Critics reviews

A tent pole curio [Venom] and an all-time masterpiece [Mon oncle] both featuring wayward outcasts with bodies that won’t cooperate. Their mere existence threatens the hype and spaces of new technologies. Physical disruption equals inspiration, and in each outburst of movement the echoes of vaudevillian performance can be seen.

This is a paradox: Venom isn’t good—nor so-bad-it’s-good—and yet if there had been more of it, and if that more had been a little wilder or gorier, it probably would have been better.

Ultimately, the ingratiating eccentricities of “Venom” aren’t enough to really distinguish the movie from its superhero-movie brethren as it devolves into the usual expensive orgy of sound, fury and wisecracking.

Fleischer (Zombieland) maintains an agreeably cartoonish tone, establishing an atmosphere in which Hardy can get as nutty as he wants. The film devotes way too much time to exposition (the first act feels like it goes on for about an hour), but once it gets going it’s decent fun.

It has energy, style and Tom Hardy—all good things. But it doesn’t really make sense, a bad thing. It will earn some money at the box office and people will probably talk about it for a week, maybe two. This is as it should be: Expending more energy on it would be overkill.