
X-Men: Apocalypse movie review: everyone knows the third movie is always the worst
About precisely nothing other than pure pulp comic-book soap-opera rigmarole, overshadowed by clichés, implausibilities, and missed opportunities.

About precisely nothing other than pure pulp comic-book soap-opera rigmarole, overshadowed by clichés, implausibilities, and missed opportunities.

What the heck is this? Some sort of meninist political statement attempting to vindicate male anger? In a kids’ movie? Maybe men shouldn’t make movies…

A chillingly crafted portrait of quiet menacing uncertainty. Balefully replicates the precariousness of not being able to trust one’s own instincts.

Strikingly original, a truly rare pleasure in a cinematic environment clogged with cookie-cutter films. Jason Bateman and Nicole Kidman are splendid.

Pro tip, ladies: A pregnancy test that comes up positive might just mean you are incubating some exotic fish-bug nasties. Ask your doctor!

Teenaged girls behaving badly, depicted with a positive vibe. Progress? Turns out grossout movies don’t work even when they’re kind of feminist.

When FFJ sticks to farce, it works wonderfully, like something P.G. Wodehouse might have loved. But the longer it goes on, the more maudlin it gets.

It’s the end of the world. Finally, a legitimate reason for a man to experience emotion. We’ve seen this all before… except not quite so ridiculous.

Invoking fascinating conspiracy theories surrounding Nikola Tesla only to turn them into a macguffin, this neonoir detective flick ultimately disappoints.

Yet another installment in the long-running series Dead Women Make Men Feel Things. Seething with unspoken emotions, all of which are elusive and abstruse.