This is a film where the female body becomes the center of gravity, where everything — work, play, love, laughter — orbits the belly. The leads are credible friends even though their performances are on slightly different wavelengths. Buteau is grounded and realistic. When her exhausted Dawn confesses that she can’t take “it” anymore, she doesn’t even have to say what “it” is to have the audience nodding their heads in solidarity.
By contrast, Glazer has built her career on…
Any child over 5 will predict the Keyser Söze twist in Bea and Cal’s relationship. But this is a film that spells out its intentions for an audience still learning its ABCs, a film where Michael Giacchino’s misty violins never stop insisting how to feel, where Krasinski’s goofy dad literally wears a heart on his chest.
Krasinski has the worthy goal of making a children’s movie with an air of prestige — like his characters, he’s striving to be remembered…
Did Sandra kill her husband? As the film flows from investigation to tribunal to verdict, it’s only interested in the question — not the answer. Triet and her fellow screenwriter (and real-life partner) Arthur Harari invite a jury to dissect the flaws of a rather average woman. Sandra drinks, but she’s not a drunk. She’s aloof, but not cruel. She needs sex, but she’s hardly the aggressor the prosecutor (Antoine Reinartz) describes.
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All people are unknowable, the film insists,…
Statham excels as a straight-faced goof. Between his glower and the movie’s high-quality production values, this brain cell-destroying schlock resembles an earnest drama. Yet, Ayer makes it plain that he’s in on the joke. As Statham lays waste to a camo-clad squadron, the shoulder patches on their uniforms read: BS.
