David E. Talbert’s film is most affecting in its simpler moments, particularly those revolving around food.
The film deposits its heroine and everyone in the audience looking toward her for image-maintaining guidance back at square one.
That this retrograde “straight talk” managed to emerge on screen as a reasonably genial ensemble comedy speaks to the strength of its performers.
The film is depressing, sub-sitcom fodder that will dull whatever affection you may still harbor for these legendary actors.
This is a largely solemn affair, often verging on morbidity in its elongated deathwatch.
It’s clear from the start that Think Like a Man would love to be a scathing riff on the genre of film perfected by Tyler Perry.
It seems impossible to watch Unsupervised and not think of Beavis and Butt-head.
If countless comic books and superhero movies haven’t made it clear enough for you yet: Having super powers can be kind of a drag.
The film is a tone-deaf odyssey of personal discovery striving to echo Dante’s Inferno.
Baby Mama confirms that if Tina Fey is in something she didn’t write herself, it just ain’t funny.
As a writer, Mike Myers still hasn’t figured out how to make characters who aren’t just funny variations of himself.
Weeds works best when it focuses on the first two syllables of its designated genre: “dramedy.”
It needs more of Tina Fey the sharp, witty writer, as the film is as pedestrian and middling as they come.
Will Ferrell is not in a joking mood throughout much of the run-of-the-mill featurettes available in the disc’s extras department.
The film gleefully clings to an unattractive frat-boy ethos while squandering the opportunity for real rebelliousness.
There’s a sense that the writers of Weeds are as lazy as their main character, that they understand her as little as she seems to understand herself.
Killjoy pro-monogamy pap is a minor price to pay for the gratuitously gross sight of Steve Carell peeing on his own chest and face.