Waxwork is thankfully free of The Cabin in the Woods’s smugness.
No, Poltergeist III doesn’t make any sense, but it reaps the rewards left by the legacy-dashing second film’s sins.
The premise is so preposterous and shaky, it simply needs to be swept under the rug as soon as the film begins.
The poster for Call Me is full of sexy promises.
Fish-out-of-water comedies are a dime a dozen in Hollywood, but few are as well-constructed as this one.
Jack’s Back maintains a giddy storyteller’s glee from beginning to end.
Outside of the earnest and grounding turn by Warwick Davis, the characters and accompanying performances are uniformly maladroit.
The sequel’s script, written by Paul and Brett Hogan, is a grab-bag of ideas, none original and most barely carried out.
One minor point of interest comes in the form of Jason himself—more specifically, the actor playing him.
Da flirts with Shakespearean themes, King Lear and Hamlet being the main points of reference.
James Glickenhaus’s film deals in chest hair.
What Woody Allen is to New York, Gus Van Sant is to Portland.
Believe it or not, there’s an interesting idea lurking inside Dead Heat.