Severin’s release captures Greenaway’s black comedy in all its sumptuous beauty.
Even the film’s lapses inform it with a free-associative sense of portent, evoking the stupid things we inexplicably do in our most personal nightmares.
Its emotional payoff materializes before the shower of gunfire and explosions that pervade the final act of the episode.
This time, the portrait of the Governor’s inner torment and unrest is more nuanced.
“Live Bait” develops into one of The Walking Dead’s most quietly refreshing entries.
“Internment” reintroduces the familiar, overt philosophical musings of its earlier seasons.
One of the more noteworthy elements of “Isolation” is that it’s not nearly as Rick-centric as most episodes.
The sheer wastefulness of Eran Creevy’s Welcome to the Punch is off-putting enough, but the film is also falsely painted-up as a crime epic.
For all the anticipation and careful setup over the last several episodes, the show’s mid-season finale was somewhat anticlimactic.
The episode’s strongest moments are toward the end, when Rick takes a small team and heads off to Woodbury under Michonne’s lead.
Rick’s storyline is one of several in which characters strike up or rekindle a connection.
It makes better use of its quieter interludes than similar episodes and also offers a handful of isolated standout moments.
Ihe pre-credit sequence lends insight into how the episode amounts to a particularly poignant, if also problematic, entry in the show’s run.
The writers’ decision to limit this episode to Andrea and the Governor heightens the contrast between the two divergent plots.
An occasionally strange B-action programmer gets an indifferent American DVD transfer.
The extras are plentiful, enthusiastic, and, in the typical DVD tradition, mostly redundant.
The tempered historicity of the film occasionally descends into facile myth.
Though seemingly content to be a B-movie director, Neil Marshall heads further into C-list territory with Centurion.
The decidedly dark and uncomic Murder on the Orient Express is, as the Brits might say, bloody brilliant.
The Red Riding Trilogy proves that HBO has no monopoly on quality small-screen drama.