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?
A contemplative film pondering the nature of the difference between reality and fiction, one with resonance beyond the true-crime story it’s kinda sorta about.
Based on a novel by John le Carré, and just debuted at Sundance.
Might be interesting if it had enough passion and guts to take a stand, but ends up in the mushy middle of the road, which surely sprang from a desire to be “fair” and “balanced.”
A thoroughly magnificent film on every level, with astonishing performances by Chris Hemsworth and Daniel Brühl; one of the very best films of 2013.
Stuff my followers on Facebook, Twitter, and Google+ saw today…
Alas that Intruders doesn’t seem to understand that movie monsters need something more primally urgent about them than it has bothered to attach to its Hollowface.
Only Quentin Tarantino — cinema’s bad boy, the film geek who’s film-geekier than thou — would have the balls to state, as *Inglourious Basterds* comes to a close, that this could well be his masterpiece.
Dramatizes a bizarre moment in time with a straightforward aplomb that is devastating, that makes you wish you could laugh at the insanity and pointlessness of it but refuses all emotional response except overwhelming rage and grief.