The Runaways (review)
There hasn’t been a movie like The Runaways, one about women rockers that’s just as raw and earthy and tough and pitiless as the ones about the men are.
There hasn’t been a movie like The Runaways, one about women rockers that’s just as raw and earthy and tough and pitiless as the ones about the men are.

John Keats is the intruder in Fanny Brawne’s story, and you might be forgiven for assuming that she’s the one who became legendary, for how the film defies convention by lavishing its focus on her.

It’s just about two women doing something for themselves, for their own amusement and enlightenment, and not even to please their men — hell, they’re not even competing for the same man!

The stories of women are so disparaged — or worse, ignored — in our culture unless they have something to do with pleasing men, but here’s one that demands to be seen.
Yup, those pants are still traveling.
If you need any more proof that a movie like *Swing Vote* is complete balderdash, with its fantasy about getting couch potatoes out to the polls as the cure-all for what ails America, then here is it.

If there’s one thing that’s clear from this revue of ABBA’s hit songs, it’s that there really aren’t all that many great ABBA songs, hits or no.

While movies about people clever and engaged enough to enjoy reading for fun may, in theory, be desirable, movies about people *actually reading* are less than totally enthralling.
“You look like my Barbie doll,” a little girl tells Cameron Diaz. Bingo!
Surprise! This is as fresh, as clever, as lively, as huggable, as satisfying as animated movies get.