If it’s a pre-apocalyptic future wasteland you want to luxuriate in, Blade Runner 2049 is the movie for you.
Whatever else you might think of mother!, you have certainly never seen this movie before.
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?
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.
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.
In which everything you always wanted to know about Deckard is answered once and for all and forerever. So there.
In today’s movie universes, directors are hired hands.