Barrio Triste relies on a mood of disaffected melancholy, if without a clear direction.
The rats are both frightening and strangely endearing, not unlike Crispin Glover’s performance.
Boat Trip is ultimately more offensive in theory than in execution.
The film is ultimately Bruce’s requisite foray into bland warfare propaganda, following in Mel’s blood-soaked shoes.
If only anvils had fallen instead of money, all of this might have been averted.
Here’s a film you’d expect a studio to roll out in the late 1800s.
For all its visual inventiveness, there’s something inert about the late Henson’s fantasy adventure.
The Feds have more evidence here than they have on Pee Wee Herman.
Cradle 2 the Grave is little more than a bad bar joke with no apparent punchline.
This is a film as remote and unyielding as an untouched textbook.
Thelma & Louise’s feminist call to arms winds up sounding woefully simple-minded.
Gaspar Noé positions Irréversible as a structuralist countdown, but a structuralist wank job is more like it.
Try as it may to be the Serpico of its time, Dark Blue is caught up in the shadow of the equally bogus Training Day.
Christopher Walken seems more than willing to gluttonously walk away with the entire film by himself.
Susanne Biers crafts her familiar story with equal doses of austerity and sympathy.
Daredevil is ugly, scattershot, humorless, and completely without grace.
Oh what a tangled web we weave.
Laurel Canyon’s most infuriating quality is that it telegraphs where it’s going in about 10 minutes.
The elations and agonies of love between young people approach new heights of strident authenticity in David Gordon Green’s film.
At least four of this year’s potential Best Picture nominees share an allegiance with the Weinstein brothers.
After last year’s Return to Neverland, Disney continues to trick audiences into seeing its straight-to-video titles on the big screen.