In light of the sheer volume of dog movies Isle of Dogs is not great, not like Old Yeller or Homeward Bound. It’s not shit either, like the schmaltzy Air Bud movies that just exploit dog lovers. Still, it covers the same ground of good companions who would do anything for their masters.
There is nothing subtle, nothing smart and nothing genuine about Going in Style. I believe Braff has the unenviable dual talents of being incompetent and underestimating audiences.
Godzilla: King of the Monsters is like that Golden Corral buffet: a promise of a limitless cornucopia but all the best stuff is buried way, way in the back, and they expect you to fill up on garbage before you even get to it.
This “climate-change thriller” is as idiotic as the scientific wisdom of someone who buys magically-charged stones from Gwyneth Paltrow and won’t vaccinate her kids.
One movie into a franchise, and the Guardians are already taking a valedictory lap. It’s a bloated spectacle, a jam band encore where every guy on stage gets to do a solo.
If you’re thinking about writing a story set in a derelict amusement park: don’t. In fact, one way not to be a shitty hack is to avoid any idea that’s already been done by both R. L. Stine and Scooby Doo. But, if you just can’t resist the allure of the mossy, spooky vacant rollercoaster,…
Black Panther is really fucking boring and self-serious. I haven’t heard this many Goddamn self-righteous speeches since the City Council meeting where they voted to close the last video store in town that carried pornos.
It is the comic book equivalent of 24 hours of porn. One big fight is great. Two is okay. But by the 40th time some dude in armor shoots lasers out of his hands, the joy is long gone and you’re just praying the whole fucking thing will end.
The plot is sort of like a truck full of tube socks. Nobody gives a shit whether it makes it to the destination except the people selling them.
