
Tom at the Farm review: shoulda stayed in the city
An overwrought pastiche of Hitchcock that makes less sense and renders its protagonist far less plausible the longer it goes on.

An overwrought pastiche of Hitchcock that makes less sense and renders its protagonist far less plausible the longer it goes on.

Electric sexiness and very modern motifs overlie a wonderfully old-fashioned melodrama… a highly gratifying one, if you enjoy a good ol’ weep.

Something like a Shakespearean comedy, full of highly amusing, sharply drawn characters…

An appalling array of hideous ethic and gender stereotypes is what passes for “humor” in this pitiful excuse for a comedy.

As a black comedy, this never quite catches fire, though there is some mild amusement to be found in its social satire.

Pure, unalloyed, rollicking cinematic joy. Brings the romantic comedy as a genre into a realm of fantasy and poetry and fun and laughter.

There’s an alchemy here that brings together the best of screen and the best of stage…

This is a like comedy from Star Trek’s vicious Mirror Universe, where backstabbing and scheming are just the way things are.
A subtle and striking globehopping ensemble drama of human interactions shaped by sex and love, honesty and deception, allure and retreat.
The story is almost beside the point, because Tom Cruise’s nude torso that I could be running my hands all over and because the young kittenish leads in this story cobbled together around awesome 80s hair-band stadium anthems are the weakest part of it.