
Gold movie review: dust in the wind
In a dry, dusty, desperate landscape, Zac Efron goes full grunge, effectively underplaying physical and psychological implosion. But there’s nothing unexpected in this brutal open-air chamber piece.
In a dry, dusty, desperate landscape, Zac Efron goes full grunge, effectively underplaying physical and psychological implosion. But there’s nothing unexpected in this brutal open-air chamber piece.
A spectacularly scattershot, pandering mess of pulp junk, cheap-looking animation, and poisonous gender dynamics. A charmless cash-grab that can’t be bothered with the slightest stab at originality.
A beach-slap to anyone with a brain. Embodies everything that is wrong with Hollywood today. It is proudly dumb. It is proudly sexist. It is proudly pointless.
A sweetly silly trounce of the idea that overgrown frat boys are charming. Shakes up the subgenre in a way remarkably, if perhaps accidentally, feminist.
Teenaged girls behaving badly, depicted with a positive vibe. Progress? Turns out grossout movies don’t work even when they’re kind of feminist.
Not so much a movie as an advertisement for a soft drink or tampons or sneakers or a cell phone for fresh! active! fun! young! people.
A mess not by accident but by design. It’s meant to be a ton of stuff thrown against the wall in the hope that some of it will momentarily distract you into involuntary laughter.
This is like the Mirror Universe, evil-goatee-wearing flip side of Don Jon, a pile of obnoxious, grossout junk.
This poignant and painful ensemble drama about the lesser-known figures caught up in the JFK assassination reminds us that history happens to regular people, too.
Actual unretouched phrases that people plugged into search engines this week that led them to this site (with some commentary from me)…