The film quickly reveals that the only angle it’s interested in is the one that most sympathizes Gary Hart.
The Greatest Showman’s spectacle is overshadowed by its archaic and misguided notions of American exceptionalism.
It recognizes that the thinly veiled secret of Wolverine’s loner act is that he’s always been a cog of some kind.
It’s more committed to printing the uplifting legend of its title character than in actually examining the human beings underneath.
Joe Wright’s film could fuel an entire series of incredulous episodes of the How Did This Get Made? podcast.
Its exasperating atonality washes out any legitimate idea about identity, education, nature versus nurture, or artificial intelligence.
It only conveys the awesome strangeness of its characters and their universe when director Brian Singer breaks away from the perpetual build-up of the film’s unwieldy plot.
Possibly year’s most immaculate-looking drivel, a prismatically shot whodunit abundant in red herrings, but lacking in moral contemplation.
This may be the year’s best superhero movie because, for a sufficient amount of time, it doesn’t feel like one at all.
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