
Your Monster movie review: embrace the beast
Sure, the humor may be bitter, the horror may be audacious, and the overriding genre may be “anti-romance.” But this hugely original, grimly delightful howl of feminine rage is actually kinda sweet.

Sure, the humor may be bitter, the horror may be audacious, and the overriding genre may be “anti-romance.” But this hugely original, grimly delightful howl of feminine rage is actually kinda sweet.

It barely scratches the surface of the enormous audacity of WWII photographer Lee Miller, but still this is an important movie. It’s also joyous filmmaking, with terrific performances all around.

Hooray for Glen Powell’s star rising, but this absurdly coy movie — is it a sequel? a remake? — is a cowardly, reckless missed opportunity: it’s deeply baffling that it omits any hint of global warming.

A mad monstrosity of a movie: absurdist, enigmatic, perverse. Lanthimos’s typical grotesque humor is on full display. Yay for a film that actually attempts to capture how insane the world is today?

Writer-director John Krasinski’s absolute desperation to whip up magical whimsy utterly fails. No matter how he tries to force enchantment into existence, this is more fever dream than flight of fancy.

Marisa Abela is very good as Amy Winehouse, the one saving grace of this cowardly biopic of the wild and wise musician, which hangs its subject out to dry just as the people closest to her did, too.

The pleasures of this black comedy about London real estate and the hypocrisies of posh professionals lie in the terrific cast, especially Shirley Henderson, embodying entertainingly horrible people.

A spineless dystopian action drama that defaults to a dangerously irresponsible both-sides-ism; its pretense of “objectivity” is unfair to the journalist protagonists the film thinks it’s championing.

An upending of the period costume drama that’s cheerfully indecent, gloriously naughty, and full of female rage at the expectations women operate under. Funny as hell and bursting with impudent energy.

A travesty of corporate cynicism. Its desperation to ride Spider-Man’s coattails is pathetic, but its convoluted, coincidence-laden nonsense is duller than you’d imagine: it’s not even so bad it’s fun.