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This may be the darkest, the grimmest, the most depressing summer popcorn movie ever. It is not summery. It is not popcorny. The peasants of Gotham are us, we 99 percent huddled in the dark and frantic for a hero we will not find.
The heightened emotions and outrageous urgency of rom-coms are actually appropriate here. All the absurdities that define the genre — not accidentally but deliberately — suddenly work in its favor.
It’s movies like this one that make me despair. Because it is going to make a bazillion bucks at the box office around the world, and there’s absolute nothing here that warrants such success.
I sympathize with the film’s attitudes about the decline of American civilization, and yet I still cannot get behind this tedious soapbox of a movie…
The Amazing Spider-Man? That’s a stretch. More like the Halfhearted Spider-Man. The Just-Sorta-There Spider-Man. The Familiar Spider-Man…
Crosses the line into misogy-wah! territory, and conflates an attack by an alien monster with an attack by mean ol’ bitches on innocent men who didn’t do nothin’ to deserve it.
A workplace bromantic comedy about men from a male POV: the workplace just happens to be a (male) strip club. Rather tame and rather dull, for a movie about guys taking their clothes off. Magic? No.
Almost shocking in how it depicts 15-year-old Alma’s all-consuming confusion, anxiety, and sexual desperation: with the same candid carnality of the horny-boy subgenre…
There simply never seems to be any reason why lovebirds Tom and Violet can’t just get married already. Unless the film is delivering an object lesson to uppity career ladies…
Tales of underdog athletes getting the shameless cinematic rah-rah don’t get more wholly unsurprising than this… and yet it’s wholly winning thanks to its abundance of good cheer, generosity of spirit, and refusal to go too easy on its protagonist.
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