The film revels in the force of will that a virtuosic Joan Crawford allows Mildred Pierce.
A great and resonant Hollywood melodrama has never looked more beautiful.
Give in to the "irresistible impulse" to put Criterion’s 600th spine number on your shelf.
As Blu-ray still remains largely the province of gamers and fanboys, I don’t really see the point of even releasing Grease on the format at all.
This is unrepresentative set of films starring one of the five major American screen actresses of all time.
When Grease gets remade two decades from now, it will be a Target commercial. And we’ll all be fat.
Seriously, the last thing I need is to annotate Rydell High's yearbook.
Though its craft is accomplished, the film never gets deep under one’s skin the way it ought to.
You know what you’re in for when mommy dearest happens to be the incomparable Joan Crawford.
The non-stop bitchiness on display might make you forget that the image quality leaves much to be desired.
Though Katharine Hepburn eventually emerges as the star of the movie, Ginger Rogers is the touchstone of its style.
The only value to be salvaged from this limp carbon copy is in how much of the formulaic worthlessness it exposes of the original Grease.
Surely the obligatory sequel to what has to be a top contender for the “worst ’70s blockbuster” crown must carry some weight as a camp classic.