12 Rounds (review)
This ain’t the real *12 Rounds.* Not the actual movie. It’s more like a storyboard. Or an animatic. That’s it. Just to give you an idea of what the real movie’s gonna look like. Man, you’re gonna love it, I swear.
This ain’t the real *12 Rounds.* Not the actual movie. It’s more like a storyboard. Or an animatic. That’s it. Just to give you an idea of what the real movie’s gonna look like. Man, you’re gonna love it, I swear.
It’s almost impossible not to be sympathetic to any character Virginia Madsen (The Number 23) plays, she’s so irresistibly likeable a screen presence, but that gets tried sorely in this rote haunted-house flick, which telegraphs its obvious scares, even the ones it has shamelessly stolen from far superior scary movies. The year is 1987, and … more…
Charming and tender and wisely funny…
The nicest monster movie ever…
This brutally stupid superhero sendup consistently mistakes wholesale theft for creative cleverness.
Imagine that the nitwits who wrote those preposterous *Left Behind* apocalyptic end-times fantasies decided to try their pens at something *X-Files*-y…
The male contingent of the moviegoing crowd that has been waiting for the film that tries to push and prod guys to conform to a narrow, cardboard stereotype of modern masculinity in the same way that Hollywood has been trying to mold women into materialistic Barbie dolls in recent years will delight in *I Love You, Man.*

It’s not that I don’t like fluff: it’s that I don’t like dumb fluff. And yet clever fluff is so very rare. So of course I cheer a hearty “Hoorah!” for Duplicity.
Kitsch is cool in this sad, sweet, funny ode to being oneself, no matter how dorky oneself is.
I have such a huge girl crush on Amy Adams, it’s crazy.