This un-nice remake takes the business end of a broken beer bottle to the soul of the original.
Cary Joji Fukunaga’s film inadvertently confirms that Bond is best when the simpler, more savage pleasures prevail.
The emotional planeness of the film’s aesthetic too frequently robs all the cathartic eruptions of emotion of much of their power.
Guy Ritchie’s live-action remake is content to trace the original’s narrative beats with perfunctory indifference.
With its silvery sheen and sexy lure of celebrity actors being naughty, the film recalls the decadent, self-consciously chic art it parodies.
The Oath seems to say that the worst part of a full-fledged American dystopia would be the ruined holiday dinners.
Mark Perez’s screenplay maintains just enough plausibility to prevent the film from veering into sheer absurdity.
The film is indebted to Alexander Payne’s social comedies, which dwell in the backwash of the American dream.
The film’s fourth-wall-breaking wags a finger at the perceived facile nature of celebrity-driven mass culture even as it ultimately condescends to audiences.
Only rarely does Steven Spielberg observe how queasily at odds our patriotism is with our humanity.
This PG-rated romp is, refreshingly, less notable for its happily-ever-afters than its oh-no-they-didn’ts.
More gag-friendly than idea-based, relying on the considerable charm of its leads to ground its supernatural conceit.
Damsels in Distress is another classic in the making from one of America’s greatest comic filmmakers.
Whit Stillman’s at war with cool.
Fifteen years after Larry Clark’s controversial feature, the Kids still aren’t all right.
The film succeeds only at suggesting the incompatibility of returning-home dramedy and surrealistic flights of fancy.