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Oh, those rickety biplanes, all canvas and wood and held together by spit and a prayer, come taxiing out of the early morning fog and there’s the sad tin whistle music and the eager young men jumping to get up in the air and get themselves killed, and I’m a basket case from the get-go, all tears and sobby and having just the best time I can have at the movies: I. Am. Moved.
It all just feels like the writer/director’s cinematic masturbation.
Words cannot do justice to the series’ wild humor and expansive exuberance…
Frantic and frequently fierce under its laid-back facade, this is some quality funny business.
If you’re trying to get into my blog Geek Philosophy today, good luck: it’s coming under a DoS attack. It hasn’t been singled out or anything by, say, radical anti-geeks — it’s the company that handles the domain forwarding that the site requires that is under attack. Hopefully all will be back to normal soon.
Brian De Palma’s new flick is so bad it made me feel sorry for Josh Hartnett, which is surely a sign of the apocalypse…
Isn’t there anything new to be said about the power of team sports to buck up kids’ self-esteem or about how men get scared about committing to relationships? Clichés become clichés because they work, because there’s some truth in them, but: Come. On.
He walked into my office like he knew he was trouble. “Name’s Hartnett,” he said. “I’m looking for my career.”
What began as the last project of Christopher Reeve has ended as a funny, sweet testament to their indefatigable endurance in the face of the most trying of circumstances.
It’s as if the WB took Harry Potter and turned it into ‘Five Hot Underwear Models Go Back to High School and Do Magic’…
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