
My All American movie review: football fundamentalism
Not an inspirational football movie but the highlights reel from one, with a golden boy who is his own manic pixie dreamboat. The worst sort of hagiography.

Not an inspirational football movie but the highlights reel from one, with a golden boy who is his own manic pixie dreamboat. The worst sort of hagiography.

From a mean ex to a hooker with a heart of gold, women exist in this world only for what they can do for — or to — the male protagonist.

Behold Bill Murray as the white savior barreling into a foreign land and teaching the ignorant natives how to be better people. Obnoxious and tone deaf.

Women appear only extremely briefly as supportive wives and mothers, or as romantic interests who must be rescued (by a man, natch) from another man’s abuse.

A film taken with the singular American delusion that Jesus loves football… though it also throws in a new delusion: Jesus hates the U.S. Constitution.

The only character with any sort of arc is a young woman. But she is half-dressed half the time and subject to sexualized torture.

If there is a target for the pitiless cynicism of this brutal exercise in cannibalistic gore, I can’t figure out what it is. Inhumane in multiple directions.

A Mr. Collins of a movie: fatuous, self-important, and nowhere near as smart or as elegant as it thinks it is. There isn’t a lick of wit to be found here.

May be a familiar David-versus-Goliath tale, but it is also an inspiring and hugely emotional experience, due in large part to the powerful performances.

See this for Casey Affleck: he exudes a classic cinematic masculinity here. Alas, the rest of the film is old-fashioned in ways that are downright stodgy.