film criticism by maryann johanson | handcrafted since 1997
Do you find Channing Tatum dance-grinding appealing? There’s not much of that here. There’s just the tedious grinding of dragging out yet another sequel in the face of diminishing franchise returns.
Wounded veterans in reluctant-buddy road trip. Allegedly a comedy, but I don’t see much evidence for that. The schmaltz may be slightly more convincing than the comedy, but it’s a low bar to get over.
Save us from male artists who think they are dangerously, uniquely innovative. This stew of toxic masculinity and CGI-cartoon violence is nothing but tediously mundane.
Fun enough and diverting enough while you’re in the middle of it, but hints of something much richer and more satisfying dangle just out of its reach.
Full of the Coen Brothers’ usual exuberant joie de cinema, and a helluva lot of fun, but too scattershot to ever settle on saying the things it has to say.
A cringe-worthy jamboree of dimbulb manflesh that’s even more embarrassing than the first film. If you want a picture of the future, imagine Channing Tatum grinding his crotch in a human face, forever.
A pensive and unsettling film that defies genre description and keeps you wondering just what the heck sort of film you’re watching.
Sees no need to engage metaphor or dispense with cliché, so when you haven’t seen it before, you can’t believe what you’re seeing. And not in a good way.
The animation is fresh, unique, and gorgeous. But we don’t need another tale of a man having exciting adventures while a woman waits around to marry him.
LFF is a veritable orgy of cinema, and I love it. It’s exhausting, but I love it.
