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The genre always assumes we’ll sympathize with ugly, soulless, personality-free women doing terrible things to the people they supposedly care about in the pursuit of a wedding, because what is more important than landing Mr. Right, right? But even grading on that rom-com curve, this is a disgusting movie.
I can’t help but recall Eddie Murphy’s standup bit in which he suggested — this is decades ago now — that when a scary voice in your haunted house tells you to “Gettttt outtttt!” the best thing to do is leave…
As cornball goes, there’s nothing cornier than running away to join the circus. And that’s why Water for Elephants works so beautifully: It doesn’t pretend to be anything other than an old-fashioned melodrama yarn-spun for as much emotion and tragedy and romance as possible.
Joe Wright makes sure his story looks great — and sounds great, with its aurally spectacular Chemical Brothers score — but it’s an empty experience, a Frankenstein story with no heft, indeed with little apparent awareness of the classic tale it is evolved from.
I knew it! I knew Kenneth Branagh was a geek. Oh, sure, he got famous for all that snooty Shakespeare stuff, but deep down, he’s mad for comic books and superheroes and all that pulp-fiction stuff. He’s a dork.
What could possibly be offensive about artist-filmmaker Julian Schnabel taking on an underdog tale and imbuing it with his usual warm, empathetic, humanist touch? Ah, here is Schnabel’s mistake: his story is about a Palestinian girl, and he fails to give equal time to the Israeli side of the story, an unforgivable transgression in the eyes of many. That said…
It must have been a fine time, back in the early 80s, when Ronald Reagan was only just embarking on his diabolical plan to kill the American middle class: we could still find carefree, spoiled-rotten billionaires kooky and captivating…
I’ve gotten behind most of the Fast & Furious movies because they’ve been packed with thrillingly staged action and peopled with protagonists who walk that bad-boy line cagily enough to make rooting for them a guilty pleasure, but a pleasure nonetheless. But something is off in Fast Five. There’s something deeply unpleasant about this latest flick that prevented me from enjoying all the stuff blowing up real good.
You wanna know who the killer is? I’ll tell you who the killer is. In fact, there’s two killers: that’s the twist. Director Wes Craven and screenwriter Kevin Williamson worked in tandem here to murder the horror comedy… or at least their own franchise. Not that it wasn’t dead already.
A tire develops sentience. And independent mobility. Be afraid. Because it can also kill you with its mind. Yes, it has a mind. And it enjoys killing you with its mind. Be also amused, in a deeply weird, weirdly deep sort of way…
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