The film communicates its feminist ideas through fascinatingly fetishistic images.
The solemnity of Josef Kubota Wladyka’s film is at odds with the gratuitousness of its violence.
The film might have better performed if it consisted of more than a smattering of good but relatively isolated ideas.
It typifies American politics with a brand of acidic cynicism that yields big laughs and increasingly unlikable characters.
The film displays little ability to utilize Ashby’s violent actions for means other than high-concept fodder and out-of-place bloodshed.
The home-video format, which encourages binge viewing, could serve to accentuate the nagging hollowness of the show’s busy-body plotting.
True Detective tickles a kind of hard-boiled hysteria, but it never dives headfirst into madness.
Steered by a lead actor and director who are both way out of their respective leagues, Jobs is excruciating, failing to entertain and all but pissing on its subject’s grave.
Go back to the first episode of Luck and you’ll see how much is made of a little goat (known for his giant testicles) that hangs out in Turo’s barn.
Sopranos director Allen Coulter gives us a taste of what the darker Luck many of us had been wishing for might have been like.
There’s no getting around the fact that this week’s episode of Luck was overstuffed with exposition.
After the emotional high points reached in last week’s installment of Luck, it’s only natural that this week’s episode feels a bit like a come-down.
Milch-speak, as it’s referred to, is made more impenetrable in Luck than it is in his period-accurate Deadwood.
These horses aren’t just lucky talismans; they also possess a purity of spirit that rehabilitates many of the show’s jaded characters.
In Luck, the majestic thoroughbreds shine as they stand backlit by the sun.
Luck is a very dense, very slow, stealthily soulful series.
With Miracle and now Warrior, Gavin O’Conner can lay claim to being the finest sports-drama director working today.
The filtering aspect of a filmmaker’s strong personality has the redeeming power that committee-obedient, impersonal filmmakers can never hope to acquire.
If the film paints in purely black-and-white shades, it at least spreads its bland censure around.
Banal, belligerent, and brain-dead, it ultimately succeeds only at being far less than meets bare-minimum cinematic standards.