, if you haven’t already.
It rarely feels like anything more than an effort to pander to the kind of audiences that enjoy Quentin Tarantino’s films for all the wrong reasons.
MST3K: Volume XXIX still provides a healthy enough chunk of supplemental material to be of historic interest for the dedicated collector.
A generous package for a historic occasion, the capital-quality 25th Anniversary Edition is perfect for hardcore MSTies and newcomers alike.