Kill me as many times as it takes to prevent me from having watched this flick.
Go for the amazing photography on display. Stay for the amazing photography on display.
Friday the 13th is as gelatinous as baby poop and marginally less endearing.
A new indie coming of age film you would be unwise to dismiss as merely about sex and teenagers and monsters.
An entertaining new documentary on the king of the debunkers.
When nature takes revenge against we pesky humans, it ain’t pretty. It is rather froggy, though.
In the film ’71, as in reality, the intricacies of politics, the recognition of our neighbors’ equality in fear and fury — things such as these play soft second fiddle to keeping the blood flowing to our brains.
Did the HBO documentary catch a killer?
It’s almost like they think we won’t see a documentary unless the title contains every single thing that happens in it. Meanwhile, this one’s about Orson Welles, and it’s rather enjoyable.
The director’s cut of Little Shop of Horrors is horrific indeed. In a good way. Everybody dies! Yay!
The classic doc about the plight of the American door-to-door salesman.
At least god didn’t tell me to go on a killing spree, like he tells everyone in this movie. Mass murder, hippie-Jesus, alien abduction–God Told Me To has got it all.
Who knew Danes could be so gosh-danged murderous?
In which I plunge into the obscene depths of the most outrageous autobiography ever written.