
The Two Faces of January movie review: without a Hitch
There’s delicious movie-movie elegance in the exotic locales and the period dress, but not much tension to be found in the murderous misadventures on offer.

There’s delicious movie-movie elegance in the exotic locales and the period dress, but not much tension to be found in the murderous misadventures on offer.

A beautifully observant meander through the difficulties and discoveries of wise but still confused advanced age, led by a gorgeous, vital, 70-odd Catherine Deneuve.

Romantic in the grandest sense, a visceral and hypnotic experience of idealistic aspirations set against the desolate beauty and danger of the Outback.

We need an equivalent term to “Uncle Tom” for a woman — in this case, screenwriter Melissa Stack — who participates in Hollywood’s systematic hatred of women.

We say things like, “Oh, I’d watch that guy read the phone book,” and this is almost that. Except it really is absolutely riveting, and that’s no joke.

Deceptively simple and deeply cutting. A remarkable little film, a marvel of American indie filmmaking and of stories typically overlooked.

Scarlett Johansson is an alien serial killer who sexes men to death in a misogynist fanboy wet dream that also fails to satisfy as science fiction.

This is what passes for a children’s movie these days: a 1950s sitcom drawn in pretty tropical CGI colors with a few mostly forgettable songs tossed in.

Follow a humble yellow school bus as it is transformed into something joyous and defiant. It’s like discovering that your grandma is a secret agent.

A handsome movie in many ways, but it feels like an unpolished first draft, one that can’t quite decide how fantastical it wants to be.