film criticism by maryann johanson | celebrating 25 years: 1997–2022
This unfunny, unscary mess is a series of missed opportunities that has no idea what to do with its attempted class-warfare satire. It’s cheap but not even cheesy: that would require some passion, which is completely lacking.
A descent into the muddy trenches of World War I that is intimate and immediate, melancholy and profoundly moving. An experience as visceral as it is intellectual.
Relentlessly dull. A tour of a strange world and “characters” little more than their “peculiar” abilities isn’t enough to whip up fantastical excitement.
An achingly perfect evocation of New York’s East Village in the 1980s and an amazing cast cannot make this tale of adolescent anxiety catch fire.
An honest, heartfelt film, full of lovely performances, yet one that ends up rather unexpectedly conventional.
LFF is a veritable orgy of cinema, and I love it. It’s exhausting, but I love it.
My soul was never stirred. My spirit did not soar. My intellect did twitch a bit in ways that made my heart ache disagreeably, however.
Martin Scorsese made a 3D kids’ movie that’s about movies. That’s about the love of movies. And it’s steampunky and rollicking and features a cool girl character, too. How is it possible that I won’t love this movie?
There is a sorry tradition among children’s movies of late that dictates that bratty kids are adorable…
How’s this for a rude childhood awakening? You discover that your father, whom you adore and worship, is actually an evil Nazi stooge.
