Never before has a boy triumphed more.
Any potential subtext of Munro Leaf’s children’s book has been bleached out in the marketplace-oriented Ferdinand.
NBC’s Hannibal ran for three seasons, but its concept called for at least twice as many.
Hannibal’s wildly variant, ambitious, possibly final season is sent off in style with a surprisingly thorough home-video package.
Like Lynch before him, Fuller has shined a light over TV’s capacity for eccentric, follow-thy-master poignancy.
The dialogue is as polished, overheated, and savory as one can routinely expect from creator Bryan Fuller.
Francis is imprisoned like most of us within a version of life produced by his mind.
Hannibal is so crushingly, daringly, beautifully lonely, exuding the same sense of idiosyncratic discovery that marked the best episodes of Twin Peaks.
A show queen couldn’t possibly do any better for the Broadway beat than Dori Berinstein’s breezy, affectionate valentine to the Great White Way.
It’s hard to fathom what drew Sidney Lumet to Find Me Guilty aside from the opportunity to once again immerse himself in courtroom wrangling.