The festival runs Friday through Sunday at the Bing Crosby Theater and the Unfinished Space.
Soderbergh’s “Laundromat” seeks to make sense of a story that is breathtakingly complex, with enough players and layers and locations and implications to make one’s head spin. Working with the screenwriter Scott Z. Burns, he takes a novel approach, creating an anthology of darkly comic vignettes to illustrate the grave premise that, in the face of global, anonymous, unregulated corruption, the little guys have zero chance at justice or accountability.
“Zombieland” may have helped to give birth to the zomb-aissance, but “Double Tap” just might be the kill shot.
What worked about the first “Maleficent” was Jolie herself, trying on something softer, even funny, her face, enhanced with prosthetics, half of the visual spectacle. But “Mistress of Evil” crowds Jolie. Maleficent fades to the background, eclipsed by full-camp Pfeiffer as the evil, Trumpian dictator queen, an unholy combination of Slobodan Milosevic and Imelda Marcos.
Robert Forster, the handsome and omnipresent character actor who got a career resurgence and Oscar nomination for playing bail bondsman Max Cherry in “Jackie Brown,” died Friday. He was 78.
Most everyone who mattered in AMC’s unsurpassed drama “Breaking Bad” had been killed off by the 2013 finale – a closing episode that still stands as one of TV’s best. There is no discernible reason the series should be followed by a film, other than placating series creator Vince Gilligan and fans who miss the world of Walter White (Bryan Cranston) and Jesse Pinkman (Aaron Paul). But really, who among us, once dazzled by Heisenberg’s schemes, doesn’t miss Cranston tromping through scrub brush in his tighty whities or Paul smoking a bowl in a worn knit hat?
The enduring appeal of “The Addams Family” is quite impressive. With only four notes and a couple of snaps, plus a classic black dress, one can instantly evoke the classic American Gothic clan who are creepy, kooky, mysterious and spooky. Since Morticia’s 1938 debut on the pages of the New Yorker in a cartoon drawn by Charles Addams, the unusual family has been iconic in every possible format.
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The plot is as boring and low stakes as could be. There’s no doodad to find, computer chip to destroy or super virus to avert. It’s just one young, digital Will Smith chasing older, real Will Smith around Cartagena and Budapest while both Will Smiths grapple with the existential crisis of facing ... yourself.
The DreamWorks animated adventure “Abominable” has topped the box office with an estimated $20.9 million, while the Renee Zellweger-led Judy Garland tale “Judy” got off to a sonorous start.
The trumpet was Miles Davis’ primary way of communicating with the world, and director Stanley Nelson makes a case that the vulnerable beauty of much of his music, notably the ballads he played with a Harmon mute, was a way of revealing himself beyond his hardened persona.
The startlingly profound and moving message we’re left with is a universal one: If we care for nature and animals with compassion and understanding, there’s a larger, unseen magic that just might reveal itself to and through you.
It’s not difficult to see why we might need to be reminded of a voice like Molly Ivins’ again. With free speech under attack, and truth-telling seemingly in short supply, “Raise Hell” offers an entertaining and bracing look at one of journalism’s least punch-pulling practitioners.
What the film lacks in style it makes up for in the kind of dogged, unself-conscious integrity that Gun comes to stand for and that, in light of the bizarre turns U.S. and British politics have taken in intervening years, feels increasingly like an artifact of the past.
Rambo lumbers to the finish line in the flaccid fifth installment, which is a Frankenstein’s monster of badly photocopied references to the previous movies, limply strung together with the laziest of screenplays.
“Ad Astra” is the story of a man’s journey to the outermost reaches of the universe and the innermost depths of himself. It’s a trip he has to make in isolation, yet one of the most indelible images in a film of indelible images is of an outstretched hand. Can Roy take it and allow himself to be helped, to be held? Despite the grandeur and glory of such a solo mission, sometimes it’s better to surrender to the whims of the world.
If the mere sight of the titular grand manor – the locus of so much melodrama over six seasons of stories about the wealthy upstairs toffs and their downstairs servants – is insufficient to stir any sense of anticipation, then maybe this isn’t the movie for you.
The ending is right there in the title, but Paul Downs Colaizzo’s film leans into the old adage that it’s all about the journey, not the destination, following the achingly hard work of Brittany’s trek toward the finish line of the New York City Marathon, and, ultimately, happiness.
What’s refreshing about “Sound of My Voice” (and Ronstadt in general) is her open, generous spirit. She was a connector, giving her blessing as Don Henley and Glenn Frey formed The Eagles while touring as her backup band, and a supporter, lifting country artist Emmylou Harris up with her and becoming her No. 1 fan, rather than a jealous competitor.
In a year of spectacular comebacks – from Brad Pitt and Renee Zellweger to Jamie Foxx and Eddie Murphy – none is as purely, sensationally pleasurable as Jennifer Lopez’s commanding lead performance in “Hustlers,” a sexually charged caper flick.