
The Last Shaman documentary review: pharma madness
Tragic hipster indulges in the tribal Amazonian divine. Credulous, sophomoric garbage full of the slick salesmanship of a vaguely spiritual sneaker commercial.

Tragic hipster indulges in the tribal Amazonian divine. Credulous, sophomoric garbage full of the slick salesmanship of a vaguely spiritual sneaker commercial.

A rote disappointment. There is nothing shocking or even mildly unexpected here. But there is an ironic weakening of the power of the xenomorphs to terrify.

Wonderfully strange and weird and funny and dark and bitter. A deliciously geek-flavored metaphor for how damaged people heedlessly spread around their damage.

Thinks it’s edgy and transgressive, the punk little brother of all those other stodgy comic-book movies, but it isn’t. It’s just slightly more candy-colored.

This may be Werner Herzog’s most conventional film, but its mostly untold true story knows what it means for a woman to choose a life of adventure and intellect.

One of the most cinematically beautiful documentaries ever is a phenomenal portrait of a shamefully forgotten woman who helped shape political history.

An adventure of the intellect and of the heart with the real-life explorer who inspired Indiana Jones, one more about the journey than the destination.

An adventure crammed with junky slapstick and garish animation that seems to believe it is feminist, but only doubles down on Smurfily regressive notions of gender.

Odious propagandistic attempt to enshrine Turkish denial of the Armenian genocide of World War I into cinematic history via a tepid and unconvincing romance.

Boiled down to its bonkers essence, Skull Island is a Vietnam war movie with monsters, a retro analog vibe, and a dash of both Moby-Dick and The X-Files.