Snow White and the Huntsman (review)
Would really really like for you to feel the grand, sweeping, larger-than-life mythos, and borrows willy-nilly from Peter Jackson and Guillermo Del Toro to try to do so.
Would really really like for you to feel the grand, sweeping, larger-than-life mythos, and borrows willy-nilly from Peter Jackson and Guillermo Del Toro to try to do so.
It’s intended to be delightful, but it feels as long as a pregnancy itself, this roundrobin of forcefully interconnected tales of incipient parenthood.
I kept hoping to get caught up in this untold story of the French Resistance in more than a coolly intellectual way, but that never happened.
A time travel plot can feel like a huge narrative swindle if not handled correctly. But there’s no big do-over button hovering over this tale. Nope: the timey-wimey stuff here is clever, funny, thrilling, even poignant.
If there’s one thing I learned from Julie Delpy’s wonderfully eccentric dramedy, it’s that Parisians are as neurotic as New Yorkers. Who knew?
I’m struggling to find reasons to do more than merely coolly appreciate, from an emotional distance, the disagreeably detached dissection of young girls’ sexuality on offer…
It’s a movie, not the latest first-person shooter, but it might as well be.
A stunning failure, certainly compared to Borat and Bruno. Sacha Baron Cohen is clearly aware of whom the targets of his satiric ire should be, but he couldn’t figure out how to make it work.
Those with a very low tolerance for indie quirk may find their patience tried, but I, who have been mixed on the Duplass Brothers and really hated their last film, kinda couldn’t help being charmed by this one.
Oh, I know, we’re not supposed to bother the beautiful minds of fanboys by pointing out the misogynist subtexts of their gorefests. It’s just a movie, boys will be boys, etc and so on. Well, tough shit…