There’s little apparent benefit to how the show’s second season foregrounds its interpersonal relationships.
Writer-director Bryan Buckley’s film is ultimately more interested in the journalist than his story.
Lionsgate outfits one of the most original American crime films in ages with a gorgeously gnarly transfer.
Good Time is scrupulously designed to address how the urban poor interact and negotiate with city services.
It doesn’t do much to satirize the spy genre, instead using its flimsy plot mostly as scaffolding for a barrage of jokes.
Director Gavin Hood treats the aesthetics of high-tech surveillance as the opaque membrane through which the prosecution of the War on Terror must pass.
I don’t expect you to read this, and you have every right not to.
In a year replete with great trash, American Hustle is the crown princess of the bunch.
If I had to bet which Oscar contender will score the most nominations without a single win, I’d go for Saving Mr. Banks.
It would certainly make sense to see Paul Greengrass among shoo-ins like Steve McQueen and Alfonso Cuarón.
It works too hard to keep matters on an even, we’re-all-more-alike-than-different keel, which is just one part of its chief problem of forcefully conveying information and intent.