Call Me By Your Name is a Sticky, Slick, Impossibly Sweet Masterpiece
Call Me By Your Name is less a love story than a cinema of sensation: the tenderness of touch, the sheen of sweat, the cool calm of water.
Call Me By Your Name is less a love story than a cinema of sensation: the tenderness of touch, the sheen of sweat, the cool calm of water.
Only the Brave does the story of the Granite Mountain Hotshots justice by judiciously downplaying their greatness.
We soon realise this is not another period drama about an unhappy wife learning to copy with country life.
It’s testament to the charm and character of Pixar’s latest, Coco, that it can win a crusty critic like myself over without once deviating from Pixar’s established formula.
James Franco’s The Disaster Artist clearly intends us to laugh at The Room’s Tommy Wiseau, but it also wants us to recognise his twisted genius.
I’m not much of a fan of either Borg vs McEnroe or Wonder, but for their target audience – tennis fans and preteens/their parents, respectively – the films should be a hit.
Five films in, what does the DC Extended Universe represent?
Professor Marston and the Wonder Women is both sexy and overtly political, offering everything that its biopic contemporaries fail to deliver.
Una is more successful suggesting the vestiges of what would have made it a successful play than replicating them.
I want to play a game.
The rules are simple. Before you sits a television, the seven Saw movies and a timer set to 666 minutes.
Watch all seven movies before the timer runs out; fail, and you’ll be subject to the most gratuitous, elaborate torture devices our team of underpaid Hollywood screenwriters can come up with.