
A Cure for Wellness movie review: it ails me
Ominous signs and psychological detours get tossed out and tossed away on the path to ridiculous gothic nonsense that takes itself far too seriously.

Ominous signs and psychological detours get tossed out and tossed away on the path to ridiculous gothic nonsense that takes itself far too seriously.

My favorite of the nominees is “Sing,” a movie for right-now with its pushback against a bullying authority figure and its gently effective defiance.

Fresh feminist horror of a very welcome taboo-smashing kind. Nasty, hilarious, outraged and outrageous, and as poignant as it is blackly funny.

A sinister tapestry of urban unease and feminist fury that turns an ordinary domestic setting into a place of skulking terror. Original and deeply creepy.

Not a terrible excuse for entertainment, just very, very familiar, all paradigms that desperately require a shift, in Hollywood and in the real world.

Lurid and squicky, Split treads water and keeps too many secrets on a dull path to the revelation of its self-satisfied cleverness.

Fascinating and horrifying. A gripping detective story and an impassioned call for public debate over terrifying weapons that have already been loosed.

This Apollo-era would-be suspense-thriller mockumentary is more an exercise in “look how film-school cool and clever we are” than anything else.

After a few quick nods to the profoundly unethical act at its core, it shrugs it off and uses it as the basis for its fairy-tale romance. This is not okay.

Ridiculous coincidence drives the plot, but a reliance on outdated notions of gender expectations is what makes this neonoir such an infuriating experience.