The film is a paean to the 20th century’s moving image as well the invisible, Oz-like figure of the collector-as-curator.
One teen’s transformation into a serial killer isn’t credible compared to the portrait of idle suburban adolescence.
The characters’ homelessness is less indicative of a real-life epidemic and more akin to window dressing.
Tonight’s season finale of Homeland was a homecoming of sorts, a return from the wilderness, a clearing of the slate.
It succeeds in establishing the psychological state of play with much the same straightforwardness that “The Drone Queen” traded in politics.
The reset that follows Nicolas Brody’s death in Iran at the end of season three may save Homeland from ignominy.
By reducing its principals to stock figures in an extended chess game, it ends up providing steady, neatly staged thrills, but little else of substance.