
The Returned review: zombies in remission
Cuttingly sharp and incisive SF horror; a chillingly polite film about the fascism that rises quickly up in a moment of fearful crisis.

Cuttingly sharp and incisive SF horror; a chillingly polite film about the fascism that rises quickly up in a moment of fearful crisis.

No black humor. No satire. No point. But hey, check out the 1987 catchphrases dropped in at random!

A thrilling combination of drama, near-science-fiction, suspense, coming-of-age agita, and intellectual exploration of ideas. Pity it derails itself.

It’s alive! In a technical sense: images flicker on the screen, etc. But it is a soulless, unholy monstrosity. Behold: the movie without a protagonist!

The French “Mr. Hublot” creates an utterly real yet completely fantastical world, a palpable steampunk environment of gorgeous mechanical loveliness.

It’s the rise of the machines as romantic dramedy, and the Singularity as romantic tragedy. It’s the nicest, gentlest sci-fi horror film ever.

A devastating indictment of pop culture as propaganda — about its power and the limits of its powers — and an upending of the typical teen-girl romance movie.

Think heavy-metal Lord of the Rings. With wormholes. It’s completely mad and kind of awesome.

My soul was never stirred. My spirit did not soar. My intellect did twitch a bit in ways that made my heart ache disagreeably, however.

A hugely ambitious film reminiscent of The Matrix and the works of Terry Gilliam while also carving out its own apocalyptic sci-fi space.