The script’s steady succession of red herrings is more tiresome than terrifying.
In the moments when Old works, it’s because M. Night Shyamalan embraces the inherent weirdness of his material.
It has all the charm of the best entries in the Star Wars series, and it arrives on a pristine Blu-ray primed to delight the next generation of fans.
The film exists less as a meaningful extension of its world than as a fan-service deployment device.
Lost recognizes culture, particularly pop culture, as the primary means for understanding the world today.
The episode plays less like an individual segment of the show and more like a long prelude to the two-hour finale.
Father issues are to the Lost flashback what cancer is to a diagnosis on House.
What is the formula that drives most TV series but a pleasant form of inevitability.
Let us now sing the praises of Josh Holloway and Elizabeth Mitchell.
There’s a deal we make, we Lost fans and appreciators.
The film strives to be nothing more and nothing less than Cinderella in a de facto brothel.
Two months after the crash of Oceanic 815, all aboard are found dead in the wreckage in a deep trench near Bali. Or not.
The film doesn’t announce first-time director James Wan as a new auteur, but as a media-saturated copycat.