See which cake-loving whippersnappers we corralled for this list, a celebration of the filmic fat kid
Whether hailing from the sticks or the trailer park, these hayseeds might even make Jerry Springer blush.
After a few initial disappointments in Berlinale’s main competition, things gradually began to pick up.
Berlinale, the most smoothly run of all major festivals, is a pleasure for the Anglophone.
For all the fuss, it dissolves almost immediately upon contact.
An intensely intelligent look at American history and a blueprint for how to (un)make it, from one of our country’s finest directors.
Faster is what would happen if Michael Bay channeled one of Donald Westlake’s Parker novels.
Ahh, baseball! The invigorating thrill of freshly cut grass, the sweet pop of leather and oak on a summer day!
It’s outdated, banal paranoia given a superficial, big-budget contempo polish.
Mr. Woodcock knows lots of verbs that mean “having sex” but screws up virtually all opportunities for humor.
Mark and Michael Polish seem to have forgotten that sometimes it’s vital to analyze and question one’s aspirations.
Todd Phillips seems incapable of escaping youthful educational environs.
A potty-mouthed reconfiguration of a sports classic for our Bad Santa age. Funny stuff.
The Ice Harvest proves that modest, workmanlike film noir need not be accompanied by hipster homages and ironic self-consciousness.
Richard Linklater’s remake remains largely faithful to the original film’s spirit of crude rebelliousness.
The film is an unexceptional depiction of seizing the moment.
“I remember….the Alamo,” says Pee-Wee in Big Adventure. Now comes The Alamo to destroy the man-child’s memory.
Bad Santa is the perfect DVD to use to entertain unexpected guests and small children.
Like most great westerns, Dead Man holds the American West and its (white) inhabitants up to close scrutiny.
We’d all do best to remember The Alamo in order to forget it.