
He Named Me Malala documentary review: teach your children well
A charming film — Yousafzai is as endearing and funny as she is ambitious and brave — but also one with a vital message: how we raise kids matters.

A charming film — Yousafzai is as endearing and funny as she is ambitious and brave — but also one with a vital message: how we raise kids matters.

One of the most sexist movies I’ve ever seen. Male juvenile fantasy at its most tired, its most obvious, its most banal, and its most infuriating.

A fascinating look at the pitfalls of modern journalism, and a compelling portrait of a journalist who paid a high price for letting them trip her up.

A celebration of male obnoxiousness that goes warm and fuzzy over its temperamental manchild as he finally learns to impersonate a decent human being. What?

The best of the bunch in this anthology of vaguely interconnected shorts are the outrageous and uproarious genre pastiches “Friday the 31st” and “Bad Seed.”

The demonic-possession subgenre isn’t exactly one crammed with quality cinematic experiences, but it hits a dull, unscary new low with this inept flick.

Call this a revisionist feminist postapocalyptic historical western home-invasion horror drama. But even that doesn’t quite do it justice.

After a truly spectacular and fresh opening sequence, everyone might as well be enacting a Bond puppet show, which is sometimes unpleasantly retro-icky.

An earnest and passionate film, based on a true story that is enraging yet inspiring, that is essential viewing for anyone concerned with women’s rights.

A creepy-cool vibe of constructed cinematic artificiality echoes the illusory nature of Stanley Milgram’s notorious experiment into human behavior.