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Hollywood has lost the ability to buckle swash. Guy Ritchie, shamelessly stealing from Indiana Jones, gives us a charmless treasure hunt that feels honed by corporate focus groups and cinematic SEO.
Writer-director John Krasinski’s absolute desperation to whip up magical whimsy utterly fails. No matter how he tries to force enchantment into existence, this is more fever dream than flight of fancy.
A marvel of a sequel that smartly avoids any attempt to recapture the original, instead expanding its world in every way possible. Brisk, crisp, efficient, and full of masterful sequences of suspense.
An apocalypse unlike any onscreen before. A film often almost unbearably tense, in part because it audaciously reconsiders the role sound plays in eliciting our emotional response.
Michael Bay propagandizes for a right-wing idea of “true America,” seething with disdain for anyone who isn’t a former elite soldier turned mercenary.
Visually ravishing, as you’d expect from Hayao Miyazaki, but there is, disappointingly, no drama and no conflict here.
At every turn, and via a simple narrative that is so effortless it barely feels constructed at all, nothing here is quite what it seems, and everything is even more than what it is.
You will want to see this…
A surprisingly pleasant dramatization of the true story told through the eyes of the TV news reporter who broke the story and the Greenpeace activist who worked tirelessly to embarrass the powers that be into helping free three whales stuck in Alaskan ice…
“The Hamptons are like a zombie movie directed by Ralph Lauren.” –Ethan (John Krasinski)
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