
The Dressmaker movie review: haute couture as a tragicomic weapon
So entertaining, so unexpected, so wonderfully oddball, so damn good. Witty genre-busting simmering with pathos, humor, and calamity.

So entertaining, so unexpected, so wonderfully oddball, so damn good. Witty genre-busting simmering with pathos, humor, and calamity.

Beautifully portrays a very universal experience — not only of immigration but of growing up — via an elegantly nuanced performance by Saoirse Ronan.

A fascinating look at the pitfalls of modern journalism, and a compelling portrait of a journalist who paid a high price for letting them trip her up.

There is joy and wonder in this marvelous mounting of a human mind, and a thrilling audacity in how it dares at such a strange and impossible thing.

An immense film, looming in tragedy, an infuriating portrait of how celebrity warps artistry and how wealth warps love and how suffering trumps everything.

Does some wonderfully seditious feminist things while also being funny as hell. Finally, we are asked to laugh with Melissa McCarthy, not at her.

Bracingly off-kilter, a sort of anti rom-com that sends up a cultlike subculture while embracing the full, curious humanity of those who live in it.

It gets a tad heavy-handed, but my eyes welled with tears of geeky joy at the film’s embrace of an optimism it steadfastly refuses to see as old-fashioned.

Astonishing. Achieves its grotesque, magnificent brutality in an old-fashioned way that serves as a smackdown to bloated, sterile CGI monstrosities.

A pleasant and undemanding romantic drama that takes great care not to upset you unduly with strong emotion or embarrassing passion.