
mother! movie review: from WTF to STFU
Darren Aronofsky’s self-pitying cinematic rending of garments is repulsive, transparent, and pointless. A grotesquely wrapped gift box of utter banality.

Darren Aronofsky’s self-pitying cinematic rending of garments is repulsive, transparent, and pointless. A grotesquely wrapped gift box of utter banality.

Lush sensationalism and Dickensian social justice collide in 1880s London, and if there isn’t quite enough of either, it’s still a slice of satisfying gothic horror.

Tense, gripping, enraging, but only about things that black Americans already know. This is a primer about racism for white people, and we must pay attention.

The living, breathing, bleeding life of the breathtaking fight scenes cannot overcome confusingly twisty spy intrigue and multiple male gazes on the story.

Lurid, pointless thriller teases us with a teenaged girl’s sexual and mortal peril, creating awful suspense around her abuse. Her terror is your titillation.

This would-be faux-70s paranoid thriller piles on too-obvious intrigue and embarrassing clichés, and lacks suspense, thrills, and a protagonist to care about.

Primal and exhilarating, full of dread and tension. Drops us right into the chaos of war to tell an intimate story about fear and intensity of purpose.

Simple, yet stupid. A magic box grants a teen wishes… that don’t come free. Apparently they’re not making eighth graders read “The Monkey’s Paw” anymore.

Edgar Wright used to send up cinematic clichés with gusto and with huge humor. Here he just embraces them — and his sullen, unengaging hero — unironically.

If Jane Austen wrote a horror movie. An almost serene sinisterness infuses female-gazey carnal intrigue… but it could be even more feminist than it is.