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The crisp, congenial charms of this intimate exploration of a decades-long working partnership overlay an unsentimental elegy for an era in journalism and publishing that has all but disappeared.
Ostensibly a movie in the same way that a Victorian folly is ostensibly a Japanese temple or a medieval castle. That is: not at all. Like a themed high-school prom from 1994, and an accidental horror.
An entirely entertaining murder-mystery jape; dryly funny, deliciously retro yet decidedly modern. Whenever you think you’ve got it figured out, it trips you up again… and you love it for doing so.
Love and life are pain, the glitz and sparkle of Christmas are but a momentary reprieve from it, and everything is pretty much unrelentingly awful. But Emilia Clarke and Henry Golding are adorable!
A miraculous blend of grief and humor. Big, bold, brash, then sneakily meta. I am only starting to get my head around the emotional and creative right-hook of it. A fitting end (for now) to the MCU.
Alas, Trump and his fans are not tuned in to metaphor. That sort of thing is for experts and intellectuals, who are not to be trusted.
Advice for actors: Never work with children or dragons.
A flimsy treasure-hunt plot, a sexy song-and-dance number, and more of the same Elton John songs deployed with trite, lazy tedium. They mean to keep cranking out these dumb, dull movies, don’t they?
A fake movie busted out into reality! But this not-even would-be jokey riff on Hollywood doesn’t know how to fill the air between car chases and punchups.
A ridiculous, rote action thriller, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t entertaining, crammed with all sorts of macho emoting and spy nonsense as it is.
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