Wrath of the Titans (review)
And now we learn the secret of that dreadful Clash of the Titans movie from a coupla years back. Its incoherence? Its soullessness? All by design.
And now we learn the secret of that dreadful Clash of the Titans movie from a coupla years back. Its incoherence? Its soullessness? All by design.
Every once in a while, just as I’m about to succumb to Hollywood-stoked despair and ennui, a movie like The Hunger Games comes along to rescue me…
It’s The Diary of Anne Frank, only with sewers. Elegantly presented, chock full of moments of dreadful suspense in a horrible milieu, and buoyed by strikingly naturalistic performances…
American filmmaker Joshua Marston’s anthropological storytelling presents characters and cultures alien to his audiences’ eyes in ways that render them instantly and easily recognizable and sympathetic…
It’s a good thing Mark Wahlberg is so effortlessly charming: he keeps this rather generic heist thriller rolling along as smoothly as it does.
Fueled almost entirely by an appreciation of its own ridiculousness, balancing absurdity with smart truths and walking a fine tonal line to make us care about characters barely more than cartoons.
There is too much awesome in this fantastic (and fantastical) premise for a proper geek girl such as myself to be properly rational about her anticipation. I know I expected too much. But, you know, the movie, it sort of promised a lot.
Classic tragic story — this is Tess of the d’Urbervilles set in contemporary India — is still classic, tragic when moved to the modern world…
Welcome to the costume-drama equivalent of Project X, celebrating misogyny and male sociopathy as just the way things are, and what else can ya expect from the world?
This dreary Disneyfied inconsequence features all the bigotries of century-old pulp fiction and none of the romance, neither the sexual nor the adventurous kind…