
The Wolverine review: prickly on the outside, cuddly on the inside
There’s plenty of good summer popcorn fun, with fresh and exciting action setpieces, but this is mostly an intimate story about Logan, as a mutant and as a man.

There’s plenty of good summer popcorn fun, with fresh and exciting action setpieces, but this is mostly an intimate story about Logan, as a mutant and as a man.

A war movie in the grandest tradition, set in a rich new fictional universe that we’re going to be talking about for a long time.

Smartly stylish, refracting familiar fictional events and themes through a little-used cinematic prism: that of women’s perspectives.

A valentine to early filmmaking, this silent-movie pastiche is gorgeous, lush, and bursting with passion. It presents a familiar fairy tale with a wondrous air of freshness and newfound intimacy.

Well-acted but unsurprising, and far more sad than it is scandalous.

More brooding thinkpiece than sci-fi thriller, and yet fans of brooding thinkpieces may not be wholly satisfied, either.

Some of it is hilariously awful, and some is just plain awful. But Statham’s attempt to be taken seriously as an actor is honest, at least.

Brit Marling never knows what to do with her great ideas. She runs them right up to a moment when all that electric potential zaps itself out of existence in a flash.

Has no guts of any kind: it has absolutely nothing to say, and it takes a long, dull, circuitous route to get to that nothing.

Towers with ambition, swelled by sweeping philosophies about power and presence on scales both planetary and personal, beautifully balanced by a wellspring of wry tragedy.