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‘I wanna kill myself,’ Craig tells the triage nurse. ‘Fill this out,’ she tells him boredly, handing him some paperwork. Yet the film steadfastly refuses to go anywhere near cultural criticism of how we now turn ordinary frustrations and disappointments into medical diagnoses…
I’ve come to realize recently that there’s something more chilling, more eerie than a fictional dystopian world: a fictional dystopian world in which no one understands they’re living in a dystopia.
If the grownup fimmakers have learned to move past the adolescent notion that girls and women are either virgins or whores and nothing in between, they nobly step aside to let Zack and Matt’s ideas about the male ownership of women — and the sullying of women that thereby occurs — dictate the course of the film.
The secret is out: Hollywood knows how to make movies about authentic female human beings. It just chooses not to do so 97 percent of the time.
Everything that is wrong with The Movies today in America is beautifully encapsulated in how this lovely little movie cannot find an audience in the current movie environment.
It’s absolutely worth seeing… if only for the intriguing debate to be had afterward, if it wouldn’t be an even stronger film were the last five minutes or so to be chopped off.
I can’t say there are lots of reasons to love Step Up 3D, but there are good reasons not to hate it.
At the behest of several readers who appear to believe they know my taste better than I know it, and also in an attempt to figure out just what the hell M. Night Shyamalan was thinking with his The Last Airbender, I watched the entire first season of Nickelodeon’s pseudo-anime series Avatar: The Last Airbender.
Oh, America. Keep your little girls away from *Ramona and Beezus.* For your little girls might get ideas into their heads. You know, dangerous ideas about using their imaginations. And about not giving in to bullies or the pressure to be predictable and conventional. And about the value and fun of being their own funky, original selves.
Lo and behold and WTF, here’s adorkable Jay Baruchel getting molested by dancing mops as the literal replication of a 70-year-old cartoon forces its way into a movie where it clashes tonally, interrupts the plot, and just plain makes no sense.
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