Hysteria (review)
Breezy, witty, gently naughty. Hello, steampunk orgasm!
Breezy, witty, gently naughty. Hello, steampunk orgasm!
Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what David Cronenberg’s point is here…
Finally! Pixar gives us a fully fledged, well-rounded, beautifully developed female protagonist, with a complex, provocative personal journey that is hers alone. A film of her own!

The heightened emotions and outrageous urgency of rom-coms are actually appropriate here. All the absurdities that define the genre — not accidentally but deliberately — suddenly work in its favor.
The Amazing Spider-Man? That’s a stretch. More like the Halfhearted Spider-Man. The Just-Sorta-There Spider-Man. The Familiar Spider-Man…

A workplace bromantic comedy about men from a male POV: the workplace just happens to be a (male) strip club. Rather tame and rather dull, for a movie about guys taking their clothes off. Magic? No.
Almost shocking in how it depicts 15-year-old Alma’s all-consuming confusion, anxiety, and sexual desperation: with the same candid carnality of the horny-boy subgenre…
There simply never seems to be any reason why lovebirds Tom and Violet can’t just get married already. Unless the film is delivering an object lesson to uppity career ladies…
The story is almost beside the point, because Tom Cruise’s nude torso that I could be running my hands all over and because the young kittenish leads in this story cobbled together around awesome 80s hair-band stadium anthems are the weakest part of it.
It’s intended to be delightful, but it feels as long as a pregnancy itself, this roundrobin of forcefully interconnected tales of incipient parenthood.