Christopher Nolan’s film willfully and startlingly dispenses with the plodding routines of the average biopic.
A clear effort is being made by Jack Amiel, Michael Begler, and Steven Soderbergh to make the new season as dense as possible.
The Knick provides a wealth of nuanced history of early 20th-century medicine and social mores.
One of the most exciting new shows on television, and HBO’s Blu-ray captures its exceptional visual and audio design with near-perfection.
The formalism fashions effective textural shortcuts to behavioral understanding that the remarkable cast fills in with finesse.
The pyrotechnics succeed only at reinforcing West’s macho bona fides and condescendingly forcing Statham back into his wheelhouse.
The second recent release that aims to channel great, time-honored storytelling without being able to tell a great story.
More gag-friendly than idea-based, relying on the considerable charm of its leads to ground its supernatural conceit.
This deceptively modest bundle of butt-kicking and betrayal gets a top-notch transfer from Lionsgate.
Soderbergh’s latest is all aloof propulsion, and like Contagion, it’s ultimately inconsequential.
If not for its lack of self-awareness, The Art of Getting By would seem to be a spoof of ennui-inflicted teen dramas.
As evinced by his debut feature, writer-director Max Winkler is clearly going through a Wes Anderson phase.
Jared Hess still seems to see his characters as little more than objects of comedic fun.
The Forbidden Kingdom plays out like the wet dream of kung-fu fanboy nation.
Throughout, David Gordon Green’s style is as arbitrary as the Cloverfield monster.
Man in the Chair is more exorcism than resuscitation.
The blarney isn’t the only thing that’s thick in writer-director Brad Gann’s Black Irish.
The film is little more than a CBS Sunday night movie that peddles inspirational fairy-tale schmaltz and middling humor by the coffin-full.
Scarcely earth-shattering, Sky High is still a better kiddie flick than Chicken Little.
The presentation is too fake to be real and not nearly fake enough to be called avant-garde.