too bad Bane died like a pussy
Jennifer Lawrence's performance was quite convincing, and given the mediocrity of the book, this film soars, cuts through the flack and becomes something beautiful. One of my favorite films I've seen all year.
Okay, so it feels painfully indie. I still thought the performances were excellent, the soundtrack well-thought and the script was genuine and funny. I'll definitely be watching this one again.
This film just makes me happy.
Damn, this movie is long.
Although the narrative comes off as disjointed at a few points, the film is as cool and charming as its title character. While it does a good job of invoking white trailer trash, the film's real selling point is McConaughy, and the film's shocking climax will likely echo in viewers' memories long after its conclusion.
I forgot cinema could make me feel this way. Wow. What a beautiful, nourishing film.
Meta, zany, at times mind-numbingly philosophical. This film is utterly unwatchable, yet I want all my friends to see it. The 105 minutes I spent unpacking this film are 105 minutes I would happily revisit.
Perfectly captures the downward spiral of its disturbed protagonist. An excellent--if unsettling--tale I'm definitely going to revisit.
This isn't so much a superhero film as much as it is a portrait of anarchy--a bit on the nose given Occupy Wall Street. Hathaway's Catwoman is on, and Hardy's Bane is pitch-perfect. I couldn't picture a better finish to Nolan's trilogy, or a better send-off for the masked avenger. Well-worth the time you'll spend watching it, even if it is (perhaps) unnecessarily grim and traumatic.
When French absurdism crosses sci-fi, brilliance can be born. Not the case with this film, sadly, which is besotted with poor acting, awkward editing, an almost slapstick direction and whatever Milla Jovovich is wearing at any given moment. The world Besson conjures is, at times, utterly inspired, but whatever sheen his ideas might've had is obscured by the murky script and the paint-by-numbers plot.
For what this is--glorious, unabashed pulp--I was entertained.
I feel completely asinine for "not getting" a film many critics have raved about--but I was bored out of my skull for the entirety of this piece. Despite some great acting from most every member of the cast, an inspired color palate, and what others have called an intricate plot, I couldn't summon the energy to care for the characters, their history, or whatever the hell was going on in this film.
Fassbender's character David is proof that Ridley still has more to say about his Alien worlds, and about science fiction in general. The film is worth watching, if only for David.
No other film, I think, has stayed so true to the spirit of Carroll's original fever-dream. Equal parts disturbing, inspired, unnerving and fascinating, this is the closest thing to a waking dream that I have watched--yet Svankmajer's direction keeps us aware of our place as outsiders, interlopers, in his dream, much as Alice was in Carroll's original story. I cannot recommend this film highly enough.
This is a piece of pulp horror that aspires to be something more--with mixed results. Early scenes seem to shimmer with tension, where later scenes drag. Though I don't speak Japanese, I felt as though the performances were, by and large, very amateur, and the script was nothing to speak of. That said, the film succeeds in creating not only a stew of atmosphere but a believable ghost apocalypse.
Aside from Jeunet's trademark suffocating direction--which might have helped the film--I find nothing to recommend. But I suppose I'm preaching to the choir, here. Whedon's script shied away from the more interesting aspects of its story--the rescued doomed lab experiment and the compassionate robot--while the gore-happy camera slopped off all the rest. But again, what were we expecting from a fourth Alien film?
Despite a DiCaprio's convincing performance, and the inclusion of supposedly hot-button sexual issues, this film was a dragging, morose mess, with Dustin Black's trudging script, so burdened with significance, playing chief. The ugly chiaroscuro lighting and Oscar-bait direction made this a slog I'd never endure again.
Young melodrama, dark underworld, and pretty ladies dancing. I think this film gets at so much of what Lynch tries to capture in his cinema.
It's not as stunning as Dead Ringers, nor as concise. The commentary Cronenberg tries so desperately to provide gets lost in translation as he lets loose with his (deliciously wacked) hallucinations. It's not bad--it's just not his best.
Dear god this film is awful. Perfectly. Wonderfully. Awful.
It fails both as musical and as compelling cinema. Avoid at all costs.
I was never unsettled quite so much by a film as I was by this one
"'Twixt volcanoes, this film is awesome," is what I tell everyone when they ask what I thought of this movie. Malick's portrait of a childhood in Texas is evocative and honest. The cosmic drama is anything but.
Fincher does, at times, elevate his source material to something very enjoyable. However, a faithful adaptation of one's source isn't always the best route. Cue: the last 45 minutes of this film.
Spielberg returns to everything we loved about his older popcorn flicks. This film is wonderful.
Appropriately grotesque, and absolutely essential. Carpenter's script is actually quite serviceable--and this tale does a good job of evoking Lovecraft, which is always welcome in my book.
This wasn't a particularly great film, but the performances were heartfelt--for once a summer gimmick comedy that wasn't a pain for me to sit through.