
classic film virgin: Top Gun (1986)
Cold War propaganda that is weirdly apolitical. Sunny, breezy homoeroticism that is surely unintentional. What a hoot this is! Mostly not in a good way, but its impact on pop culture cannot be denied.

Cold War propaganda that is weirdly apolitical. Sunny, breezy homoeroticism that is surely unintentional. What a hoot this is! Mostly not in a good way, but its impact on pop culture cannot be denied.

Dismantles myths about motherhood and misconceptions about child-free women with brisk, cheeky humor and intersectionality, and begins to build the cultural scripts we need for paths without kids.

An intense, intimate tale of historical illegal abortion, with a central performance of focused terror; a harrowing body horror that looms again. I cannot overstate the absolute urgency of this film.

Steady your heart palpitations: it’s the same old era for the nicest feudal hangover. The delusional reactionary fantasy of wealth and privilege for some, cheerful servitude for others remains intact.

Stiflingly literal mounting of the classic feminist tale. Flat and stilted, with no cultural context and no visceral insight into its protagonist’s plight, and emptiness where there should be empathy.

Amusing but instantly forgettable, fueled by a self-congratulatory smugness and self-reference. The best bits are the sincere stuff: a scene-stealing Pedro Pascal and a sweetly vulnerable Nic(k) Cage.

Lovely, gentle look at an artwork honoring the marginalized. A compassionate challenge to cultural assumptions, including those that decenter the poor and insist that art is a luxury, not a necessity.

Spectacularly entertaining. As gripping, as suspenseful as a finely wrought fictional thriller; a sheer delight as a portrait of the man himself. Films don’t get much more daring or crucial than this.

A snappy, snarky, never-ever sentimental concoction of cartoon chaos meets hip heist flick. Its breezy swagger extends to the delightful animation, organic and mellow, hot and cool at the same time.

A screaming deluge of metal and rubber devoid of drama, suspense, and elegance. Instead it’s random vehicular chaos enacted with the same energy of a four-year-old smashing his toys into one another.