Merritt, Mathew McConaughey and the rest of the cast deliver believable performances. White Boy Rick just never elevates itself beyond its own squalid dreams.
Feig delivers some darkly funny stuff but not enough serious mystery. There is no Hitchcock bounce, just Feig wasting his voice on something that doesn’t suit his style.
Director Dan Fogelman (the show runner for the similarly themed television series This Is Us) knows that much of Life Itself will lend itself to complaints of manipulation to those critics who seek meaning in film but refuse to see it outside the celluloid dark. He doesn’t care.
The Wife is Glenn Close’s movie, her defining moment. By showing her character as a gracious loser and spouse she comes out the winner.
Juliet, Naked is a good tune to listen to for the late September cinema blues.
The Predator is succumbing to the thing that killed the Alien franchise too many aliens that forget that they are suppose to be the horror.
Peppermint was probably about as much fun for Garner to do as it was for her to drive Ben Affleck to rehab.
Kin plays like a failed Quentin Tarantino movie redirected by Robert Rodriguez with a bad script rewrite from James Cameron. It is violent when it needs to be soft and inane when it explains.
The Black Community has been waiting a long time for something as fully representative as Black Panther. So has the MCU.