Hi kids; Deadpool here. Consider this a spoiler warning because Sonny, who’s a real [redacted], is going to discuss plot points in this review, including in the [redacted]ing first paragraph. Who does that? It’s like the lead character talking to the audience while they’re watching the movie: too crazy to contemplate.
Godard Mon Amour (originally titled Le Redoubtable) is a searing condemnation of the ways in which politics have a tendency to creep into every nook and cranny of life, from artistic endeavors to love affairs to friendships. Given the heightened tensions of our age, it couldn’t be more timely or more timeless.
You Were Never Really Here, the latest from Scottish director Lynne Ramsay, is an occasionally frustrating, evasive picture. That evasiveness is best captured in a scene toward the end of the first act, when Joe (Joaquin Phoenix) stalks through a New York apartment building that has been converted into a brothel filled with underage girls, taking a ball-peen hammer to those who operate, and those who frequent, the joint.
If Marvel had any guts, they would’ve called this movie Thanos and made it like a straightforward superhero origin story in the mold of Iron Man or Thor or Ant-Man or any of the others. Every emotional beat belongs to Thanos (Josh Brolin), every piece of the action is driven by his effort to complete the Infinity Gauntlet (a glove that allows him to channel the power of the Infinity Stones), every effort in the movie is undertaken to move him one step closer to eliminating half of the universe.
Chappaquiddick feels a bit like two distinct, competing-yet-complementary movies. The first is a character study of a tragically flawed individual, the son who can never live up to the expectations of his father or the example of his brothers yet masters the clan’s tools for success, achieving public acceptance and private disgrace. The other is a comedy of errors, a farce, a darkly comic examination of the end result of seemingly hereditary immorality festering in a corrupt bloodline; imagine The Godfather if Fredo were the only surviving Corleone son at the saga’s beginning.
I couldn’t say for sure whether Rampage is a “good” movie, exactly. I’m not entirely certain if I can recall a line of dialogue from Rampage, and I’m pretty sure I can’t remember a single character’s name without the aid of IMDB. It would be fruitless to discuss Rampage in terms of camera movement or the 180-degree rule or montage or zooms and pans and all that jazz. I’m just an Unfrozen Caveman Movie Critic; my primitive mind can’t grasp these concepts.
Ready Player One is pure Spielberg: fun and slick and perfectly constructed, filled with melodrama, spiced with a bit of self-aware hokeyness, and striving for relevance beyond mere entertainment. Not quite as mired in nostalgia as its source material—or, at least, more expansive in the references in which it is mired—Spielberg’s film is probably a more appropriate setting for the subject matter than Ernest Cline’s novel.