Godard said all you need for a movie is a girl and a gun, but did he ever really consider the cinematic possibilities of a sloth with a sword? The minds behind the horror-comedy Slotherhouse did, and we thank them for it.
As Golda Meir, Helen Mirren gives a showy but shallow impersonation, in a disappointing historical biopic more emotional than illuminating.
My choices for who will win, who should win, and who must not be allowed to win at the 96th Annual Academy Awards.
In which I look back on my preposterous (and predictably failed) attempt to write about every movie that opened this summer.
Denzel Washington eats, prays, loves, maims, mutilates, and murders in Anton Fuqua's The Equalizer 3 (2023), a dumb and dour action thriller that is both unpleasant to watch and bad for the world.
There's a reason so many of these supernatural shows center around teen characters: though no one since has worked the metaphors with the sophistication or wit that "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" did, the intense drama of high school politics, adolescent longing, and burgeoning sexual power lends itself naturally to stories of good-and-evil, magic, and mythical destiny.
"Overly complicated" and "dumb" is a deadly adjectival combination for any show, and Ringer is about as dumb as television gets.
Make no mistake, "The Girl Who Waited" is essential Doctor Who, and its themes echo and ripple throughout the past and future of this entire franchise in dark and troubling ways.
A good director and a great cast can fool you for a while—and there are brief moments when Contagion rises above its mediocre script—but all the talent in the world can't rescue a film that ultimately has no heart, no insight, and no point.
We might recognize "Night Terrors" as something of a filler episode, but I have a feeling that children who watch it from behind their sofas may remember it as an absolute classic: an episode that scared them, and comforted them, and told them exactly what they needed to hear.
"On your knees, Fraulein! This is what happens when you leave the Lord. Tweeeeeeeeeeeet…"
"Let's Kill Hitler" is a little bit clever, and a little bit of a mess, and more than a little unsatisfying.
"Bullock Returns to Camp" is structured around pairings, as individual characters interact with old friends, encounter kindred spirits, and recognize slightly distorted reflections of themselves.
True to its pulp roots, Conan the Barbarian has no pretensions of being anything more than an R-rated movie for pubescent boys who are supposed to be too young to get into R-rated movies. It is, indeed shit, but it's kind of fun shit.
By all the laws of nature, by everything that is holy, by any reasonable assessment of quality of life, Miracle Day should be put to rest. Let's stick a red clothespin on it, throw a blanket over its pathetic carcass, and roll it gently over to the incinerator to be put out of its misery.
This incredibly foul-mouthed, frequently violent, sex- and greed-driven show is one of the most deeply religious programs ever produced for television.
By dropping its monsters down in a South London council estate, and by finding its unlikely heroes in a multi-racial group of teen-age delinquents, Attack the Block achieves something remarkable: it makes what could have been a formulaic, low-budget monster movie feel like a story we've never seen before.
"Dead is dead," and that just about describes my interest and patience. Torchwood: Miracle Day is too stupid to take seriously, and too self-serious to be fun.
Mr. Favreau, Mr. Spielberg: I'm sorry to say it, but the publicity for your movie more or less spoiled my enjoyment of your movie.
Me: "It's pure Joseph Campbell. It's a classic hero's journey."
She: "His journey is that his balls still need to drop."
I have to be honest: I'm losing my patience with this show. There is a limit to the number of programs I can watch every week—let alone write about—and unless things get better quickly, the (slowly evaporating) affection I have for Russell T Davies and the Torchwood brand isn't going to be enough to justify keeping Miracle Day in the rotation much longer.
I went into my midnight showing of Captain America: The First Avenger feeling not just exhausted but over-saturated, and feeling that if I had to endure one more superhero origin story I was going to shove a radioactive spider up my butt and let it munch me into an early, cancer-riddled grave. But then I was shocked to realize it was—for the first hour or so at least—the best superhero movie of the summer.
In the absence of the law, there is just makeshift justice and the hope of grace, manifesting itself through the actions of individual human beings.
I'm starting to worry that Torchwood: Miracle Day might have been far better without the "Torchwood."
It's a challenge to review Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2 on its own merits: not only because it is a continuation of the installment that began in Part 1, but because it is the valedictory lap for the most successful franchise in film history.
Like Torchwood: Children of Earth, Miracle Day has a big, global concept at its center: what if, one day, everyone on Earth simply stopped dying?
Few movies or TV shows capture history as flux in quite the way that Deadwood does. Here, the Old West is disappearing, and "progress" is coming on a daily—even hourly—basis.
"Fire and Blood," the 2011 finale of GAME OF THRONES, gives us a brutal dividing line between the prologue of history and an uncertain future.
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