Fred Goodman’s Rock on Film has its selling points, but breadth and depth aren’t among them.
Now it’s easier than ever to appreciate both the sunny pleasures of Cameron Crowe’s ode to his youth and its self-doubting underbelly.
Barring a UHD release, the film is unlikely to ever look better than it does on Criterion’s superlative package.
It isn’t long into the film when the hagiographic soundbites from famous interviewees become the dominant mode.
The film captures a man haunted by his past mistakes and nearly certain that he doesn’t have the time left to begin making up for them.
After a while, the film’s sing-a-song-for-the-world vibe, so buoyantly optimistic at first, becomes grating and smug.
Seitz coaxes perception-altering sentiments out of Anderson by pointedly playing right into his persona of the wounded naïf intellectual.
A slick, professional high-def disc that’s designed a little like a handmade mixtape.
It’s both unfair and too easy to shake out predictions for this category based on what is most likely to appeal to the Kindle Fire set.
Clichés and contrivances and corniness, oh my!
It seems strangely appropriate that Cameron Crowe’s upcoming We Bought a Zoo is scored by Sigur Rós frontman Jónsi
If Pearl Jam Twenty suffers from straining to account for various points of view, then it excels as an account of personal idealism.
This is a loving, gracefully crafted retrospective that mostly, and shrewdly, eschews Behind the Music conventions.
The film was a singularly three-dimensional teen romance after a decade of broad gags and breakfast-club stereotypes in John Hughesland.
He gave her his heart, she gave him a pen, and Say Anything… still gives off a sweet, enveloping glow.
Crowe doesn’t know how to shoot movies but he knows how to put on musical revues.
Elizabethtown is Garden State without the matching clothes and wallpaper.
Crowe’s trip down pop-culture lane gets the kind of ethereal DVD treatment it so deserves.
Cameron Crowe’s finale is visually chilling if only because the WTC makes its most apt, post-9/11 appearance to date.
Cameron Crowe proves that self-absorption isn’t a generational thing.