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Samson is a Biblical drama that ironically appears to have been made by Philistines. The movie treats Samson as an Israelite version of Hercules (which, mythologically speaking, he may have very well been); sadly, the only Hercules director Bruce Macdonald seems to knows of is Kevin Sorbo’s in The Legendary Journeys — to the point of giving the hero his own apocryphal Iolaus equivalent.

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The characters in this Bergmanesque Estonian-German fairy tale, written and directed by Rainer Sarnet, live in a village surrounded by an honest-to-goodness Haunted Forest, although for them it would be weird if it weren’t haunted.

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So this is it. This is what Thomas Jane’s admittedly uneven career has come down to. A movie so cheap it looks like it was put together on Power Point. A movie so clumsy it casts Malin Akerman but can’t or won’t get her to take her clothes off (which is kind of her trademark). A movie so dumb it can’t even spell the word “Medieval” correctly.

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A lot of thought and effort went into making this film, but that was back when movies were made more carefully and were reluctant to insult the intelligence of their viewers.

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Madonna and the Breakfast Club is ostensibly a documentary about Madonna’s days as a starving artist in New York with her first band (the titular Breakfast Club). However, it plays out more like a kind of patriarchal retroactive revenge/twisted psychosexual fantasy; it certainly gives new meaning to the Madonna-Whore complex.

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The King’s Man is a mostly harmless movie, unless you, like Rasputin, “consider being boring offensive;” if that’s the case, then you’re most likely going to want to demand satisfaction from co-writer/director Matthew Vaughn. This is an exceedingly long movie, yet it somehow can’t or won’t find the time or space to fit in a little logic.

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Michael Shannon is the only reason to watch this movie; the movie, in turn, provides its own boatload of reasons to remain unwatched. That is to say, even the best living actor (for my money, at least) can’t save this film, mainly because the motherfucking thing doesn’t want to be saved; on the contrary, it goes out of its way to undermine Shannon’s considerable screen authority.

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Humphrey Bogart spends at least half of Dark Passage heard but not seen. What’s the point of casting Bogie only to have us play peek-a-boo with him for the first half of the film?

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Poison Ivy: The Secret Society may or may not be the “sexy girl version of The Skulls,” but it definitely is the dumb blonde version. I’m not saying that the heroine’s intellectual ineptitude is directly related to her gender or hair color; her golden mane and femininity are just an unfortunate coincidence.

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A compendium of long, boring, pointless scenes that make the movie feel a lot longer than its 71-minute running time.

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Apollo 10½ is vintage Richard Linklater — a rotoscopic, wistful, Wonder Years/A Christmas Story slice-of-life set in a very specific time and place, and yet uncannily atemporal and universal.
1/2
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European cinema has always been head and shoulders above Hollywood — not surprising, when even the former’s giant monster films are better than the latter’s; and by ‘better,’ I mean much more pleasant to look at and a lot shorter.

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Doubtlessly, the wheeling-and-dealing depicted in Draft Day has more to do with some lame fantasy football league than with the NFL; then again, I’m tempted to believe that this is indeed the way that the Cleveland Browns conduct business, which if nothing else would explain why the team is in the damn shape it’s been since at least the turn of the century.

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Cate Blanchett is the real deal. Few can hold a 160-minute film together, but Tár puts her in the same league as Daniel Day-Lewis; maybe not There Will Be Blood DD-L, but at the very least Phantom Thread DD-L.

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Benny Loves You strives for cringe comedy and is only half-successful. Director Karl Holt has the ‘cringe’ part down, but he wouldn’t know comedy if it slapped him across his stupid face

humbertroget.wordpress.com/202

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JP  

Last Days in the Desert is, according to IMDb, “An imagined chapter from Jesus’ forty days of fasting and praying in the desert,” and writer/director Rodrigo García surely has an overactive imagination — or not active enough, depending on how you look at it; on the one hand, Jesus speaks English with a British accent, but on the other, doesn’t he almost always in the movies?

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Last Looks is The Big Lebowski-meets-Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, and while the result is less than the sum of its parts, it’s still a worthy effort. It sure doesn’t hurt either that Mel Gibson plays an alcoholic, Hamlet-quoting, law-unabiding, politically incorrect actor — for all intents and purposes, a fictional version of himself.

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They say a hero is only as good as his villain. If, by the same token, a villain is only as bad as his hero, then the 1993 version of The Three Musketeers has the best villains of any movie, at least in proportion to its heroes.

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In the final stretch of the 20th century, the number of films that aspired to be America’s answer to Snatch was second only to those that claimed to be the second coming of Reservoir Dogs/Pulp Fiction. That trend has continued well into the new century, and thus we get Rook., a little movie that tries too hard for its own good (and if that full stop in the title isn’t trying too hard, I don’t know what is).

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JP  

It’s doubly ironic that Finnegan ‘Finn’ O’Neil (Emma Fuhrmann) doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘imagination,’ not just because she’s a “9 1/2 years old” with a penchant for coming up with stories to entertain/gross out her baby sister, but mostly because the filmmakers were relying entirely too much on the audience knowing what ‘imagination’ means on theory as well as in practice.

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