Kick-Ass (review)
Clearly, Dave Lizewski has never read *Watchmen,* or seen the movie…
Clearly, Dave Lizewski has never read *Watchmen,* or seen the movie…
Gilliam gamboling freely through the public subconscious just doesn’t work, this time, on any level other than a meta one.

There is a thrill of recognition to *Up in the Air* — and a horror of recognition, too…
So far, in my 12-plus years as a film critic, Federico Fellini is the only filmmaker who makes me throw up my hands and complain that I just don’t understand, um, all those egghead film critics.
Wes Anderson and Noah Baumbach looked at a sweet-and-sour children’s story through a peculiarly skewed eye and said, This can be so much more. And they turned it into something touching and funny, and magically absurd and at the same time pointedly real. They turned it into something genius.
I’m not sure if I’ve seen a more sublimely funny moment on screen this year than the one in which George Clooney, in all deep serious earnestness, tries to convince Ewan McGregor that he — McGregor, that is — is a Jedi warrior.
It’s hard to know sometimes whether the Coen Brothers are… well, not pulling our collective leg. Bbut are they actually *daring* us, with each new film, to keep coming along with them?
It’s rare that a film — especially a studio film — does this: goes so far in a direction you weren’t even expecting it would go in at all that the shock of it is doubled.

Kinda sorta Shaun of the Dead done up American style, so instead of cricket bats as weapons and jokes about tea, it’s shotguns as anti-zombie devices and a quest to find the last Twinkie.
Danged if the flick don’t feel like the Coen Brothers, if it ain’t redolent with the wonderfully odd tang of farce and feeling that they invariably bring to, at least, their lighter films.