
The Diary of a Teenage Girl movie review: crossing no-woman’s-land to adulthood
It shouldn’t be radical to see a movie treat a girl with this level of appreciation and understanding of her most intimate inner self. Yet it is.

It shouldn’t be radical to see a movie treat a girl with this level of appreciation and understanding of her most intimate inner self. Yet it is.

There isn’t an authentic human motivation or emotion to be found here. The bar has been raised too high on comic-book movies for us to accept junk like this.

A lovely film with a compassionate appreciation for how teen girls can often find a sort of comfort in clinging to their woundedness and pain.

Unpleasant characters do things that make no sense in “found footage” clearly edited together from multiple sources. Negligent storytelling at its worst.

Michael Fassbender is never not worth watching, and his unique blend of cynical smarts and weary humor is perfectly suited to this bitterly funny road trip.

There are no cartoon Mean Girls here; instead, we get striking portraits of girls in pain, desperately grasping for coping mechanisms.

Admirable but not very engaging SF drama that either fails to recognize the potential of its central conceit, or else is too afraid to confront it head-on.

I am the prime demographic for this movie, and I found it only sort of inoffensively blah. Chris Pratt: He’s no Jeff Goldblum.

An unlikely duo of films in which folks way beyond their teens fight hauntings injects a bit of the unexpected into a genre now tediously predictable.

“Put Kevin Costner in it and you’ve got a sporty Stand and Deliver. The script writes itself.”