Rock My Heart Hold the damn phone — another work of hardcore inspiration-porn about a spunky white girl overcoming a debilitating medical condition to attain her equestrian dreams? The broken bones have been exchanged for a heart condition and the older mentor has more bite, but aside from the language barrier, this film clip-clops along the exact same hoof tracks as its horsey forefather.
Which was, itself, following the trail of The Rider.
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Who will defend this poor creature, so overtaxed as an analog for ornery characters learning discipline and control in bush-league indies? Have some mercy, directors, and cease beating a dead — oh, well, you know. Music Teacher Not to paint India or its cinema with too broad a brush, but it sure has plenty of movies about developmentally stunted men getting in touch with their feelings because of the efforts of tolerant, accommodating women. Take Beni Manav Kaul , an educator with a chip on his shoulder and unrealized fantasies of musical superstardom.
To make matters more agonizing, his former pupil Jyotsna Amrita Bagchi announces a homecoming concert after eight years of making a name for herself at the uppermost pop echelon. Will they find love? Erotic-thriller sex should be scary in a hot way, not scary in a 50 Shades of Grey way. Shimmer Lake Smarter than the average Coen Brothers ripoff looking at you, Cut Bank , this one has the good sense to also be a Memento ripoff. A little bit of money.
Throwing more money at a production rarely solves problems, but for a premise that wholly orients itself around the near-pornographic gazing upon military weaponry — much of it fantastical, engineered with futuristic technologies explained at length — looking good is everything. Brain on Fire Susannah Cahalan had it all: a great job writing for the New York Post , a devoted boyfriend, bright prospects.
On both counts, the answer is a confidently intoned yes. And that title? The title is an enigma more engrossing than the film containing it. Coin Heist Coins are amazing — designed using lasers, mass-produced through an elaborate assembly line of casting and forging, inspected down to the tiniest detail for flaws so minute only professionals can see them, and all for something we keep in our pockets only to trade for chewing gum. It is, regrettably, an apt pairing of auteur and subject.
After auditioning and being rejected for the role years earlier, Larson gets the last laugh by leading as Kit, an art student booted from her program when a professor deems her Lisa Frank—esque paintings insufficiently serious.
Bomb Scared You thought eating disorders were a testy source for laughs? This Spanish-language comedy focuses on a dunderheaded gang of Basque-separatist extremists, impatiently awaiting their next mission while Spain makes a run at the World Cup in the background. Director Borja Cobeaga treats their mission to await instruction in a safe house like a tedious office job and the characters like bumbling wage slaves instead of radicalized killers.
What better setting for a trip between amigos, the meat of this Spanish-language comedy on the move? The film does everything that films about oldsters taking to the road have trained us to anticipate: drug experiences all in good fun, May-December pairings for the shoehorned hints of romance, chin-up humor about the impending visit from the Grim Reaper.
One hopes that top-flight choreography might pick up the slack left by cookie-cutter writing, but alas, these Scandinavian posers have already been served by their American cousins. Skam -heads aside, best moonwalk your way to Step Sisters instead. Until, of course, we figure out the game — at which point all that remains are some eye-catching diversions with pink, green, and yellow, along with a few practical effects shots not worth writing home about.
There is only one Tyler Durden. Walraven van Hall is no Oskar Schindler — though this biopic wants him to be so very badly — and star Barry Atsma does a commendable job of giving this real-life human being an identity of his own. His White Fang had teeth, speaking to a young-adult audience prepared to reckon with the hazards of the natural world, but this kiddie spin strips the woods of their formidable might.
A scene depicting dogfighting feels out of place in a film so mushy. The title pretty much translates to Lost Girl.
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The preceding weeks saw an influx of photo enthusiasts streaming in from across the country to get their exposures while they still could, and this drama follows once such road trip between cancer-stricken snapshotter Ben Ed Harris , his good-natured assistant—nurse Zoe Elizabeth Olsen , and his adult son Matt Jason Sudeikis.
From the mm. A good villain could have made up for the scripting, but the trio of little undead girls only serves to add The Shining to the laundry list of superior films from which this one has leeched. Free Pugh. Take the 10 For those viewers in search of a scattershot, fitfully funny crime caper in which Tony Revolori spends one long day scrambling around the outskirts of L. At least that one had a more charming leading man in Shameik Moore than this one gets in Josh Peck, playing a sleazebag with the pretty face of a former child TV star.
That movie had some entry-level commentary on race, too, and a nifty soundtrack from Pharrell. All this dime-store knockoff has is a Pulp Fiction— lite nonchronological structure, a closeted coke baron, and one great Danny Brown needle drop it unloads in the first 15 minutes. The most a critic can say is that its pop-culture references are very of-the-moment. Evil , about a pair of convivial rednecks who, through a series of unfortunate accidents and coincidences, present as bloodthirsty lunatics to a gaggle of nubile vacationers.
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Noah Centineo, a name doodled in diaries worldwide, plays a lower-middle-class high-school senior putting together cash for college by posing as an escort for girls in need of some arm candy. Handsome From the opening narration in which the culprit introduces himself and confesses to his crime, this comedy purports to be a different breed of murder mystery.
Sahara In the abattoir of lowest-common-denominator kiddie entertainment, a viewer can sometimes read between the lines and see the grown-up writers starting to crack under their own madness. I credit this cut-rate French-Canadian co-production with offering the most glimpses into the frustration that comes alongside making a cartoon about the desert adventures of a scorpion and a cobra.
