The film’s slice-of-life scenes are generationally accurate representations of everyday life.
This Christmas eventually winds up feeling like a lot of past ones.
The exhaustive, labyrinthine narrative is built up like a fortress around the film’s bitter heart.
The Two Jakes allows Nicholson to reprise one of his most memorable characters as a way of seeing whether he’s still got it.
If you don’t know Mick Jones from Steve Jones then you’ve no business watching Julien Temple’s film.
If Vince Vaughn isn’t being sarcastic and foul-mouthed, he’s probably not fulfilling his comedic potential.
The film is possibly the feeblest entry yet in the anti-corporate theater-of-muckraking genre.
The story is as dumb as one could possibly hope for on the surface.
The user-tailored, specialized nature of the Internet is central to LOL.
If Donnie Darko was Richard Kelly’s Eraserhead, then maybe Southland Tales is his Dune.
Physically and spiritually, the characters of Mala Noche are in constant stasis.
Simon J. Smith and Steve Hickner’s film is a satire afraid of its own sting.
Lions for Lambs is, to put it mildly, beyond stagey.
The film is indeed a kind of secret sunshine in its first act, offering some quiet, embracing, jaunty realism.
The film is as awkward and ineffective as George Costanza’s attempts to wear a toupee.
John Cusack deserves much better than this sentimental slop.
Stagefright proceeds as a rather earthbound taster of winky genre self-reflexivity.
Fat Girls plays like a gayer, more kindhearted, and more aesthetically challenged version of Napoleon Dynamite.
Cujo, as a film, is your classic glass half empty/glass half full scenario.
A Broken Sole is a bad movie, worse theater.
It’s hardly surprising that the story is merely an excessively convoluted rehash of its predecessors.