The series fails to uphold, subvert, or otherwise comment on the stylistic vision or thematic coherence of its source material.
Welcome to fucking Deadwood!
The series struggles to find a distinct voice that isn’t beholden to the original film.
A wise woman once said that there’s no such thing as a coincidence.
Alex Gibney’s documentary tells a dramatic, if somewhat workmanlike, story of Silicon Valley hubris meeting old-fashioned scamming.
The show pulls in too many directions at once, many of them far removed from the sporadic charm of its concept.
In its second season, the show’s leisurely road trip downshifts into a total lethargy.
The Netflix show’s linking of cruelty and emotional healing is dubious at best.
The Daily Show alum talks about her savagely funny Adult Swim series Soft Focus.
Artistically somewhat monotonous but substantively devastating, the film doesn’t conclude with much in the way of closure.
In its fifth season, the series manages to make its steady flow of transformations feel organic and endearing.
The HBO film’s ostensible authenticity does little to add dramatic heft to its stock character moments.
The Netflix show’s premise is like a playfully morbid Escher painting.
The series is unable to render any of the visual imagination its source material practically begs for.
The miniseries transforms Agatha Christie’s novel into a formulaic, adamantly bleak exercise.
The series operates in the same world-weary register as its superior predecessors.
The show’s compelling core narrative can become overwhelmed by tangential storylines.
Black Monday dabbles in farce, social commentary, and character study, without managing to establish a coherent point of view.
Season three of True Detective plays to the first season’s strengths, but it also feels like an admission of defeat.
Whatever assemblage of parts make up an individual viewer's experience of Bandersnatch, it represents the best and worst of Black Mirror.