Soren Andersen

Weirdest. Feminist. Movie. Ever.

There’s no problem keeping up with these Joneses. The audience is way ahead of them every step of the way.

Board games, threats from Howard and desperate escape planning by Michelle take up most the picture. And then, first-time feature director Dan Trachtenberg and the screenwriters, apparently realizing that not much has been going on so far, ramp up to a full-bore CG explosion extravaganza finale...Too little. Too late.

Childhood: courtesy of Mr. King. Filtered through the pedestrian sensibilities of director Andy Muschietti, who seemingly never met a horror-movie cliché he couldn’t incorporate into his adaptation of King’s thousand-page-plus mega-opus.

There’s a problem with Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping. It’s attempting to mock something that is beyond mockery.

“I’m tired.” — Overheard from a member of the audience at the end of the seemingly endless closing credit crawl at the critic’s screening for “Ant-Man and The Wasp: Quantumania.” - I hear you, lady. Believe me, I hear you.

It’s a rare misstep for the usually sure-footed folks behind the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

You loved “The Conjuring” in 2013. Now here’s “2,” with more, more, more of what you adored the first time around.

The movie’s unrelenting sensory onslaught is exhausting. It’s torture to sit through.

Writer-director Ti West brings not an iota of originality to his handling of this material. Plods, the picture does, through its predictable paces.

Zombies. Nazis. Clichés. Insane violence. Overlord delivers a whole lot of much too much.

You expect lots of fight scenes in a Wick movie, and Ballerina certainly delivers on that score. Overdelivers, in fact. It’s one damn dust-up after another.

Mark this one down as a sequel that should never have been made.

The best thing about The Greasy Strangler: that title. The worst thing about The Greasy Strangler: everything that follows that title.

The picture’s real weakness is that the reanimated dead display a great deal more vitality than the characters in their pre-killed state.

A more self-impressed movie than Dicks: The Musical would be hard to imagine.

[Neeson's] impressive physicality, (a tower among men), his rumbly basso-profundo voice and his impressive demeanor give him a natural gravity that allows him to rise above the most absurd material. And he does exactly that in The Commuter.

It seems director James Wan had one overarching goal in making “Aquaman.” His prime directive? Crush the audience into submission.

Coerced jollity is the order of the day in the kingdom of trolldom in this animated kids movie from DreamWorks. And I do mean order.

In space, everyone can hear you yawn.

Elba, always a powerful presence in whatever role he takes on, does the best he can in Beast, but the threadbare nature of the plotting and dialogue ultimately defeats him.

It’s got a flying carpet. It’s got an enchanted lamp. It’s got a shape-shifting genie. But alas, Aladdin lacks real magic.

It’s pretty. It’s empty. It’s pretty empty.

There is absolutely nothing new under the many suns in Besson’s universe. This is a voyage not worth taking.

The whole picture is an exercise in obvious effort, try, try, trying really hard to win the audience’s affection. However it only succeeds in trying the audience’s patience. It’s a trial.

As long as the third and, one hopes, final installment is, it feels even longer. There’s more of it, much more, yet paradoxically, much less.

It’s all very bizarrely, pointlessly complicated.

It’s a mishmash in which characters are thrown from dimension to dimension and from dream to dream. The main character, played by Bannister, is forever baffled as to what his actual reality is. His bafflement is shared by the viewer.