The deep, honest emotion undercutting the performative toxic masculinity of these young men is beyond charming and vitally essential, but the melodramatic randomness of the plot ultimately lost me.
Accidental hilarity turns ugly in this baffling exercise in genre-hopping that thinks it justifies its Hollywood-typical adolescent-boy attitudes about women, sex, violence, and morality. It does not.
The cinematic equivalent of Trump and Brexit as awfulness brought upon ourselves. Incoherent and cheap-looking. There are no heroes, and everything is broken.
There is joy and wonder in this marvelous mounting of a human mind, and a thrilling audacity in how it dares at such a strange and impossible thing.
A slow burn mystery in which the secrets aren’t so much about the crimes it explores but truths of women’s emotional lives that are too often ignored.
Towers with ambition, swelled by sweeping philosophies about power and presence on scales both planetary and personal, beautifully balanced by a wellspring of wry tragedy.
In Secretariat, a true story of the fastest horse ever to win the Triple Crown, his owner (Diane Lane) takes huge business risks to promote and race the animal in a time — the 1970s — when women making multimillion-dollar deals was not the done thing. This flick sprang from (among other films)…
It starts out all sad music at momma’s funeral and we gots to sell the horse farm, but dang if nobody can keep Diane Lane down.
Nice horsie. Pretty horsie. Fast horsie.
In *Eat Pray Love,* Julia Roberts’s newly divorced writer travels to Rome, India, and Bali in order to figure out who she is and what she wants from life, and creating her own family of friends along the way. This flick sprang from (among other films)…