No snark, no spandex pantomime spectacle. Just noir mystery, Pattinson’s sad recluse a detective in a cesspit of corruption. Relentlessly grim, all darkness and despair, not escapist but of our time.
Spanks the 2016 film and sends it off to the corner to think about what it did. This one is the definite article: Gory, grim, bleakly funny. Full of feverish, anarchic energy and exhausting cynicism.
Dishearteningly less concerned with giving Natasha Romanoff her own story than with setting up her MCU replacement. Superfluous, backward-looking, its bit of feminism belabored. She deserved better.
The retro pastel optimism is ironic, but the dark stuff slips by in subtext. This bold, colorful tale, recalling classic superhero films, could be happening in a parallel universe… a much nicer one.
There’s plenty of bruising action, but this fantastic slice of comic-book pulp emphasizes the humanity of its immortal heroes. Gina Prince-Bythewood elevates the familiar with emotional authenticity.
Who are we rooting for in this accidental parody of the empty absurdity of modern action films? Everyone is awful, or a human macguffin. This is soulless technical wankery bereft of humor or humanity.
Incoherent action sequences and strained sci-fi woo-woo can’t save a clueless mashup of Robocop, The Matrix, and Captain America that makes a mockery of its protagonist. Deeply terrible.
Behold ladyrage given full candy-colored, sparkle-sprinkled voice in an ironically comical spectacle: Haha, isn’t this delightfully absurd? Or is it? This is kidding-not-kidding on celluloid.
Not fit to lick the boots of Martin Scorsese or Christopher Nolan, though the height of its ambition appears to be its desperation to do so. A movie as pathetically ineffectual as its protagonist.
Performs a complete charmectomy on its usually hugely charismatic stars, leaves them to flounder about with a bizarrely inept script, and actually seems to be trolling us with its pseudo feminism.