
The Death of Stalin movie review: the great dictator
Audacious, outrageous, bleakly funny. Not since Charlie Chaplin sent up Hitler and invited us to laugh at terrible reality has there been a movie like this.

Audacious, outrageous, bleakly funny. Not since Charlie Chaplin sent up Hitler and invited us to laugh at terrible reality has there been a movie like this.

Almost hilariously terrible: absurd plot machinations, dubious politics, not a single character to care about. And it doesn’t even give good disaster porn.

A clichéd loose-cannon cop is on a case of murdered women in faux Norway. And it’s not even a decent procedural. Sexist, pointless, thoroughly awful.

A sweet, romantic story about the polyamorous triad that created a beloved superhero… and about the power of comic books to speak to our inner lives.

A horror movie for grownups, dripping with the dread of a fairy tale of yore, primitive and atavistic, drawing on profound human pain and fear.

A romance and a real-life adventure, full of life-and-death peril and unexpected cheerful good humor, about a pioneer in disability rights and dignity.

Visually, this dying future world is immersively hellish. Intellectually, though, its ideas haven’t kept up with the rapidly evolving science-fictional conversation.

Quick takes from the 25th Raindance Film Festival, with public screenings in London through October 1st, 2017.

The reboot no one asked for of a movie no one much remembers has landed… and it’s dead on arrival, with nothing new to say and no new way to say it.

An absolutely hilarious and very pointed exploration of politics and culture on the smallest possible scale. And a lot of good-lookin’ chickens.