It’s not great. It’s not terrible. It is bland manufactured entertainment product. It’s fine. Hollywood is not creatively bankrupt. Everything is fine.
A missed opportunity to tell what should be a captivating real-life disaster tale that is instead plodding, scattershot, and lacking in dramatic impetus.
Unpleasant, humor free, and contrary to accepted codes of movie morality. And that’s before it shows its hand as a pile of implausible sentimental mush.
Eva Green stalks this movie with pride and honor, and is almost the only thing worth watching amidst frenetic CGI battles and endless ancient carnage.
Avoids the game of the world’s first sports superstar to instead place a lurid focus on his other notorious public exploits…
It’s intended to be delightful, but it feels as long as a pregnancy itself, this roundrobin of forcefully interconnected tales of incipient parenthood.
So tediously familiar that I could barely remember most of it after I left the cinema. I’m exaggerating just a tad, but even if I didn’t remember it, I could have told you what it was about anyway, because it deviates not one whit from the formula that we’ve come to understand is somehow “essential” for “family” movies…
Writing my review of I Love You Phillip Morris made me realize that I had not posted a female gazing for Rodrigo Santoro, which is an omission that could no longer be overlooked…
Bad Santa writers Glenn Ficarra and John Requa graduate to writer-directors here, and give us a warmly human and hugely funny story that’s almost a sendup of both prison melodramas and hetero romantic comedies… yet is also a truly amorous and very satisfying tale about the extremes to which a man will go for love.
People have names like Ryden Malby only in the movies. And we’re only expected to like people like Ryden Malby in the movies… though I don’t see why we should give in to that kind of peer pressure.