The series seems content to recreate the events of the case rather than explore them in any deeper psychological or thematic fashion.
Carmen leans into the physicality of its actors and the stirring strings of Nicholas Britell’s score.
With Suzume, Shinkai Makoto reaffirms his auteurist bona fides.
The series embodies the “this is fine” meme, exploring the desperate impulse to shrug your shoulders as the world burns around you.
The show’s fourth and final season finds it in full Shakespearean tragedy mode.
The film brushes up against a greater truth about how men and women move through the world.
Like its bristly protagonist, the series has some work to do to turn things around.
Nida Manzoor’s film is a charm offensive that simply doesn’t let up.
In spite of its best intentions, the show’s reach ultimately exceeds its grasp.
Stephen Williams’s film struggles to live up to the bombastic, wildly entertaining beginning.
Butcher’s Crossing could have been a major addition to the neo-western canon.
Hunt Her, Kill Her simply isn’t tight enough to maintain the tension that it seeks to create.
The show’s insistence on shunning moral ambiguity takes a bit of the danger out of its liaisons.
Despite a few too-obvious twists, the whole operation goes down with charm and style.
As much as it loves a good zinger, the show’s greatest weapon is its essential kindness.
After a promising start, the series struggles to capture the propulsive energy of its beloved source material.
The series is like a Magic Eye picture in reverse: The more you focus your attention on it, the less there is to see.
The series has clearly been tailor-made for Stallone, playing to his particular brand of mealy-mouthed charisma.
The series puts a spiritual spin on the police procedural but struggles to uncover anything profound.
If you fed the jokes from early-2000s sitcoms into an AI generator, it would probably spit out Blockbuster.