The film handily invokes the campiness of the iconic Disneyland attraction, if not its kinetics.
Kevin Smith toys with death in Clerks III as a shortcut to bring emotion to a film that otherwise has no meaningful hook.
Behind the film’s self-awareness and irony is a hollow emotional core.
The film plays like a mixtape of various sensibilities, partly beholden to the self-contained form of the bildungsroman.
The gravity of Krystal’s situation is undermined at every turn by the filmmakers’ excessively broad, comedic strokes.
Still one of the most fun sugar rushes of the year, the film arrives on home video with a shimmering, chromatic video transfer.
The truly depressing thing about a thriller as undercoocked as this is its failure to fly on dark fantasy.
The film is an unbroken chain of one-liners, sight gags, and pop-culture references, and the hit-to-miss ratio is high.
The film limps to predetermined truths that hypocritically advocate the maintenance of placid family values.
The film crams in jokes long past the point of relevance and often to outright distraction, if not annoyance.
Daredevil’s fight scenes are infused with the struggle of the poor and lower-middle class, and choreographed with thrilling uncertainty.
The film has the plot of an intensely lurid thriller, but Atom Egoyan can’t bring himself to face that and actively tend to the story.
Whereas a single, stinging one-liner would have sufficed Tourneur or Lang, Miller’s overcompensating flood of pulpy dialogue only renders his characters flat and sans empathy.
Chavez is marked by an explosive anger kept under a cherubic, sweet-natured mask, providing the surprise lacking in the story’s text.
Writer-director Ron Krauss’s film is wretched long before its odious ulterior motives come to light.
The story of Rosario Dawson’s discovery speaks to her enduringly cool credibility as an actress.
The film draws out Danny Boyle’s less dazzling commercial side, not to mention his penchant for whirling excess.
Trance looks like Danny Boyle’s first film since Sunshine that won’t become awards bait.
If nothing else, 10 Years is hip to the fleeting, fundamental joys of revisiting one’s youth.
Zookeeper is essentially a surreally awful Happy Madison Productions version of Mad Libs.