Tyler Spindel’s film shines when it spotlights the committed performances of its cast.
It evinces no interest in the people who come into Max’s store and wind up as fodder for his increasingly violent and self-absorbed escapades.
Most disheartening is how the female leads aren’t given ample space to develop as dynamic characters beyond the most urgent confines of the script’s scenarios.
A nominally progressive comedy, The New Normal has more gay jokes and regular old racism than Gallagher’s stand-up act.
All of the extras are recycled from the DVD, so there’s some standard-definition content that’s suffered upscaling.
Whether hailing from the sticks or the trailer park, these hayseeds might even make Jerry Springer blush.
The film overflows with characters even more repugnant than the irony of its groan-worthy title.
Dualities in life, art, and madness crisscross throughout Shit Year.
The dank Louisiana bayou is a perfect setting for The Chameleon, a ripped-from-the-headlines mystery where identity is as solid as quicksand.
The show’s powerfully invasive aesthetic conveys the idea of our moral and political consciousness struggling to free itself from inaction.
A riot of heavy glances and portentous imagery, a near constant chorus of brooding strings and, in its latter, terminal stages, an excruciating program of narrative elongation that verges on the absurd.
The film succeeds only at suggesting the incompatibility of returning-home dramedy and surrealistic flights of fancy.
To call the Ocean’s films frivolous would be kind, implying that these arduous concoctions are somehow light on their proverbial feet.
Kudos to Todd Solondz for making a film that, forward and backward, smells like total bullshit.
Spike, get a clue.