This is “content” at its most nakedly bankrupt.
Scott McGehee and David Siegel’s film doesn’t work particularly well as melodrama.
The games’ sense of mythos and purpose is absent from Spirits Within.
It settles for behaving like your average hetero romantic comedy instead of striving to be less boring and sitcomish than them.
The film is less gaga musical than it is a liberating rejoinder to personal shame.
Robert Luketic thinks broader and gaudier than Alexander Payne and Wes Anderson.
The quality of Scary Movie 2 can only be measured by the ratio between what jokes work and what jokes don’t.
Kiss of the Dragon is a hardcore celebration of one grieving hooker and the power of Jet Li’s kick.
Nicholas Ray’s remarkable film represents the purest of existentialist primers.
Portrait of Jennie is a haunting evocation of one man’s pained artistic process.
Steven Spielberg’s A.I. Artificial Intelligence is a strange mess, less a film than eight or nine of them.
Okay, so Angelina Jolie was born to play Lara Croft.
It would be impossible to discuss Baise-moi without mentioning Abel Ferrara.
Both aimless and painfully self-aware, the film is an extended actor’s studio exercise.
Sometimes a fart joke is just a fart joke and sometimes a fart joke manages to transcend its mediocrity.
Swordfish is frenzied Hollywood glamorization at its most amoral.
Despite the old-school look, Atlantis feels unpolished, both gawky and colorless.
If this is America, then Norman Rockwell is turning in his grave.
Despite some remarkable musical pastiches and riveting set pieces, this postmodern wank-job doesn’t have much of a heart.
Luis Mandoki’s Angel Eyes could pass for a lost M. Night Shyamalan film.
Is it possible for a production company to crank out a cartoon fable without having it whitewashed with Disney’s fairy-tale idiom?