Attack the Block (review)
Take that, Spielberg, with your suburban alien invasions and your gentle parables about acceptance and stuff. Why don’t the aliens ever land in the ’hood, where no one will take their shit sitting down?
Take that, Spielberg, with your suburban alien invasions and your gentle parables about acceptance and stuff. Why don’t the aliens ever land in the ’hood, where no one will take their shit sitting down?

Jokiness and hokeyness have been genetically engineered away, leaving something pure and sweet and poignant, a throwback to late-60s/early-70s humanist science fiction. More Charly than Heston.
Incontinence — as the result of either as-yet untrained bowels or a terrible adult affliction — is presumed to be a major concern for the viewer here.
It’s now a tossup whether the best comic-book superhero movie of 2011 is X-Men: First Class or Captain America: First Avenger… But I’m leaning toward Captain America.
Those clever sneaky Pixar folks are warning us that if we Americans don’t clean house, we’re going to bring the whole world down with us, and the entirety of human civilization will collapse into a nasty soup of irrationality and ignorance.
Garbus’s portrait of Bobby Fischer as a lonely child and a monomanical young chess player becomes a portrait of his times as well…
This is simply a great flick: powerfully emotional, profoundly resonant, scary and funny and intense and wholly enrapturing.
Oh, it’s more of the same old crap we’re feeding our kids these days: Gratuitious destruction of the English language. Partial ursine nudity. Hunny abuse.
For a goodly while, it does feel, depressingly, as if Trust is going to morph into one of those luridly melodramatic made-for-Lifetime flicks gone theatrical feature thanks to the presence of a stellar cast…
Tree of life? Tree of sanctimonious mopey male egotism disguised as a search for meaning, more like. Or a search for God. Or for nostalgia. Or for innocence. Or for Mom. Or for something.