Travolta’s scenes are islands of tranquility in a jittery sea of rote crime-movie pyrotechnics.
The clichés come early and in great abundance in Brett Donowho’s The Old Way.
One comes to resent the film for how it thrills to the possibility of a father hurting his children.
As Zac Efront’s Cole tiptoes away from his past, the film keenly observes a character who doesn’t know how to secure his future, or his identity.
The kind of wholly misconceived thriller that begs asking precisely what its filmmakers were seeking to accomplish.
Gregg Araki’s film suggests a hothouse melodrama that’s been drained of the hothouse, the melodrama, and any other discernably dramatic stakes.
It showcases the evolving interests and talents of Zal Batmanglij and Brit Marling, but expands them and channels them into a more traditional thriller framework.
The film is a serviceable, if unremarkable, tale of doomed, cross-class love and criminal activity.
It never makes the mistake of trying to rebottle the lightning that electrified the original.
Anthony Burns’s film adopts a loose, freewheeling tone that aims to privilege people and place over plotting.
Red Riding Hood is sort of like a hook-up that you remember more or less fondly but still would never tell your friends about.
The appeal of Deadgirl depends exclusively on the intriguing image at its center: a nude, softly writhing girl on a slab.
Red exudes a distinct ’70s Southern-exploitation vibe.