My Life in Ruins (aka Driving Aphrodite) (review)
A steaming pile of stereotypes and sitcomery, a pathetic excuse for a comedy, a romance, and a movie.
A steaming pile of stereotypes and sitcomery, a pathetic excuse for a comedy, a romance, and a movie.
A cynical attempt to mine some cash from one of the few remnants of Generation X’s collective childhood that has yet to be picked over for the sake of nostalgia and some ready cash.
*The Hangover* thinks it’s edgy and envelope-pushing, but there’s nothing terribly risque or dangerous about it…
Ah, more such classy horror flicks, please!
How did the Pixar folks time it just right to get this cheerful and fantastical yet never unrealistically optimistic movie before our eyes just as we are getting desperate for a movie to hug us reassuringly?

I’ve been a fan of Raimi’s forever, since long before he shot to fame with his big-budget *Spider-Man* flicks….
A morass of Three Stooges-level slapstick and juvenile-style playground taunting…
It’s a bleak future for humanity. Or, you know, not.
A deliciously clever, convention-busting flick with more soul than you’d expect…
There’s nothing wrong with fantasy. Movies are fantasies. But I’m so tired of male fantasies constantly being catered to while female fantasies are all but ignored.