In its own way, this is as suitable a final work as a culminating magnum opus.
Christopher Nolan’s film willfully and startlingly dispenses with the plodding routines of the average biopic.
The Desperate Hour’s broad, vague rendering of its characters is part and parcel of its troubling approach to its material.
Throughout, the characters aren’t allowed to reveal themselves apart from the dictates of the plot.
While the miniseries is mesmerizing to take in, beneath its aesthetic splendor lie vast, unplumbed depths.
The story has enough pathos to fulfill the expectations of a great tragedy, but the film feels like a commercial for something else entirely.
The film’s threads of personal loss and cultural friction are all but lost amid the tawdry romantic entanglements.
The film’s twist ending exists only to retroactively justify writer-director Steven Knight’s feeble stylistic choices.
The original film hasn’t aged very well, so it will come as a surprise to no one that a remake is on the horizon.
The film’s satisfyingly tactile action set pieces serve to hammer home just how perilous the space race really was.
John Curran creates room for his characters to think and feel and an environment that encourages us to do the same.
The longer things drag out, All I See Is You becomes every bit as amorphous as its protagonist’s vision.
Dee Rees’s film scrutinizes how World War II laid bare the unsustainable hypocrisy in America’s bigoted divisions.
The film has the uncanny quality of an out-of-body experience, not a torn-from-the-heart confessional.
Baltasar Kormákur’s film is a tasteful, sweeping, carefully balanced reconciliation between the irrefutable authority of nature and mankind’s innate need to circumvent it.
The endless set pieces grow wearisome in their reliance on prior choreography, though on occasion something impresses.
It’s at once devoted to corroborating and casting an exaggerated light on Soviet paranoia and the state’s rhetoric of unmasking its enemies.
It’s hard to recall a film so immensely and reductively in thrall to the work of another director.
This is a summer blockbuster contingent on grand bargains, tactical retreats, and a ferocious, inevitable shock-and-awe campaign.
It’s not just the prosaic approach the mythically outsized hallmarks of Americana that makes A.J. Edwards’s first directorial effort feel like a Malick movie.