Camping focuses primarily on why things happen rather than merely striving toward hijinks.
Peppermint, Pierre Morel’s first feature film set in the United States, is brainless propaganda for the MAGA market.
Greg Berlanti’s film is a charmingly heartfelt portrait of a teenage boy about to leave the closet behind.
The unvaried register of the filmmaking leads the narrative to feel aimless and dramatically inert.
Writer-director Robin Swicord’s film seems content to merely carry out its absurdist premise until the bitter end.
The film, like the misattributed quote Anna solemnly parrots, is as hollow as the old tree in the Beams’ backyard.
The chemistry between Pacino and his cast mates gives this lightly amusing contrivance surprising emotional resonance.
The film does exactly the same thing to Alexander he accused his family of doing in the first place: it marginalizes him.
Jason Reitman fails to take into account any of the positive endeavors enabled by social media, which will no doubt be used to promote and market his film.
The cruelly obvious third act congeals the film as a wet-eyed monument to the Kevin Costner character’s particular brand of American manliness.
Conventional but never sanctimonious, it balances out its familiar recovery angle with a healthy measure of sardonic wit.
Intended, it seems, as a sharp political satire, Butter achieves something a little sloppier and harder to pin down.