If ever there was a movie equivalent of dad bod, Entourage is it.
Whereas a single, stinging one-liner would have sufficed Tourneur or Lang, Miller’s overcompensating flood of pulpy dialogue only renders his characters flat and sans empathy.
Angels Crest makes sure we know how clearly all of its heartache and suffering has been so fatefully ordained.
The romantic setups and symbols of wealth and male domination in Entourage feel as though they were dreamt up in a lonely singles bar.
God, it’s so tough being the President’s daughter what with all those cute secret service men to choose from.
Gene Shalit, Renee Shapiro, and Wireless Magazine (I know that’s you Earl Dittman!) loved it, so it can’t be that bad. Right?