The film is almost refreshing in its flightiness, even as it remains defiantly ignorant of the world in which it exists.
This bold, imaginative, infuriatingly neglected work of expressionist agitprop receives the gorgeous transfer it deserves.
Chi-Raq is a Spike Lee joint in the urgent sociopolitical register of Radio Raheem’s boombox.
Next week, Mariah Carey will launch her Las Vegas residency at Caesars Palace.
Ball Don’t Lie contumaciously refuses to play to its strengths.
Producer Bob Yari returns to the Crash well with Even Money and comes up with a turgid PSA about the dangers of gambling.
Bobby is not better than JFK but it is not completely without value.
The film is an Oliver Stone panorama by way of The Love Boat.
What’s disheartening about Monster House isn’t just that it turns out to be a spasmodic, cacophonous roller coaster ride.
This nostalgic paean to ’70s-era youthfulness and the short-lived fad of roller disco coasts by on an amiable soul-funk groove.
Marcos Siega’s hackneyed, by-the-books action-comedy deserves a dunce cap.
Shall We Dance? Let’s not.
In the immortal words of Bob Barker: Remember to have your pets spayed or neutered.
Peter Chelsom’s Shall We Dance? may be the most polite seven-year-itch comedy ever made.
You wouldn’t know by watching the film that it’s adapted from Jim Davis’s adorable but one-joke comic strip.
Since ABC never really pandered to urban crows, now little kids in the hood can have their own After School Special to make them vomit.
The film serviceably recreates the clique-infested teen culture of an affluent suburban high school.