Dr. Seuss’ The Lorax (review)
Once in a while a film comes along that demonstrates how pig-headedly sexist Hollywood is when it comes to ignoring female perspectives.
Once in a while a film comes along that demonstrates how pig-headedly sexist Hollywood is when it comes to ignoring female perspectives.
This may be the darkest, the grimmest, the most depressing summer popcorn movie ever. It is not summery. It is not popcorny. The peasants of Gotham are us, we 99 percent huddled in the dark and frantic for a hero we will not find.
You must see Twenty Twelve if you’re a fan of smart, sharp social, cultural, media, and political satire and hugely entertaining comedic performances from some of the best British talent doing funny stuff today.

Timur Bekmambetov treats his pile-on of pulpy historical pseudo revisionism sincerely, but cheerfully so: its subversively gentle sense of humor is never so earnest that it stumbles over into cheese.
I kept hoping to get caught up in this untold story of the French Resistance in more than a coolly intellectual way, but that never happened.
A stunning failure, certainly compared to Borat and Bruno. Sacha Baron Cohen is clearly aware of whom the targets of his satiric ire should be, but he couldn’t figure out how to make it work.
Zombies and social satire were made for each other — this has been true since the advent of the modern zombie flick in the 1970s. But zombies and political satire?
See! This is how you do romantic comedy!

A viciously cynical dark fantasy that fashions a new mythos of post-9/11 New York, a bleak but plausible world of the Russian mob, the Chinese Triads, and the NYPD as another gang vying for supremacy.
It’s astonishing how little crazy one needs to bring to a movie at the moment to make it leap out as fresh and distinctive.