In which I remember Harry Dean Stanton (not that I ever forgot him).
Evil clown fetishists, rejoice! The rest of you, move along.
You know what film I knew was going to be terrible within the first three minutes?
Logan Lucky frames itself as a paean to the people of the Mid-Atlantic and their underrated pluck. ‘Take me home, country roads,’ it croons, but I was not tempted.
In which movies of the past feel strangely suited to our absurd present.
In which we revisit the ’80s classic and find it terribly charming.
Atomic Blonde lands a welter of punches and leaves you reeling — which is great, because once you stop spinning you’re sure to say, “hang on a minute…”
It is a film about the tragic cycle of revenge and how fun it is to watch that played out in vivid color.
Christopher Nolan turns minimalist.
The father of the modern zombie has shuffled off this mortal coil. May he spend the rest of eternity joyfully feasting on the brains of heavenly angels.
A ponderous slog of an Apes movie wins the adulation of everyone. I refuse to believe they didn’t fall asleep thirty minutes in.
Some call it a masterpiece. I wish I knew why.
Zombies go fungal.
Hey look! It’s a goddamned lemur. Far out.