Part of the pleasure of Gary Ross’s film lies in watching it turn a typically male-dominated genre on its head.
It remains too uncompromisingly black and white as a character study and a story of the conflicts of faith.
The film doesn’t clear the CGI cobwebs or successfully anchor any of its new events with emotional heft.
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.
The romantic subtext is the central emotional motor of the series, what keeps it from collapsing into absurdity.
The episode is taken by “reality” as a terrifyingly fluid and elastic realm, dictated by the conditions of the fragile mind.
There’s quite a bit of accomplished, bitchy verbal game-playing in this marvelous high point of an episode.
Francis is estranged from society, destined to regard it from the outside, because he’s imprisoned like most of us within a version of life produced by his mind.
Most affecting in its depiction of friendship, and the performances represent platonic male intimacy in convincing, often moving ways.
For unaware Anerican viewers, the doc will be a worthy footnote to a long bout of deliberate cultural amnesia, but it’s too telling that the Vietnamese remain in the background.
There are many instances of questionable logic in Into the Storm, but the most persistent is the film’s unexplained assumption that tornado-hunting is a growth industry.
A once-precious franchise’s weakest installment, which forgets these adventures’ magic was never conjured by bells and whistles.
A top-shelf presentation of one of last year’s baggiest, most unnecessary films.