Rarely has a film used its foreknowledge of a happy ending as a reason to remain so uncritical and incurious of its central subject.
In the end, the film’s perpetuation of the franchise’s endorsement of police brutality comes back to bite it.
Whatever new technology facilitated its genesis, the film is just another assembly-line reproduction.
Guy Ritchie’s live-action remake is content to trace the original’s narrative beats with perfunctory indifference.
Ang Lee’s three-year marriage to the 120fps format appears to be in strong shape.
David Frankel’s film argues that the power of miracles can be manufactured by those who can fund them.
David Ayer’s film longs to be bad, yet its forced by outside pressures to follow narrow, preset rules.
The tacky and loose means by which the platitudinous screenplay dances around what ails the football players is just one cog in a whirligig of pat representations.
Ficarra and Requa’s film turns out to be a strained trumpeting of the return of the proverbial king of the box office, Will Smith.
The look of Akiva Goldsman’s fantasy is limp, timid, and occasionally outright awkward.
I hate to take the easy road and say that the designers of the poster thought outside of the box, but, hey, if the metaphor fits.
The art of storytelling is both of distinct narrative interest and personal issue in the latest payload of calcified nonsense from one of modern cinema’s oddest would-be auteurs.
The story of Rosario Dawson’s discovery speaks to her enduringly cool credibility as an actress.
A Man’s Story does a major disservice to an artiste of fashion with a pretty amazing and prolific oeuvre.
Men in Black III aspires to nothing more than adequacy in its ambitions to entertain.
Sony doesn’t do much to spruce up their original, excellent transfer of Sonnenfeld’s big, fun monster movie, but the product remains a worthy one.
Seven Pounds takes the notion of self-sacrifice and pushes it beyond an act of nobility into the realm of a last-chance suicide mission.
Eager not to overstay its welcome, Hancock ultimately sheds essential exposition in a mad, foolish dash to the finish line.
It’s always sad to see a film capable of more settling for less.
In the end, the decision to make the dark seekers wholly computer-generated proves ill-advised.