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The film is certainly well titled; Clara is hopelessly alone, but perhaps a little too much so for the movie’s own good. Like her spiritual predecessors, such as Nell, I Am Sam, and Rain Man, Clara is as isolated from the other characters as the audience is alienated by her; she remains from beginning to end a cipher, impenetrably monolithic — as ungraspable as the rainy, muddy, slippery green hell that surrounds her.

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I like the new Candyman. I don’t love it, but I like it a lot. This film co-written and directed by Nia DaCosta wants to be the Wes Craven’s New Nightmare of this franchise, and by swinging away toward that level, it hits a few home runs.

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Charm City Kings evokes such films as Boyz n’ the Hood, A Bronx Tale, and Torque. I know; one of those things isn’t like the others. The filmmakers, however, put the motorcycle fetish to good use, infusing it with imagery that’s almost religious in order to reveal its real-world impracticality.

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It’s hard enough to take a demon who’s also a Jack-in-the-box seriously, but it becomes nigh impossible when the film reveals its full name.

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Befitting its title, this movie feels like the son of The Exorcist and Rosemary — and in that sense it is proof that talent does skip a generation.

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The film may not glorify Ted Kaczynski, but it doesn’t condemn him either; it places him in a solipsistic vacuum wherein his actions are tacitly justified.

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In the realm of fictional supernatural serial killers, Freddy Krueger (Robert Englund) is primus inter pares — a status about which this insightful documentary, chronicling the rise, fall, revival, and relapse of the nightmarish franchise, leaves no doubt.

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The Gleaners and I is a documentary about gleaning as both a physical and metaphysical activity. Director Agnès Varda is herself a meta-gleaner; she’s a gleaner of gleaners the same way that Jesus was a fisher of men.

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It’s a tragedy that a film like Rebelle (aka War Witch), about a 12-year-old girl abducted by guerrillas in an unidentified sub-Saharan country and forced to participate in the conflict between rebels and the government, remains relevant a decade after it was released.

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The movie assumes the guise of a character study of Princess Diana. However, since pretty much everything we see is a fiction, and everything Diana says and thinks are words and thoughts the filmmakers have put into her mouth and head, we learn absolutely nothing new about the Princess, other than what the filmmakers think of her; namely, that Diana was a foul-mouthed, paranoid schizophrenic bitch with a martyr complex.

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Hellraiser: Judgment is not the pile of steaming horse shit you would expect a latter-day, VOD, Doug Bradley-less Hellraiser sequel to be — it’s actually fucking worse.

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Life imitates art and art imitates itself. Above Suspicion is a Double Indemnity variation in which Christopher Reeve plays a cop who ends up in a wheelchair after a bust goes wrong; “Ironically, it was filmed a year before the tragic accident that would make him a quadriplegic” (according to an All Movie.com writer whose definition of irony comes from the Alanis Morissette Dictionary).

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Erik Estrada’s fighting style is to throw punches at the camera, let his stunt double and the editor do the heavy lifting, and then take the credit.

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All computer-generated animals look like roadkill anyway, so you might as well make yours a living dead one.

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Yet another teen melodramedy wherein the progression of cancer is depicted thus: first, your hair falls off, then you sulk something fierce, and finally you just drop dead.

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The computer-animated Beowulf hasn’t aged well; it looked like shit when it was released in 2007, and it looks like old shit 16 years later.

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About two-thirds of this film consist of one flashbacks and one dreamlike sequence, but this is by no means filler material.

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The Craft wasn’t just a title; there was true craftsmanship involved in its making. The Craft: Legacy, on the other hand, is a crappy knockoff.

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JP

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