film criticism by maryann johanson | since 1997
Gentle kook and visual frolicking bury emotion in this tale of a man mired in grief. Little of its head-scratching whimsy makes a melancholy landing; most just floats away on wisps of insignificance.
A sly, penetrating zing and a frisson of Insta-influencer horror — of the oppression of performative perfection against a marzipan backdrop — renders Austen’s fluff and nonsense deadly serious.
Designed to cash in on the popular mobile game, this kiddie noir nevertheless sparkles with charming originality. Gentle enough for tykes but with satirical bite for grownups, too. Downright adorable.
It’s weighed down by unnecessary narration and a surprising lack of conflict. But star Emily Mortimer and director Isabel Coixet create a character study of a rarity onscreen: an earnestly cerebral woman.
Lush sensationalism and Dickensian social justice collide in 1880s London, and if there isn’t quite enough of either, it’s still a slice of satisfying gothic horror.
Delightful dry and snarky satire on wartime propaganda, sharp feminist commentary, and a brilliant cast make this snappy historical dramedy a real corker.
There’s not much of a story, just a chance to spend more time with the gang of classy sexy randy oldsters. And that’s just fine.
One of the rare movies that gets absolutely everything right, bursting with happy-tears emotion about solidarity, friendship, and smashing bigotry.
It’s alive! In a technical sense: images flicker on the screen, etc. But it is a soulless, unholy monstrosity. Behold: the movie without a protagonist!
Arbitrary and inconsistent rules of time travel in aid of creepy romantic manipulation and temporal stalking. But hey, at least it’s got Bill Nighy!
