Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop: Neeson Goes Nowhere in Another Derivative Offering
Every generation tends to spawn a golden year action star from an aging flock...
Little Drummer Boy: Montiel’s Misguided and Manipulative PTSD Allegory
Since his autobiographical 2006 debut A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints, director Dito Montiel has been...
Turkey Dressing: Crowe’s Well-Intentioned Debut Ultimately Mundane
In the comparable tradition of Mel Gibson and Kevin Costner, actor Russell Crowe makes a big budget, historically...
Rebel Heart: Schwentke Usurps Plebeian YA Franchise
In many ways, Insurgent is an easier film to watch than its 2014 predecessor, Divergent, in which we...
Patch of Blue: Saville’s Sophomore Film Lost in Endless Ellipses
For his first film since his 2007 feature debut Noise, Australian director Matthew Saville returns...
Dissatisfaction: Burger Launches the Next YA Dystopia to Unwieldy Lengths
Director Neil Burger joins genre courting/sci-fi alum Andrew Niccol’s dip into the abscessed pool of...
The thrill of meeting Marjane Satrapi reminded me of being 6 years old at Disney Land when I met the living, breathing Cinderella. Except Cinderella was an actress with a blond wig and Marjane is the real woman behind her autobiographical graphic novel, turned movie, “Persepolis”. The distinctive mole on her nose and her dark sultry eyes rose off the page and appeared in front of me, smoking and speaking with a French accent.