Lucid Dream Among the curiously large backlog of East Asian sci-fi projects that Netflix has imported, this does not rank among the more memorable. She then squandered part of that goodwill on limp-noodle biopic Mary Shelley , and now threatens to completely deplete it on this rom-com lacking both volume and a lustrous aesthetic shine. Uptight advertising exec Violet Sanaa Lathan keeps her life as rigorously controlled as her elaborately treated do, but she must forsake the picture-perfect fakery to go natural up top and find herself.
Sunanda Usha Jadhav is precisely the sort of character that Chopra and other outspoken advocates for women in the entertainment industry have called for.
A lawyer ardently arguing for abused women against their alcoholic husbands, she has a feminist yen for justice at war with an inner turmoil that still haunts her. Take a wild guess at what happened in her past to make her pursue this particular line of work. For a while, the character is more fully-developed than the film around her, until the final twenty minutes take some shall-we-say-unanticipated turns that seriously undercut its progressive messaging.
Slightly coercive sex and cuckolding: the cure to a flagging marriage? Revenger The seventh art started going downhill the day that CGI blood was ruled more cost-effective than squib packs and karo syrup. Hopefully, powerhouse star Bruce Khan will find more sure-handed tutelage elsewhere, and soon. The most costly production in Malay film history often feels like an extended recruitment video, showing how PASKAL soldiers save lives and assist the U.
Leader of men Commander Anwar Hairul Azreen entertains the notion that he may not be able to serve his country and his family at the same time, a nagging doubt typical of the war film, but the film settles that with the conclusion that country and family are one and the same. Though the three tactical operations around which the script has been molded are executed with the precision and efficiency expected of the military, the shut-up-and-put-up thinking leaves its topic only half-covered.
The online Keanumania sparked by the episode in the middle featuring Reeves as a funhouse-mirror version of himself, however, has been well-founded. Nowhere outside Pinterest have canned aphorisms ever carried this much clout. If only it was funnier. On the other hand, there is something slightly risky and revisionist about placing a half-Korean character in a role so historically steeped in whiteness.
If nothing else, the specter of Long Duk Dong will have been forever dispelled. From a city-block bombing to a shooting spree at a campground, Greengrass treats discretion like weakness as he shows and shows and shows. Benji The Great Louisiana Tax Break Production Boom has attracted many stars to the oak-lined streets of New Orleans over the past decade, and the latest addition to the list is the hottest star on four legs, wonder dog Benji.
The best that can be said for this neutered reboot of the musty mutt franchise is that it makes active use of its surroundings where so many have attempted to obscure them. And yet nu-Benji lacks a certain canine charisma present in his doggy forebears, and weirder still, this film plays up the element of Christian dogma — thank you, thank you — traditionally constrained to the subtextual level.
Rebirth The first rule of this anti-corporate psychological thriller is do not talk about Fight Club. Goldberg breaks his pal out of a funk by inviting him to join a new movement of self-actualization he recently discovered, where instead of therapeutically punching the bologna out of one another, members chant creepy affirmations about accessing inner truth. Ugarte slowly comes undone as a nurse capable of communicating via haunted VHS tape with a boy who died 25 years earlier. Paulo has a week-one-freshman grasp on chaos theory, and succeeds only in dumbing the concepts down while falling into the same grandfather paradox facing any time-travel movie.
Not even the broad shoulders of Ugarte can carry a film so poorly thought-through. How else to account for the absolute absence of any signs of life whatsoever in each and every performance?
As a mother grieving her young son recently nabbed by wolves, Riley Keough never breaks her heart-monitor monotone, and Jeffrey Wright matches her mumble-for-mumble as the nature expert who comes to find the missing boy. Director David E.
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Talbert uses this pressure cooker as a breeding ground for a black comedy of schemers and bumblers, brought to life by a cast seemingly picked at random from a hat. Tim Allen! Jessica Alba! A viewer gets the impression that nobody in this motley troupe was in contact with one another during shooting. The cartoonishly inept lawmen plotting to resolve the situation have a Keystone Kops thing going on, the news team broadcasting the events occupy a more cynical atmosphere, and on the scene indoors, the shooter and his bargaining chips are doing Coen brothers cosplay. Been So Long I am of the steadfast belief that any bad movie can be improved at least slightly with the addition of musical numbers, a principle supported by this adaptation of a London stage smash.
Without the occasional ditty to spice things up, this would be a standard-issue guy-meets-gal romance about a single mother trying to get back out there. While the music suffers from Repo! Burning Sands Yet another clone movie, this one retreading the stomach-churning account of hazing gone too far undertaken by Goat the previous year. But instead of tiptoeing around the jocks, prevailing attitudes of mandated prudence mean that our boys must tiptoe around their parents, their nation, and their own guilt.see url
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The sword of Damocles finally drops when his partners turn against him, his wife sends a messenger boy to announce her request for a divorce, and his substance-based hobbies threaten to worsen into habits, all on the same Monday. In America, it feels like the Sundance-industrial complex gives us another one of these every couple of years. He casts a bold silhouette as the image of gallantry, oftentimes to disbelief-testing extents. Did he really wait to deflower his teen bride, played by a poorly utilized Florence Pugh, until she was ready to give her consent?