Monumental. Villeneuve tells a familiar story with uncommon elegance and pensiveness, even dreaminess, on a breathtaking scale. A stunningly gorgeous, supremely dignified movie about ugly things.
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.
Plays with its let’s-clone-a-Neanderthal plot like it has no idea of the horrors involved and no appreciation of the ethical questions it raises. (Paging Ian Malcolm!) A tremendous missed opportunity.
This is the death of the comic-book movie. Or it should be. The savage, inhumane nihilism here says, Yup, comics haters are right: this is dangerous nonsense with no morality or redeeming qualities.
Ten years of Marvel superheroism culminates in a battle for the universe itself. Exhausting, bitterly humorous, and gripped in a stunning finality, it’s almost too much to take in, yet somehow not enough.
Familiar in its overall storytelling arcs about risktaking and redemption, but also a sincere tribute to our new firefighting heroes for a warmer planet.
Full of the Coen Brothers’ usual exuberant joie de cinema, and a helluva lot of fun, but too scattershot to ever settle on saying the things it has to say.
The “War on Drugs” has never felt more like an actual war in this brutal, scathing condemnation of the lawlessness of the battle… on the “good guys” side.
A spectacular, heart-stopping adventure that has you catching your breath and gasping in shock. See it in IMAX 3D for an enrapturing you-are-there feeling.
An unnecessary sequel that’s empty and arduous, little more than vignettes on vengeance and cruel parades of sociopathic power.