They had the skill. They had the cred and the time and resources and, yet, what they have produced is so pube-straightingly, joint-invertingly, ghastly terrible you will not stop removing your eyes to check if they’re still working properly from the time it starts to its thankful finish.
Three Billboards is more of a Twin Peaks ruse; a rusty nail upon which to hang an assortment of meaty, twisted, and — yes — angry characters.
You all wrote off The Lone Ranger as big-budget Hollywood tripe but you were excessively incorrect. Are you equally mistaken to dismiss Verbinski’s latest, A Cure for Wellness?
A pleasant half-hour of light gags interspersed with 100 minutes of grueling, plotless CGI boredom does not a movie make.
Harry Dean Stanton is Lucky.
Imagine if you took Mad Max and mixed it with mumblecore and maybe a dash of Hal Hartley. Just, you know, with cannibals and psychedelics and fear of the other.
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.
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.
Hey look! It’s a goddamned lemur. Far out.
Wonder Woman proves that female directors and female leads and female characters can do everything the boys can do, and better.
Forget Zapruder and the rest; here is the real mystery of one of last century’s apex political events.
The latest report from the Recently Watched files.