Gentrified London is akin to Guy Ritchie’s filmmaking: a characterless mockery of its former glories.
The series demystifies the billionaire class while simultaneously painting a terrifying picture of their unstoppable momentum.
The film’s twist ending exists only to retroactively justify writer-director Steven Knight’s feeble stylistic choices.
Aaron Sorkin deep dives into self-parody from the opening moments of his directorial debut, Molly’s Game.
One long trial of moral duty, and one that excuses repugnant behavior and psychological warfare in lieu of a repetitive, condescending sermon on honoring thy father.
The indie-movie artiness of Oren Moverman’s Time Out of Mind sometimes get in the way of its noble mission.
The Peter Landesman film’s overt politics are minimal, aside from defaulting to the myth of John F. Kennedy as a martyr for…something.
Far more than Peter, it’s his paterfamilias who deserved the brunt of Grodsy and Jacobs’s character-study concentration.