The show’s fourth and final season finds it in full Shakespearean tragedy mode.
The play is too overstuffed and too easily distracted to say anything profound or potent about its subject matter.
The series demystifies the billionaire class while simultaneously painting a terrifying picture of their unstoppable momentum.
Given the sheer amount of comic material in Super Troopers 2, some of the jokes are bound to fall flat, but the hit-to-miss ratio is depressingly low.
The film simplifies Winston Churchill’s legacy for the dubious purposes of narrative momentum and emotional lift.
This is cinema’s most comprehensive look at the gruesome business of necropsy since The Act of Seeing with One’s Own Eyes.
The film adheres to the dictionary definition of a classical genre without ever attempting to subvert it.
As a Happy Madison production, it’s exhaustively lazy, outside of its righteous dedication to the valorization of the man-child.
It struggles to stake out new territory, but emerges as an absorbing portrait of internecine squabbles during an ostensible Cold War thaw.
Themes of family ties, obsession, and morality, so dramatically realized in Conviction, are gracelessly and shapelessly strewn together here.
Dean Parisot’s film is an awfully expensive and grossly extended Cialis commercial.
Don’t look to The Campaign for a sustained lampoon of the U.S.A.’s lamentable governing duopoly.
A savage action movie that somehow manages to preserve the heart of the Bard’s work while reducing his words to devastating shards.
Citizen Gangster’s commentary on our fascination with law-breakers is virtually nonexistent.
Criterion’s stellar reputation for Blu-ray releases continues unabated with their phenomenal treatment of Wes Anderson’s first masterpiece.
This adaptation of the Bard’s tragedy is contemporized via Paul Greengrass-esque faux-doc aesthetics.
Miss Bala wears on its sleeve that its resilient heroine represents the Mexican body politic.
Penetrate the dream, and you’ll understand the nightmare.
The most chilling thing about Mann and Brian Cox’s version of Lecktor is his verisimilitude.
Faced with the horror of half-assed material from which he can’t escape, James Franco allows himself to be steamrolled by his pet monkey.