I, Anna (review)
A gloss of edgy noirish elegance cannot disguise the fact that this is yet one more tiresome example of the thriller subgenre that posits that the most interesting thing that a woman can be is out of her mind.
A gloss of edgy noirish elegance cannot disguise the fact that this is yet one more tiresome example of the thriller subgenre that posits that the most interesting thing that a woman can be is out of her mind.

I love it when a film that is “supposed” to be all stuffy and classic turns out to be this electric and alive…

What we witness here is the destruction of the old Bond mystique, and the creation of a new one. This is the sneaky cleverness of the film: it is, at last, going to tell us why Bond still matters.

Lends a fresh depth of honesty and intimacy to a story that feels familiar on the surface but has rarely been plumbed with such insight or candor.
Breezy, witty, gently naughty. Hello, steampunk orgasm!
A subtle and striking globehopping ensemble drama of human interactions shaped by sex and love, honesty and deception, allure and retreat.
Tales of underdog athletes getting the shameless cinematic rah-rah don’t get more wholly unsurprising than this… and yet it’s wholly winning thanks to its abundance of good cheer, generosity of spirit, and refusal to go too easy on its protagonist.
What we see here, it seems to me, is a blockbuster made more for a global audience than a solely U.S. one…
Alas that Intruders doesn’t seem to understand that movie monsters need something more primally urgent about them than it has bothered to attach to its Hollowface.
There are a lot of ways in which this was 90 brilliant minutes of television drama, but the first way in which it’s brilliant is the opening moments…