
Dark Touch review: Carrie on and on
Elegantly atmospheric indie horror drama plumbs typically unseen depths of children’s coping mechanisms in the face of terrible real-life experience.

Elegantly atmospheric indie horror drama plumbs typically unseen depths of children’s coping mechanisms in the face of terrible real-life experience.

Austenland, allow me to tell you how ardently I loathe and despise you.

If this isn’t a deliberate parody of furiously solemn, self-conscious artistic pretension, it’s an accidental one.

An appalling array of hideous ethic and gender stereotypes is what passes for “humor” in this pitiful excuse for a comedy.

A familiar-feeling crime thriller is enlivened by unexpectedly down-to-earth, hardbitten characters weighed down by the mundane weariness of life on the edge.

The familiar serial-killer flick gets a welcome shakeup, smashing to smithereens the tired trope of woman-as-victim and offering a bracing new perspective on an oft-told tale.

A fresh, funny slice-of-life, casually cutting in its feminism and utterly charming in its storytelling.

A little bit like a travelogue, a little bit like people-watching, this is simultaneously a relaxing and invigorating cinematic experience. Simply magnificent.

The genre equivalent of soft-core porn: it doesn’t care how strained and derivative it is as long as it is delivering flying bullets, fast cars, and closeups on women’s sashaying asses.

Way to give overwrought fan fiction a bad name. No amount of fairy dust can make this bewitching.