Creed III comes down to a draw between its flashes of brilliance and its missed opportunities.
Arrow’s release gives viewers the opportunity to experience the original cut of Kelly’s freewheeling satire for the first time.
Creed II is absent of both the topically political atmosphere of Rocky IV and the bravura action of Ryan Coogler’s Creed.
Blade Runner 2049 is so terrified of disreputability that it renders itself dead from the waist down.
Creed cannily funnels decades of American social tension into a tense and moving interracial buddy story.
One of the film’s greatest traits is its refusal to say 10 words when two will do, or to say one word when silence says it all.
Whether by design or otherwise, Dredd seems better-suited to a 2D home video presentation than to the 3D silver screen.
Assuming a gruesome grimness far removed from Judge Dredd, Travis’s film takes a bleak RoboCop-ish approach to its source material.
Jay Chandrasekhar’s film unfolds as a silly, juvenile gloss on notions of manhood.
The film is all swagger and mouth, but with no real affinity for the grittiness of thug life.
Surely first-time writer-director Lindsey Christian knew what she was doing.
Teen horniness is not a crime but Southland Tales is.
If Donnie Darko was Richard Kelly’s Eraserhead, then maybe Southland Tales is his Dune.
The dealers know the kids, and the kids know the cops.
Its opening credits are not an ordinary credits sequence, but a series of four short films that distill each season’s themes, goals, and motifs.
Marlo Stanfield has maneuvered to the top of the West Baltimore drug trade, and he’s executing a broad campaign to stay there.
Varied as the street characters are, their African-American counterparts in the police department are just as individualized.
In the world of The Wire, it’s the story that rules—and that may even get the great Omar in the end.