
Robinson Crusoe (aka The Wild Life) movie review: castaway… you know, for kids!
A bland electronic babysitter, suitable only for small children still distracted by bright colors, slapstick cartoon animals, and simplistic wordplay.

A bland electronic babysitter, suitable only for small children still distracted by bright colors, slapstick cartoon animals, and simplistic wordplay.

Eschewing the compelling SF questions it raises, Morgan resorts to violence and would-be cleverness, and makes concrete what it should have left ambiguous.

It’s supposed to be intense, but it’s just silly. Unless it’s secretly about one woman ridding the world of notorious arms dealers through sly manipulation.

A few hints of stagnation aside, this franchise remains a terrifyingly trenchant dystopia. A brutal vision of an America not far removed from our own.

A facile riff on Romeo & Juliet amongst Brussels gangs. Banal, clichéd, and treats its teenage-girl protagonist in a spectacularly disgusting way.

A comedy only in the bleakest way, satire only in the sense that the whole world has become a parody of itself. Appalling and amusing in equal measure.

Pure popcorn thrills. Whips up visceral suspense and maintains it till you’re breathless as it cements the arrival of “woman versus nature” as a subgenre.

More like a pleasant walk in a redwood forest with a boy and his dragon than a rollicking adventure, but its serenity and warm heart are infectious.

Should be grim, bitter, and as horrifyingly alluring as Hannibal Lecter. But it’s nothing but a teen-friendly ad for toys, Ts, and other disposable merch.

Filtering other people’s stories through the eyes of white men is tedious and offensive, and it feels like a desperate hedge against fresh perspectives.