Its simple but valuable moral lesson finds comfortable enough expression in an aesthetic that’s banal but consistent.
The primary model for Jared Moshe’s The Ballad of Lefty Brown is a particular strand of postwar western.
Jim Caviezel commits only to the level of God-like omniscience that Mel Gibson whipped into him a decade ago.
This almost weirdly resonant Stallone vehicle nets an attractive transfer that should please hardcore action fans and genre tourists alike.
It’s doubled down on its intrigue to hastily evolve from a bland procedural with a nifty visual aesthetic into a solid action-thriller.
A dim anti-privatization parable that preaches a familiar strain of cynical, unchallenged self-righteousness in the face of widespread abuse of civil liberties.
The film is impossible to take seriously as a commemoration of Moultrie’s life or Allen’s prolific status because of its plethora of contrivances.
One major reason that Terrence Malick’s films are so divisive is that they’re so nakedly emotional, that he’s so blatantly aiming for the sublime.
This is a pair of films that are remarkably and unmistakably different despite the numerous things they have in common, the most obvious of which is their general subject matter.
It functions as a message-movie slasher film or, rather, a hot-button Passion of the Christ, replete with the participation of that film’s Jesus himself, Jim Caviezel.
The Rosenbaum riff you cited is hysterical on many fronts, first of all because it reveals, once again, that nothing gets J. Ro rolling like an opportunity to shovel dung onto a fresh corpse.
A point emerges, this notion that we’re all born good, but it’s not one that gets a concerned workout.