Jean-Stéphane Sauvaire’s Asphalt City is less a film than a guttersnipe’s wallow.
It’s determined to seal off such perceived gaps while trading John Carpenter’s precision for conservative blandness.
The self-consciousness of Nicolas Winding Refn’s direction complements the compulsiveness of Turturro’s character, but there’s really nothing to Fear X.
The film is chock-full of randy boozing and comic non sequitors more mystifying than amusing.
As the film grinds on, Samuel L. Jackson starts to look marooned and eventually seems to give up trying.
Substituting titillating triumph for tragedy, this adaptation of Marvel Comics’s knife-wielding knockout comes across as hopelessly blunted.
The film's deadly punchlines suggest the archetypal “cosmic joke” with more emphasis on the tragic side of the tragedy-comedy continuum.
If White Noise is to be believed, then TV’s psychic medium John Edward is no longer needed.
Writer-director Paul Weitz warms over the cold truth of corporate globalization by giving it a puppy-cute face,
There’s something about the film’s godly lead character that reeks of arrogance.
Unlike Faulkner’s Light in August, the film’s structure is less intricately maze-like and the stakes never feel too high.
Though it skimps on historical details, Andrés Wood’s wonderful Machuca is nonetheless alive with contemporary resonance.
All that Robert De Niro accomplishes is accentuating the needlessness of this tired, redundant focker of a film.
Ari Kirschenbaum’s groovy direction ensures that Fabled is good for one spin.
To echo one character’s sentiment: This is a film with “no emotions, no feelings.”
Fat Albert begins promisingly, but looks can be deceiving.
The animated sequences represent merely the most questionable formal tactic of a deeply cagey and secretive film.
Imaginary Heroes is a queer-eyed valentine to Sigourney Weaver.
In this extreme year, nothing was quite as outlandish as Team America’s showstopping scene of hardcore marionette sex.
Flight of the Phoenix is remarkably loyal to the Robert Aldrich’s 1965 action yarn of the same name, if only in plot.
In its own low-down deportment, The Cameraman is really a raucous, more accessible iteration of Man with a Movie Camera.