The Prosecutor is exceedingly entertaining. It’s also not even passingly believable.

I walked away from The Count of Monte Cristo invigorated. Its intensity, its majesty, its larger-than-life virtuosity, all of that and more filled my heart with glee.

The underdog documentary Lady Like makes several interesting creative choices throughout its brief 87-minute running time.

Nosferatu left me feeling empty. It kept me at a frustrating distance, and even its tragic denouement of selfless sacrifice hit me as more perfunctory and preordained than authentically intimate.

Mufasa: The Lion King has enough going for it that it stands on its own with pride.

This return to the realm of Rohan won me over. These riders still know how to awaken primal forces lurking within my soul, and I cheer every impossible charge against the forces of evil they make. Forth Eorlingas!

This superpowered comic book origin story could easily be mistaken for the dictionary definition of “meh.”

Like the promising early days of the internet, Y2K’s only lasting legacy will likely be one smothered in disappointment and missed opportunity.

Queer is an ejaculatory descent into the unfinished humanistic unknown that’s probably unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I have a feeling Burroughs, if he were still around to see the finished film, wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.