Venom might as well have been titled Tom Hardy, because he’s basically the only reason to see it.
If Nicolas Cage had the focus and discipline to sit down and write a screenplay, then to get off his ass to direct it, AND THEN was given the free artistic reign of final cut, with no oversight to tame and restrain his overindulgent tendencies, Mandy would be the result.
It’s impossible to eulogize an artist whose work you’re largely unfamiliar with.
Since I’m not a fan of the ‘80s nostalgia wave
contaminating conquering screens the world over right now, the latest installment in the Predator franchise — dubbed THE Predator (DUN DUN DUN!!!) — didn’t particularly appeal to me on its chrome face.
In terms of Academy Awards-esque recognition, “Best Actress” is often understood to signify “The Most Acting.”
By this point, I’ve pontificated enough about my disdain for straightforward revivals.
The Children Act makes for an imbalanced cinematic stew, with ingredients whose disparate flavors blend into an insipid cinematic concoction.
They don’t make ‘em like they used to.
Continue reading “Up in the Dumps”
It might sound offensive to compare Makala to torture porn.
Immersive theatre is all the rage with the kids these days.