
Ricki and the Flash movie review: rocking (down and) out
There’s some good stuff here, like the prickly relationships between women at odds with one another, but too much feels too contrived to fully satisfy.

There’s some good stuff here, like the prickly relationships between women at odds with one another, but too much feels too contrived to fully satisfy.

Charming and funny, a wonderfully sweet and silly mashup of spy stuff and high-school comedies, like if John Hughes made a James Bond movie.

A breath of half-nasty, half-nice fresh air, set somewhere near the intersection between a parody of a romantic comedy and a straight-up example of one.

Want to debunk the myth and the mystery of the manic pixie dream girl? There’s a wrong way to do that… and an oh-so marvelously right way.

This desperately terrible children’s fantasy is an unpleasant mishmash of dated slapstick, unwittingly sinister adventure, and icky magic.

Compassionate Australian drama about a teenaged girl’s sexual awakening that is complicated by her mother’s transgender transition to manhood.

It shouldn’t be radical to see a movie treat a girl with this level of appreciation and understanding of her most intimate inner self. Yet it is.

Descends into emotional idiocy and insufficient intrigue to end in a disgusting place that presumes that a woman is an appropriate pawn in games men play.

A lovely film with a compassionate appreciation for how teen girls can often find a sort of comfort in clinging to their woundedness and pain.

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.