The dojo of this film is the ultimate unsafe space, a place of deadpan irony and appalling brutality.
Throughout, the film can’t decide what attitude to strike toward its characters’ evident greed.
When its tone slides firmly back into the murk, it’s hard not to see DC’s notion of heroism as borderline nihilistic.
Eleven years and several acclaimed films later, Noah Baumbach’s breakthrough still looks like his sharpest, most personally inflected work.
The film is simultaneously exhilarating, gorgeous, and tedious, operating as a weird fusion of auteur project and craven franchise start-up.
It potently clarifies how our lives are spent distracted from matters of the closest personal significance.
The sheer amount of people and incident indifferently presented throughout suggests only an obligation to quota-filling.
Joachim Trier’s film is a parable that takes depression seriously as a condition and a state of being.
An origin story, apologia, and harbinger of a second expanded universe of overpopulated action bonanzas.
A Bourne movie turned just askew enough to be funny, Nima Nourizadeh’s American Ultra trains a bemused eye on a trope ripe for a ribbing.
It does well in using dialogue to shape its escalating tête-à-tête, but the filmmaking is too fuzzy to expand on those ideas.
To confer a bit of artsy edginess, Trier peppers this slickly shot, scripted-to-death family drama with flashbacks, dream sequences, and what-if scenes.
Like Michael Cera’s two recent films with Sebastián Silva, Kelly Reichardt’s Night Moves reveals the dark core contained within an actor’s nice-guy neuroticism.
The movie has less actual nutritional value than 10 bowls of crushed Froot Loops dust.
Whatever the film’s interest may be in the marginalized, writer-director Richard Ayoade never alludes to what would even be worth fighting for in this nightmarish industrial landscape.
Xavier Dolan reigns in his often flagrant use of formalism without sacrificing his confidence as a filmmaker.
There were Eisenbergs, Gyllenhaals, and doppelganger-centered film adaptations galore at Toronto.
There’s nothing behind all this sturm und drang but a lineup of insubstantial ciphers.
It would have been nice if the film had surrendered to its lunacy more blatantly, more carelessly.