The series displays some of the inevitable wear of a concept that has already gotten more mileage than anticipated.
Tragic timeliness and timelessness doesn’t make up for the scrawniness of Richard Greenberg’s play.
The most that the film can manage is to bookend itself with a word-salad thesis about the pursuit of emotional truth in art.
The film locates a larger truth about the presentation of self and maintaining one’s image.
Lionsgate decks the film out with an excellent A/V transfer and an admirable bundle of extras.
As larks go, it’s solid carpentry, lined with goodies for the nerd in all of us.
A riot of heavy glances and portentous imagery, a near constant chorus of brooding strings and, in its latter, terminal stages, an excruciating program of narrative elongation that verges on the absurd.
The fantasyland-set script has a habit of wrapping up serious situations through flippantly easy shortcuts.