The series seems content to recreate the events of the case rather than explore them in any deeper psychological or thematic fashion.
The film mixes a self-help message with moments of hard, cruel detail.
As it nears the end of its run, the series doesn’t seem to have much more to say about trauma.
The series frames PTSD, mental illness, and survivor’s guilt in relation to superhero tropes.
Sam Elliott’s calmly affecting performance is overwhelmed by a doggedly conventional screenplay.
Jessica Jones is a far more socially aware series than Netflix’s Daredevil, but it lacks for its predecessor’s consistent, enveloping style.
The film’s sporadic intensity springs from the filmmaker’s implicative complicity with his main character.
Perry’s film receives a beautiful DVD transfer that has one foot rooted appropriately in the less varnished past.
It doesn’t offer enough of Burton’s eccentricity to register as anything other than what one character derides as “that representational jazz.”
The problem with the film isn’t the contrivance of its premise, it’s that writer-director Jessica Goldberg doesn’t know it’s contrived.
For all its references to the show’s history, the film never panders.
Amy Heckerling’s Vamps is awash in pop-cultural, cinematic, and historical references.
The film is a cartoonish spectacle that paints its characters as clumsy, desperate, Prince Charming-seeking bimbos.
The series isn’t jaw-droppingly hilarious, but the writing is self-assured and full of punchy, Tweetable one-liners.
U2’s involvement doesn’t make the film markedly worse beyond providing a seeming license to slack off in most aspects.
There is something inherently off-putting about a Friday-night suicide sitcom.
It's an immersive and harrowing tale of moral decay and conflicted identity.
The film is an uninspired self-esteem pep-talk that seems to be yearning for viewer affection despite its all-around mediocrity.
Tacky but completely in-season, the film is the type of studio claptrap you get when the country’s economy is in complete meltdown.
What does it mean anymore to be a father? We still roughly know what it means to be a mother. Indeed, we rather know it in our bones.