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An opulent, juicy, splendidly silly, tears-of-joy spectacle reminiscent of the escapist fluff of 1930s Hollywood… yet also a romantic fantasy that a progressive, feminist gal can actually feel good about.
My Fifty Shades of Grey fantasy: Anastasia Steele gets a restraining order against Christian Grey, writes a tell-all book about him, and becomes a #MeToo/#TimesUp heroine. Mmm, sexy.
A sweet, romantic story about the polyamorous triad that created a beloved superhero… and about the power of comic books to speak to our inner lives.
Derivative, rote, devoid of heart and hope. Guy Ritchie has found no reason to retell Arthur’s story, or to render a mythic hero as a self-serving thug.
Thank god this insult of a movie doesn’t try to fool us into believing that the controlling Christian Grey is appealing. That would be even more horrific…
Should be grim, bitter, and as horrifyingly alluring as Hannibal Lecter. But it’s nothing but a teen-friendly ad for toys, Ts, and other disposable merch.
Now updated with all the winners…
The numbers are almost identical to the U.S. situation, which isn’t terribly surprising: the movies are mostly the same. [This post is not behind the paywall.]
Women make up 50 percent of the moviegoing public, but telling stories about women continues to not be a primary concern for Hollywood. [This post is not behind the paywall.]
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.
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