Parental Guidance (review)
A taste of what you’re in for: Completely random “humorous” ethnic stereotyping. Crotch injury as comedic. The questioning of the masculinity of a man who is kind and gentle. Children’s toilet habits held up for ridicule.
A taste of what you’re in for: Completely random “humorous” ethnic stereotyping. Crotch injury as comedic. The questioning of the masculinity of a man who is kind and gentle. Children’s toilet habits held up for ridicule.

Like a midseason episode of a basic-cable detective show you’ve never heard of.

Achingly lovely, so full of bittersweet melancholy and yet so fixedly hopeful…
Fanciful and visually lavish, yet very grounded in human reality.

Public perception and police misconduct take well-deserved raps here, as do larger issues of American injustice…

Quentin Tarantino spins a dark fantasia of the pre-Civil War South that is hilarious, ferocious, shocking, and wise, sometimes all at once.

There’s an alchemy here that brings together the best of screen and the best of stage…
For all the satisfying ironies that are dished up, some of what we’re served is hopelessly naive.
What’s charming and fun here gets a little overwhelmed by too much grossout stuff.
Len Underworld Wiseman’s least hacktackular movie yet, which isn’t to say that it’s quality entertainment, but it is some solid B-grade processed-cheese-product movie junk food.