It’s a tale as old as…well, the modern action movie. Boy meets girl, boy and girl kick some ass together, boy delivers snarky line that elicits an audience laugh, girl stares at boy like he just announced that maybe the bad guys were right all along.
Who is April O’Neil? As the entirely unnecessary new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles film floods theaters this month, the sassy reporter and number one mutant turtle documentarian is once again in our cultural consciousness.
Film adaptations of dystopian young adult fiction are officially a “thing.” This year alone will see the release of at least four: the third Hunger Games, new blockbuster Divergent, Maze Runner, and finally The Giver, which opened last Friday.
In "Dawn of the Planet of the Apes," gestures and body language communicate more than spoken words.
There are some movies you see because you actively seek them out, and some you see because just giving up and buying a ticket seems easier than resisting the tidal forces that conspire to pull you into the box office. It was in this latter spirit that I saw Dawn of the Planet of the Apes: my friend and I had missed the showtime for the movie we wanted to see, and found nothing but apes for the rest of the afternoon.
Sinister lighting, innocent child, creepy closet full of demons... check, check, and check!
I’ve always appreciated horror as a genre full of little experiments. If a director’s goal is to scare, disturb, or unsettle the audience, she has to manufacture a Rube Goldberg-like system of tense silences and jump scares to find success.
It was a strange choice for a summer blockbuster. A weepy film about a girl dying of thyroid cancer who meets her boyfriend in a support group and then travels to Amsterdam so she can meet the author she idolizes before experiencing the ultimate heartbreak.