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There’s a little bit of Hammer horror in Julie Taymor’s messy but thrilling adaptation of Shakespeare’s last play, and there’s more than a little turning-of-the-tables, all of which brings a new perspective on the play, and a new appreciation for it, which is the best we can ask for the umpteenth adaptation of a centuries-old work.
Forget movies about art as you’ve seen them before. Award-winning documentary filmmaker Ellen Weissbrod takes a compellingly intimate tack in her look at the convention-busting 17th-century artist Artemisia Gentileschi, creating an extraordinary synthesis that is part art appreciation, part personal diary…
When Colin Firth wins the Oscar for Best Actor in a few hours for this role, it will be one of the rare happy concurrences of the actual best performance of the year being recognized by the industry’s highest honor as such.
Call this a thriller of emotional suspense, and one that’s wickedly unsettling, in which we’re never sure who’s feeling what, or why, or to what extremes they’re capable of going.
Crazy hot girl is hot, I guess. Is there something perceived to be sexy about mental illness? Cuz there would appear to be no purpose here unless it’s intended to get lonely horny guys off on the idea of the tediously banal Amber Heard locked in a depressing mental institution and subject to electroshock therapy rocking her bod.
This rare misfire from director Michael Winterbottom is extra disturbing because while it appears shockingly senseless, senseless is not what Winterbottom does…
The screenplay is like a transcription of a Dungeons and Dragons session: better hope you make a high saving throw during the wolf attack in Wormwood Forest! The “performances” are like clueless imitations of Monty Python by actors who don’t understand comedy. And those are its good points.
There’s a sense of something great just beyond the grasp of the Coen Brothers, something that they may not even be aware of, hanging over this elegant yet somehow vaguely unfinished film.
You already know the score — duh da-duh-da-duh! duh da-duh-da-duh! — but in case you’ve forgotten, The Nutcracker in 3D will attempt to mainline it into your brain, fuel-injecting sugar-plum fairy juice into your festivus lobe at the drop of, um, a sugar plum. If you think that’s a horrendously mixed metaphor, it’s got nothing on this polar-express train wreck…
Maybe the romantic comedy about a couple of sociopaths is where the Hollywood expression of the genre has been heading all along, since such films of recent vintage have been populated by unpleasant people doing unpleasant things in the hopes that we will be somehow charmed by them. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before pathological charm was deployed.
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