A deliciously badass style — part 70s grindhouse, part verité pseudo-documentary — and all-in performances are undermined by an exploitive gaze, and a combination of failed caper and failed satire.
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Witty, tense, and thrilling, but also cheerful, escapist, and fun, this is a perfect cinematic cozy mystery, kept on an even keel by the irresistibly charming Anna Kendrick. Merrily absurd pure entertainment.
My reread of Ready Player One, by Ernest Cline — soon to be released as a major motion picture by Steven Spielberg — commenced today on Twitter. (I’ll finish tomorrow.) Here’s how it’s gone down so far.
In the moment of #MeToo and #TimesUp, this tale of the relationship between an older male professor and his young female student is howlingly out of step and outrageously tone deaf. And that’s on top of its tedious clichés.
… and some of it is genuinely creepy.
…and I livetweeted it.
I don’t believe a word of it, but it’s an amazing use of Twitter to tell a gripping story.
A devastating portrait of Syrian citizen journalists, of the sacrifices they make to tell of ISIS occupation, and a cautionary tale for Western culture, too.