
Nightbitch movie review: live, bark, love
Replaces the novel’s rage with gentle comedy, biting its tongue and undercutting its protagonist. Still, mundane truths about women’s realities that rarely get public airings are on welcome display.

Replaces the novel’s rage with gentle comedy, biting its tongue and undercutting its protagonist. Still, mundane truths about women’s realities that rarely get public airings are on welcome display.

Picaresque childhood misadventures sketch vibrant WWII London. A movie of brutal randomness, feral intensity, and ferocious intimacy. Wildly human, artistically masterful, and completely magnificent.

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.

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.

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.

The young cast is mesmerizing, but all this dusty dystopia has is vibes and vague metaphors. It only just barely touches on the potential of its science-fiction ideas to explore the human condition.

The cringe of modern relationships stinks up this antiromance. Its bald truths, all but ignored in pop culture, about how women navigate romantic and sexual relationships with men, demand to be heard.

A mysterious, mournful film about proscribed teenaged-girlhood and feral female sexuality. There’s nothing entirely original here, but what it has to say, it says with enormous confidence and panache.