The series never shies away from the pleasures and perversities of incipient sexuality.
By the end, Venom‘s full-tilt embrace of action effectively undermines Tom Hardy’s flashes of actorly idiosyncrasy.
Its future setting is an empty pretext for a banally convoluted and sentimentalized show of emotional restoration.
The film adopts a half-hearted variation on A Beautiful Mind’s gimmicky approach to grappling with a man’s mental illness.
As in Gillian Robespierre’s prior collaboration with Jenny Slate, the film’s studied amiability becomes obnoxious.
Its wackiness is only occasionally laugh-out-loud funny, but it’s still executed with good-natured breeziness.
Still one of the most fun sugar rushes of the year, the film arrives on home video with a shimmering, chromatic video transfer.
According to Brian Shoaf’s Aardvark, a man’s psychosis boils down to an extreme case of sibling rivalry.
Gifted’s notes are crowded out by the screenplay’s plot machinations and emotional manipulations.
The film is an unbroken chain of one-liners, sight gags, and pop-culture references, and the hit-to-miss ratio is high.
The film feels most real, even at its most absurd, when focused on the idea of closure as a kind of fantasy.
Its messy pile-up of comic diversions can be exhilarating in the moment—the chaos of an id given free rein.
The episode deals with several kinds of love: romantic, platonic, and that sparkly feeling somewhere in between.
The film goes deeper in its allegorizing, tapping into the volatile nature of identity politics.
Reminiscent of Woody Allen’s Manhattan Murder Mystery, it utilizes a pulp conceit as a shorthand for the regrets that bubble up in a marriage.
Whatever your foreknowledge of low-budget Brooklyn dramedies, it’s impossible that Gillian Robespierre’s film won’t lob you at least a few curveballs.
This is “the Al Pacino Dunkin’ Donuts commercial in Jack and Jill” as an actual movie.