
Cinderella movie review: fifty shades of ash
A product of the Disney princess machine. Its highest ambition is to move a new line of toys. Or to evoke despair in the fairy-tale-ization of girls’ lives.

A product of the Disney princess machine. Its highest ambition is to move a new line of toys. Or to evoke despair in the fairy-tale-ization of girls’ lives.

An extraordinarily personal story about prostitution, one with a gentle but undeniable humanist force for hopeful understanding.

A passionate and intense drama — fueled by a fierce Jeremy Renner — that furiously underscores the problem of lickspittle corporate “journalism.”

Apparently made by snickering 12-year-olds who like naked boobies and have heard rumors about the phenomenon known as “the business trip.”

A morally muddled mess that is convoluted in plot and appallingly simplistic in its themes. I am a sad geek today.

A beautiful film, and a mysterious one. I don’t quite know what to make of it, but I have been seduced by its evasive intrigue.

Indie science fiction with a rare humanism, a scientific and emotional mystery with a solution Hollywood wouldn’t dare go anywhere near.

Smart and passionate, this is one of the ultimate Hollywood fantasies: an adult romance performed by gorgeous actors with palpable onscreen chemistry.

There are things in which horny teenaged boys were not meant to meddle. Like we needed the warning.

Quite possibly an alien torture device designed to turn our brains to mush. *sob*