Tyrannosaur (review)
Why the film chooses to dump additional cruelty atop a woman who is at the mercy of violent, vicious men is a mystery.
Why the film chooses to dump additional cruelty atop a woman who is at the mercy of violent, vicious men is a mystery.
However crass Disney’s motivation may have been in rereleasing the film, it’s cheering to see that even in this era of awesome home-entertainment setups and increasingly unpleasant multiplexes, people still want to see great movies on a big screen with big sound…

Why does no one ever intone at me and tell me to go to Budapest and wear polyester and smoke cigarettes and get all espionagey, dammit?
Remember Drive Angry? (I hope you don’t.) This is not that movie. This is Drive Calm. This is Drive Cool.
It’s entirely possible that nothing that happens after the first twenty minutes or so is taking place anywhere outside the protagonist’s head. But that’s not a really satisfying out for what is an equally intriguing and frustrating cinematic experience…
Let me get this straight: we’re supposed to cheer on a spoiled, overprivileged private-school brat when he gets coddled and overindulged yet again?
There’s a lot of would-be wrenching stuff that One Day tries to pull that it doesn’t earn.
Hoorah! Time to start mythologizing the reign of Saddam Hussein!
Asks the tough question: Should we remember every horrid detail of the past, or is it better to sometimes let the past go?

Jokiness and hokeyness have been genetically engineered away, leaving something pure and sweet and poignant, a throwback to late-60s/early-70s humanist science fiction. More Charly than Heston.