First, you hate it, then you get used to it.
A lyrical, challenging piece of literature becomes a stupid, sloppy film.
A technological improvement, but still work to be done on cleaning windows into a digital soul.
It damns every torpedo — except for the one that sinks it.
Johnny Depp may or may not be in it. What more can I say?
With great power has come great laziness.
Tarantino's turn is a butt-shifter, but the endeavor carries a giddy, ghastly charge.
A deliciously juicy piece of cinematic fast food.
Such artful decapitations, such a self-important head on its shoulders.
All the focus of its characters who play "Halo" at 4:20.