
Infinite movie review: whoa no
Knee-jerk clichés abound in a shameless retread of The Matrix in which many levels of storytelling ineptitude are the only depth on offer. Can Hollywood please stop reincarnating the same old movies?
film criticism by maryann johanson | handcrafted since 1997
Knee-jerk clichés abound in a shameless retread of The Matrix in which many levels of storytelling ineptitude are the only depth on offer. Can Hollywood please stop reincarnating the same old movies?
This pleasantly silly-sad apocalypse, melancholy with a dash of optimism, smashes clichés and finds fresh angles on the familiar. Dylan O’Brien has a self-deprecating charm; there’s a great dog, too.
Nostalgic without being mindlessly retro; a sweet, heartfelt girl-and-her-alien-robot-car action-adventure buddy dramedy that hits all the right notes. Hailee Steinfeld is terrific, and there’s not a whiff of Michael Bay to be found.
The Auto-Tuned boy-band version of the apocalypse. You will forgive that every plot point that isn’t a cliché is in fact a plot hole because the hero is so dreamy and impossibly perfect, right?
It’s tormented hotheads all around with a hero and villain who are almost indistinguishable and same-old spy stuff racing to a seen-it, been-there ticking-clock finale.
The only slightly original element of the first film — the Maze — is gone, and now we’re in not simply a generic afterscape but every sci-fi afterscape.
Bland and generic beyond the small pleasures of its theme-park-ride-esque thrills and its half-intriguing, half-infuriating mystery.