
Citizenfour documentary review (London Film Festival)
Edward Snowden speaks. Buy a ticket to this film… and use your credit card, so the NSA knows you care about this stuff.

Edward Snowden speaks. Buy a ticket to this film… and use your credit card, so the NSA knows you care about this stuff.

The clunky script and amateurish performances are not unexpected in the faith-based genre, but its dubious “inspiration” gives even diehard-atheist me pause.

There’s nothing forced or sentimental here, and more than a modicum of bleak humor, but as laid-back indies go, this one may be a tad too laid-back.

What starts out as solid romantic melodrama — almost Golden Age of Hollywood stuff — gets so crazy so fast in so many ways.

A celebration of male arrogance that pretends to be a condemnation. Because who wouldn’t love to spend 108 minutes with an insufferable egotistical “genius”?

A particularly ugly iteration of “war is hell”… and I mean that as a compliment. This is a film that is deeply unpleasant and near genius.

Avoids feeling as supremely calculated as it is, perhaps because Robert Downey Jr.’s snark and Robert Duvall’s crusty pragmatism vaccinate against it.

Apparently written by the same people who write the ridiculous quizzes and sex-tip listicles in Cosmo and Men’s Health …

Jason Reitman is way too young to have produced a work of such fuddy-duddy handwringing over These Kids (And Adults) Today and how we play with our e-toys.

Bland and generic beyond the small pleasures of its theme-park-ride-esque thrills and its half-intriguing, half-infuriating mystery.