
The Diary of a Teenage Girl movie review: crossing no-woman’s-land to adulthood
It shouldn’t be radical to see a movie treat a girl with this level of appreciation and understanding of her most intimate inner self. Yet it is.

It shouldn’t be radical to see a movie treat a girl with this level of appreciation and understanding of her most intimate inner self. Yet it is.

There isn’t an authentic human motivation or emotion to be found here. The bar has been raised too high on comic-book movies for us to accept junk like this.

Marvel’s tiniest hero stars in the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s smallest movie so far, one that loses Paul Rudd’s charm among familiar comic-book action.

The hand-drawn animation is serene and charming, but the story and characters are so unpleasantly retrograde that I found little enjoyment here.

Not without problems, but continues the Avengers tradition of big, bold blockbusters that don’t need to toss away thoughtfulness to remain pure popcorn fun.

I cannot recall a film that left me with such a sour taste in my mouth by its end. Does the movie deliberately defy itself with obnoxious intent?

An unnecessary sequel that’s empty and arduous, little more than vignettes on vengeance and cruel parades of sociopathic power.

Just another rote space adventure. It’s not actively awful, but there isn’t a single damn thing in the least bit surprising or memorable about it.

Grading on the Ratner Curve, this is a positive triumph. The cheesy clichés are at least passingly entertaining. You could do worse.

Hauntingly grim, full of appalling ironies and awful truths. This is most definitely not the feel-good movie of the summer.