I Don’t Know How She Does It (review)
It’s pretty fucking clear how Sarah Jessica Parker’s Kate Reddy does it. How she manages to juggle a high-powered career, two demanding moppets, and a marriage: She’s got a buttload of dough.
It’s pretty fucking clear how Sarah Jessica Parker’s Kate Reddy does it. How she manages to juggle a high-powered career, two demanding moppets, and a marriage: She’s got a buttload of dough.
It’s entirely possible that nothing that happens after the first twenty minutes or so is taking place anywhere outside the protagonist’s head. But that’s not a really satisfying out for what is an equally intriguing and frustrating cinematic experience…
Let me get this straight: we’re supposed to cheer on a spoiled, overprivileged private-school brat when he gets coddled and overindulged yet again?
There’s tons of delicious suspense of the horror-flick variety to be had in writer-director André Øvredal’s mockumentary, and plenty of Spielbergian shock-awe, but what makes it one of the most satisfying examples of found-footage flicks yet is its observational, journalistic ethos.
Colombiana fofana, Zoe Saldana banana. C’mon, sing it with me! C’mon! It makes more sense than the movie, and it’s more entertaining to boot.
Apollo 18 is not scary. It’s not intense. It’s not surprising. It’s supposed to be all these things and fails completely.

It’s a rare thing, but sometimes digging up the past and giving it another spin is a good thing.
I love Martin Freeman, I really do, but what the hell is this shit?
Born on a battlefield! Blood blood blood! Bone crunching! Burn burn burn! In 3D!
There’s a lot of would-be wrenching stuff that One Day tries to pull that it doesn’t earn.