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Close Range opens with a scrolling text explaining what a Ronin was in ancient Japan for those hypothetical viewers who have not seen a single one of the myriad films made about literal or figurative Ronin since at least 1939.

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I Dreamed of Africa is the tale of a self-righteous, self-appointed white savioress — a Greta Thunberg before Greta Thunberg was cool (well, not so much ‘cool,’ but you get the idea).

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Run is a miserable experience, and I mean that as a compliment. The filmmakers take a story ‘ripped from the headlines,’ give it the Misery treatment, and add a dash of What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? — there’s nothing terribly new here, but the execution is so close to perfection that the result becomes more than the sum of its parts.

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Secret Society takes its heroines, two gold diggers with a lot of, as Mick Foley would say, testicular fortitude, very seriously, but not enough to provide them with a realistic environment in which to operate.

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Payback: Straight Up drops Payback’s voice-over narration. That’s good. Straight Up opens with an intertitle providing the dictionary definition of the word “principle.” That’s bad. Straight Up is ten minutes shorter than Payback. That’s good. Straight Up replaces Kris Kristofferson with a disembodied woman’s voice, reduces James Coburn’s role, and tones down William Devane’s over the top death. Bad, bad, bad.

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Planet Dune is a Dune mockbuster with a loafer budget (because it can’t even afford shoestrings), but that’s not really what’s wrong with it (if nothing else, it’s a lot shorter than Denis Villeneuve’s bloated exercise). The movie’s true problem is that its heroine is an unredeemed, stuck-up bitch-on-wheels (she’s still less unpleasant than Timothée Chalamet, though).

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This movie was made for two main reasons: so that co-writer/director Fred Durst could name-drop his own band, and for the audience to marvel at how many cool movies Durst has watched, even though everybody and their uncle has seen them as well, and they’re all a hell of a lot better than The Fanatic.

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For a movie called Hypnotic, this one is far from spellbinding — a derivative story made needlessly complicated to distract from its unoriginality. And to think that Robert Rodríguez was once hailed as an innovator.

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If you crack up every time you see a dog doing something disgusting, this movie is right up your alley. Also, you’re a fucking moron.

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Pontypool is mostly a thinking man’s zombie apocalypse movie; the rare, cerebral zombie movie that knows a brain is good for more than just dinner.

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Darby and the Dead is more about movies that are like it (to the point of using their lexicon as shorthand) than it is about itself, and it honestly believes that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

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The Batman is not a terribly bad movie, but it would be twice as good if it were half as long. How a film that likes to take shortcuts — especially with the Riddler’s so-called — can still take almost three hours to get to where it’s going, I haven’t the foggiest (but then this is a rather strange enterprise that gives us Andy Serkis in the flesh and covers Colin Farrell in prosthetic makeup and a fat suit).

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Road to Perth tries to be equal parts travelogue, road movie, romantic comedy, and character study. Co-writer/director Chad Peter really only succeeds in the first category.

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Girl on the Third Floor is the story of a house that wants to be the Overlook Hotel when it grows up, but this movie is to The Shining what CM Punk’s UFC stint is to his WWE career.

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Here is a movie where every main character is to a lesser or greater degree a criminal, yet each is given these little reality TV-type confessional interviews. Who exactly are they talking to? And aren’t they worried that they may incriminate themselves?

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There’s absolutely nothing lovecraftian about this film; the script is so blunt and exploitative it can’t even be deemed a pastiche.

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There is nothing wrong with Pope Joan that a radical shift in approach couldn’t fix. Here is a story begging for the Life of Brian treatment being told instead with the heavy-handedness of The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc.

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Psycho Goreman is 90 minutes of early-to-mid ’90s throwback fun with the goofiness of a Power Rangers episode, the burtonian aesthetic of Beetlejuice and Mars Attacks!, the anarchic humor of Gremlins 2: The New Batch, and Dark Helmet’s "good is dumb" mindset from Spaceballs.


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Cobb, a film about a hagiography but based on a hamartography, is as bipolar, incoherent, and cognitively dissonant as a movie can be.

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JP

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