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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.
Ugly, garish, anachronistic like a small mean child playing with matches, and completely lacking in anything Robin Hood–y: there’s no fun, no romance, no virtue. Instead? Bizarre “aesthetics” and even worse politics.
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.
Smart, sweet, gently funny, with a wonderfully exuberant voice performance by Matthew McConaughey that hints at fresh new realms animated movies can reach.
Yet another celebration of an overconfident mediocre white man as charming, heroic, and worthy of emulation. It’s inspirational!
A compassionate, distressing tale of a woman’s determination to find her own purpose, full of heartbreaking moments that pile up until they’re unbearable.
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?
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