Vice is as noisy as the media landscape that writer-director Adam McKay holds in contempt.
It often suggests the film that American Beauty might have been if the latter had been pruned of its smug hysteria.
Wildlife, a film about the destruction and rebuilding of self-esteem and the self, is utterly devoid of ego.
Susanna White and screenwriter Steven Knight’s white patriarchal guilt is the film’s driving energy and motivation.
Scott Cooper’s film moves at a funereal pace, implicitly celebrating its sluggishness as a mark of integrity.
The characters’ emotional vacancy feels like another auteurist tic to which Lanthimos is dauntlessly committed.
Aaron Sorkin deep dives into self-parody from the opening moments of his directorial debut, Molly’s Game.
It suggests a human-interest story where all the humanity has been gutted in favor of deadening narrative efficiency.
The film finds little grooves of humanity to explore in its characters and milieu in between the expected plot beats.
The film’s script, by Oren Moverman and Michael A. Lerner, is slavishly adherent to biopic formula and clunky affirmations of Brian Wilson’s legacy.