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Next Exit’s two main problems are 1) someone else already made this movie five years ago and called it The Discovery, and 2) The Discovery sucked like a motherfucker, so that not only is Next Exit a sort of unofficial remake (or, to put it more bluntly, a shameless rip-off), but it does nothing to improve upon the source material.

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The Burnt Orange Heresy feels like it wants to do for painting what The Ninth Gate did for books. The problem is that there were books in Polanski’s film, and not just mere props, but objets d’art in their own right. In contrast, there’s precious little painting in this movie; in fact, there’s literally less than meets the eye.

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A movie about a serial killer who bases his murders on the titular children’s guessing game is a bad enough idea as it is, but if you’re going to do it, at least make sure to stick to the rules. It’s hangman, not fucking rocket science.

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If I had to guess I would say that director Justin Lee is aiming for a meta-western, and A Tale of Two Guns (a title that must have sounded great on paper but which makes little contextual sense) certainly is very self-aware — perhaps a little too much for its own good.

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According to IMDb, it took five people to write this movie; judging from the result — a series of unrelated vignettes characterized by half-baked ideas that set up a situation only to immediately drop it —, each wrote their contribution incommunicado from the other four.

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The biggest problem with Space Jam: A New Legacy is not LeBron James the actor, or LeBron James the basketball player; it’s LeBron James the person.

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The Last Duel, co-written by Matt Damon and Ben Affleck and directed by Ridley Scott, is a redundant hybrid of two premises that were done much earlier and much better by Akira Kurosawa and, curiously, Scott himself.

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R.I.P.D. 2: Rise of the Damned is better than R.I.P.D., but only on that basic level in which any movie not starring Ryan Reynolds is better than any movie starring Ryan Reynolds.

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On the one hand, the characters end up coming across as so full of shit that it becomes a matter, not of who to believe, but of why should we give a flying fuck about anything that they say or do; on the other, the filmmakers go out of their way to make us not care about what happens to them either.
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The visuals in this movie pale in comparison with the ultra-vivid word-picture painted by Melville, but even if the author had left a lot more to the imagination than he did, well, let’s just say a five year old kid could picture in his little mind a better, more realistic whale than the ones we get in this film.

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The script is sometimes platitudinous, sometimes downright nonsensical, but also endlessly entertaining and quotable. Similarly, the plot is underdeveloped but not shallow, and the film overall has its heart in the right place.

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I know I shouldn’t expect anything other than bitter, unwitting irony of a movie wherein Bruce Willis plays a character (named after and apparently inspired by a Freakazoid supervillain of the same name) which, in an instance of retroactive bad taste, is said to have a “super brain” — but then, Corrective Measures actually strives to perform below expectations.

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Lady of Guadalupe is “based on true events,” which I suppose means that, in the first half of the 16th century, everyone in Mexico (Chichimecas, Spaniards, and even the titular Virgin) spoke English.

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The only reason the Salinger’s last name appears in the title of this movie is to lure unsuspecting viewers into watching it in hopes of gaining some insight into the author or Catcher in the Rye. As it turns out, the plot has little or nothing to do with Salinger except a perverse eagerness to pry into and exploit his two most valued possessions: his privacy and his art.

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Vince Carter’s life story is as plain as a plateau, with no peaks to climb or valleys to descend; the highs are pretty much level with the lows, and therefore it fails to generate any interest.

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For a film in which the two leads eventually spend most of the time naked, Madrid, 1987 is counterintuitively and deliberately anti-erotic.

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JP

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