Bernstein’s gifts as a storyteller are less narrative than atmospheric.
Hollywood has yet to realize that Jackie Chan’s stellar fighting abilities entitle him to something more than Gilligan status.
Embrace self-help, reject this movie.
The film is a light and playful look at the Manchester music scene.
Apparently making a spy thriller that amounts to something more than James Bond clichés taken seriously is indeed mission: impossible.
The cool stunts offer brief respites from the otherwise ugly mise-en-scène and soulless characters.
More than 40 years after its original release, Luis Buñuel’s Viridiana still shocks.
Final Destination 2 reeks of more-of-the-same.
Chaos has been deftly edited to avoid any lingering traces of sentimentality or remorse.
John Malkovich ultimately pushes the film so far into an emotional void as to render it completely useless.
The film conjures images of studio heads wanting to numb young test audiences into submission.
Not sinceMala Noche has Gus Van Sant produced a film so pure, uncompromising, and ravishing to watch.
Because space was tight, documentaries, shorts and animated films were not eligible. Additionally, we limited directors to no more than one spot on the list.
Kangaroo Jack’s every twist and turn has been plotted with sad desperation.
In the end, the pointlessness of this exercise is surpassed only by its rank misogyny.
The film has absolutely no pulse, kind of like this review.
The lack of narrative sobriety and the director’s shallow stylistic copycatting are the film’s ultimate undoing.
The entire film bears the hand of Donald Kaufman’s revisions found in the last 30 minutes of Adaptation.
Because Rob Marshall takes little pain to create a life between musical numbers, Chicago plods along from one outburst to the next.
Catch it if you can.
Martin Scorsese’s Gangs of New York could be considered a breakthrough or a breakdown.