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“There are no grand causes left,” righteous Aramis (Luke Evans) moans in The Three Musketeers, and weary viewers can sympathize. The very existence of this film illustrates barrel-scraping desperation of the Hollywood kind.
“Who doesn’t love birds?” Jack Black says via narrative intro to The Big Year, a comedy about competitive birding and male bonding. The assertion depends on where you stand, or maybe roost.
If talk is cheap in current American politics, so too is the huffing and puffing that makes The Ides of March less of an eye opener than it aspires to be.
On paper, Killer Elite promises “action thrills of the highest order,” as breathlessly proclaimed by the TIFF program guide for its recent festival debut.
Moneyball, starring Brad Pitt and Jonah Hill in Oscar-pitching roles, gloriously gets baseball’s essential contest: instinct vs. intellect.
An early scene in the propulsive Drive finds Ryan Gosling’s mobile character securing a new set of wheels for an underworld getaway he’s planning.
Steven Soderbergh’s Contagion is the feel-bad movie of the year and on more than one level. A star-studded thriller, it’s reminiscent of 1970s disaster movies, yet much more grounded in reality.
Houston, we have a problem. The virulent cinematic contagion known as “found-footage-itis,” spawned from the Blair Witch virus, has left Earth and is now infecting another body in the solar system: the moon.
This week’s poster child for Hollywood humiliation is Zoe Saldana. She’s co-star of history’s highest-grossing film (Avatar), and part of a successful franchise reboot (Star Trek). Yet that’s apparently not sufficient star power to prevent the embarrassment of her latest movie dodging critics and slinking into theatres as a Friday Dreadful.
A certain amount of stupidity is required for a horror movie to succeed. I mean, who walks around a darkened house, especially into a musty basement, without turning on the lights as you go?
Fright Night was never about being subtle. When the 1985 Charley Brewster (William Ragsdale) spotted his new neighbour hauling a coffin into the basement and painting windows black, he quickly twigged that the population of Transylvania had suddenly dropped.
Don’t let the cheesy (with ham) title fool you. 30 Minutes or Less sounds like cinematic fast food, with its pizza-delivery connotations, but it actually serves something more substantial.
Here’s the nutty thing about Crazy, Stupid Love. How could a comedy so alert to details, such as the Velcro rasp of a nerd’s cheap wallet or a rake’s surprising affection for Dirty Dancing, be so tone deaf about the bigger picture?
The world needs another Planet of the Apes movie like a circus acrobat needs a banana peel.
Cowboys & Aliens, a mash-up of western and sci-fi clichés, never fully saddles up or reaches for the stars. Still, it ropes you in.
The summer’s most killer comedy would be sinister if it wasn’t so ridiculous So much scenery is chewed during the course of Horrible Bosses, it’s almost as if director Seth Gordon unleashed a plague of locusts while filming.
Ten years and eight films after the boy wand-twirler’s cinematic adventures began, the saga resolves in ways suspenseful, romantic and thrilling.
As film school assignments go, Bad Teacher is a potentially “A” topic with a “C” result that would require considerable remedial writing to upgrade.
Those pesky robots and their human enablers are back to fight over Earth and trash another city.
We interrupt this summer of blah sequels and pointless remakes for some astonishing news. It turns out even cash cows can moo intelligently.