Whitney Houston was a singular talent, and she deserves an equally unique motion picture chronicling her life. But this isn’t it, and that’s downright heartbreaking.
If this overheated phantasmagorical whirligig didn’t quite set my heart on fire, thanks in large part to Butler’s mesmerizing magnificence, I still couldn’t have stopped falling in love with Elvis even had I wanted to try.
The Electrical Life of Louis Wain is a suitably strange biopic that goes out of its way to emulate the documented idiosyncratic peculiarities of its subject. It’s also a movie I wish I enjoyed far more than I frustratingly did.
This is a richly talented ensemble, and every member puts forth their best effort.
Mank is nothing more than a metaphorical celluloid sled of failed dreams and misguided ambition burning to ash in a fiery furnace fueled by frustratingly combustible emptiness.
Ride Like a Girl is a victorious gem, sprinting to the finish line with a gleeful enthusiasm that’s downright infectious.
The Traitor is a sprawling exposé that covers decades of criminal escapades, all of it seen through the eyes of a man who refuses to consider himself an informer.
Harriet is more than a dramatic history lesson. It is a piece of filmmaking excellence I am almost certain to revisit, and a film I’m fairly positive I’ll appreciate even more once I have done so.
Fletcher is channeling All That Jazz and Absolute Beginners but with a Hairspray meets Mamma Mia! high-gloss glittery shimmer, the grit and angst of the tortured artist juxtaposed against a Technicolor milieu that’s been art directed and costumed within an inch of its rockabilly heart.