Absurd flourishes abound throughout Barry, occasionally imbuing the narrative with an arbitrary quality.
The film is so concerned with launching a mature teen-targeted franchise that it often forgets to have some fun.
Full of such quietly inventive visual magic, it’s perfectly content to simply revel in the stuff dreams are made of.
The film follows its predecessor in being broadly concerned with comforting notions of home and family.
The Angry Birds Movie is a lot of things, but none of them true to the app’s appeal.
Rebecca Miller is at her best when she finds the shared wavelengths of her lead cast’s divergent styles.
The script doesn’t revel in Amy’s quite harmless flaws, or at least examine them in the spirit of benevolence.
At once wonderfully complex and weirdly reductive—a formula, though, that seems as sound an embodiment of the human brain as any other.
It relies on a bevy of spectacularly funny clips and a plethora of talking heads, most falling back on plaudits rather than sage insights.
So flimsily constructed that it resembles a middle-school play that’s been hastily filmed on an antique camcorder.
We hope to shine a little light on brilliant, touching, often funny performances which enrich our understanding of what it means to be human.
Craig Johnson’s film is ultimately most interested in what its jokes are implying or obscuring about the jokesters themselves.
The film abounds in excruciatingly obvious, often precious, articulations of grief, where armchair philosophizing volleys back and forth with punishing abandon.
It’s chaotic but ultimately focused, bound by an intense devotion to disassembling genre and narrative standards.
This sequel strenuously works to form a total inversion of the first movie’s relationship with food.
Essentially the film aims to trade in the awkwardness of teen sexuality, but too often settles for the gross-out gag instead.
As a film about social issues, and simply being yourself, it’s commendably progressive, going so far as serving as a kind of coming-out story.