Valkyrie (review)
Now, don’t get me wrong: it’s not exactly a Hogan’s Heroes level of diminution, but there’s something honestly comic-book-esque about Valkyrie. I mean that in a good way…
Now, don’t get me wrong: it’s not exactly a Hogan’s Heroes level of diminution, but there’s something honestly comic-book-esque about Valkyrie. I mean that in a good way…
Passionate performances aside, there’s an odd dispassion to this stage-to-screen adaptation of the Pulitzer Prize-winning play of the same name.
Yes! We can take everything that is intriguingly dark and almost sinister about crying-on-the-inside clown Jim Carrey and make it light! and upbeat! and unambiguous!
Some people like ambiguity from their movies. Others, not so much.
He is a mouse. He is tiny — even for a mouse. He is smart and brave. He longs for adventure. He is a gentleman. He is adorable.
When the aliens come, and they want to blow us out of the galaxy for being such a waste of organic chemistry, this movie will be among their evidence against us.
It’s a good thing I just bought the *Wall-E* DVD, because I’m gonna need to watch it at least a dozen times to scrub the horrors of *Delgo* out of my brain.
Surely the concept of ‘family’ is one of the laziest bits of shorthand Hollywood films use as a shortcut for bypassing all the necessary drama that should otherwise be transporting a character from Point A to Point B over the course of a well-told story.
It’s billed as a ‘Hitchcockian thriller,’ but frankly I see nothing either Hitchcockian nor thrilling this same-old Gallic tale…
It opens with archival footage of police raids on gay bars, grainy black-and-white stuff that’s like a grim glimpse into a distant dreadful past, like the 1950s and 60s were another planet, and you think, Geez, people really worried *that much* about who was sleeping with whom?