Joyful and rowdy, self-deprecating and vulnerable, absolutely electrifying as it deconstructs the sex-drugs-and-rock’n’-roll story. Taron Egerton is chills-inducingly good. Sheer cinematic magic.
Save us from male artists who think they are dangerously, uniquely innovative. This stew of toxic masculinity and CGI-cartoon violence is nothing but tediously mundane.
Yet another celebration of an overconfident mediocre white man as charming, heroic, and worthy of emulation. It’s inspirational!
Callous, crass, unpleasantly smug. Supposes it’s being edgy because its protagonist swears a lot, but it’s like a child saying bad words just to be naughty.
No matter how smart, competent, or ambitious a woman is, her place is in support of a man, or — preferably — as a sexual reward for a job well done. [This post is not behind the paywall.]
I cannot recall a film that left me with such a sour taste in my mouth by its end. Does the movie deliberately defy itself with obnoxious intent?