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Oh, glorious steampunk! Oh, glorious Victoriana! Oh, for a time when men were men (and not little boys) and industry meant hard work (and not corporate malfeasance) and optimism (and not despair) ruled the day. When the future was so bright, you hadda wear shades.
It’s like if Samwise Gamgee wrote fan fiction about Greek mythology, and then Vogue magazine’s most outré photographers did a huge photo spread based on that…
An elegantly creepy tale of a haunting that, wonder of wonders, one may approach equally well from the perspective of total supernatural belief or entrenched skepticism…
Gerard Butler gets Jesus. But not — this is my favorite thing about this movie — in an obnoxious way.
It is leaden where it should be light. It is graceless and charmless. It reels from the painful banter. It is the epitome of empty soulless corporate filmmaking.
Why does no one ever intone at me and tell me to go to Budapest and wear polyester and smoke cigarettes and get all espionagey, dammit?
Jokiness and hokeyness have been genetically engineered away, leaving something pure and sweet and poignant, a throwback to late-60s/early-70s humanist science fiction. More Charly than Heston.
It’s now a tossup whether the best comic-book superhero movie of 2011 is X-Men: First Class or Captain America: First Avenger… But I’m leaning toward Captain America.
Garbus’s portrait of Bobby Fischer as a lonely child and a monomanical young chess player becomes a portrait of his times as well…
This is simply a great flick: powerfully emotional, profoundly resonant, scary and funny and intense and wholly enrapturing.
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