
Begin Again movie review: up tempo
A hugely satisfying ode to entrepreneurial creativity, and a glorious love letter to New York City and the art it inspires. I love this movie so much.

A hugely satisfying ode to entrepreneurial creativity, and a glorious love letter to New York City and the art it inspires. I love this movie so much.

It’s not as raunchy as the title suggests, but Paul Rudd and Amy Poehler pull off a hilarious sendup of every rom-com cliché with only a few (easily forgivable) missteps. I laughed a lot.

We need an equivalent term to “Uncle Tom” for a woman — in this case, screenwriter Melissa Stack — who participates in Hollywood’s systematic hatred of women.

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a film that looks more like the filmmaker’s midlife-crisis wish-fulfillment fantasy than this one.

Suffers badly by comparison with the cogent, witty Avengers flicks. This feels like a campy Saturday-morning cartoon left over from the 1970s.

It’s almost a little too precious to be taken as an honest exploration artistically genuine lives. Or else that’s where it finds a lost romance.

Offers nothing by way of suspense, intrigue, or characters who rise even a little bit above the yawningly bland.

A sly, subversive portrait of an artist finally finding her voice… and the “genius” husband in whose shadow she has long lingered.

A leaden, charmless movie that is unable to commit to its own fantasy. So implausible that even Colin Farrell’s own Irish accent sounds fake.

This is like the Mirror Universe, evil-goatee-wearing flip side of Don Jon, a pile of obnoxious, grossout junk.