Ryan Reynolds is R.I.P.D.'s downfall, a magnet for exposition as an underperforming rookie.
Wolverine turns second tier, displaced as he inadvertently becomes tied up in a criminally vintage “damsel in distress” narrative.
Both pieces struggle for relevance and narrative cohesion.
Calling the film Turbo is disingenuous.
This Superman is not saving us so much as he saving us from ourselves.
Monsters University pulls away unscathed, a sterling follow-up which charms the charmers with charming charm charm
Jumper is missing reasons, things which define its fictional play space.
Oz is a dream, and it is a travesty we seem fearful to do so anymore.
Pacific Rim is unapologetic for its cinema conquering nonsense.
Some of its weight lies in nostalgic memories, but the film is too exuberant and excited to merely brush off as vintage reflection.
House of Wax battles a maturing film audience growing hungry for snippets of bloodshed.
Iron Man 3 may not be fond of risks, although it adores the chance to throw its audience off.