The film renders Dalí’s final years with a self-negating blend of pity and devotion.
The film proves again that the modern-day veneration of Jane Austen as the patron saint of the rom-com is also an act of simplification.
Simon Barrett imbues his narrative with a purplish emotionality that the Urban Legend movies didn’t even think to bother with.
The film’s skittishness is particularly maddening considering that Allen has nothing to artistically prove.
The film appears to be striving for humanistic understanding, but the end result is far too jumbled to have the proper impact.
The dichotomy represented by Jonathan and John is too clean for the film’s exploration of a divided psyche to ever feel particularly complex.
The film carelessly affirms the idea that all women should be able to fight back at will, and if they don’t, it’s on them.
In The Bad Batch, Ana Lily Amirpour reduces politically loaded signifiers to a battle of the cliques.
The film is a grab bag of visual punchlines and topical references capped with interchangeable music tracks.
The juxtaposition of courtship and violence is the film’s one true coup, but it still mistakes weaponry for agency.