This new Boys in the Band is a Matryoshka doll of period piecery, a flashback of a flashback of a flashback.
Silas Howard’s film feels like a scenario from a textbook about handling a child’s gender nonconformity.
Taraji P. Henson triumphantly articulates the pained dignity of Katherine Johnson’s pent-up frustration.
Home’s exposition is a mess of forced zaniness, which leaves the rest of the film with a Swiss-cheese foundation.
TV better than movies? Not really, but at least television will let you see Michael Douglas stroking Matt Damon’s leg hair.
If there’s anything to deride about Jodie Foster’s show-stopping moment, it’s that it felt dated, dusty, even quaint.>
The show’s powerfully invasive aesthetic conveys the idea of our moral and political consciousness struggling to free itself from inaction.
Will Emmy finally and mercifully annul its relationship to 30 Rock?