Director Natalia Leite’s ambition and accompanying uncertainty give the film its unruly and resonant energy.
Dito Montiel’s silly plot machinations waste a solid performance from Shia LaBeouf.
The film’s ultimate lesson seems to be that mercy can exist even in the most inhumane of places.
This terrific neo-noir has been outfitted with a beautiful transfer and no extras to speak of, which is a shame.
John Hillcoat’s film arrives prepackaged with suggested comparisons to Michael Mann’s Heat that it never earns because of its dreary literal-mindedness.
The filmmakers maintain a tone that’s mostly ideal for the contemporary equivalent of a drive-in movie: of reverent, parodic irreverence.
If you programmed an algorithm to figure out how Lawnmower Man might be retold by Snake Plissken at the end of Escape from L.A., you’d still wind up with something more human.
Guillermo del Toro’s hulking sci-fi actioner strides onto Blu-ray with an astonishing, muscular A/V transfer, armed to the teeth with an arsenal’s worth of fascinating extras from Warner Home Video.
Guillermo del Toro doesn’t rise above the obligations of staging a film of this sort as a video game, a stylish but programmatic ride toward an inevitable final boss battle.
The characters are so clichéd that episodes begin to feel like dramatizations of TV Tropes entries.
Be them morphine sellers, pot distributors, or even moonshine runners, the party has to stop some time.
The primetime debut of one of Criterion’s indies-in-residence, Steven Soderbergh’s Oscar-winning drug war epic gets a terrific HD upgrade.
Minor Jim Sheridan, perhaps, but freakishly well-acted by Toby Maguire and young actresses Bailee Madison and Taylor Geare.
Jim Sheridan has a gift for capturing glimpses of unvarnished, authentic emotion, and his humanism runs so deep that it’s capable of elevating even standard-issue fare like Brothers.
In cinema as in life, the devotion inspired by cults can—like the Jonestown thirst for Kool-Aid—border on lunacy.
Crank: High Voltage is speedball cinema, a pure narcotized rush of blistering action, odious stereotypes, and shock-for-shock's-sake nastiness.
Director Catherine Jeffs lucked out when she scored Amy Adams and Emily Blunt to co-star in her mildly pleasing dramedy Sunshine Cleaning.