The Grudge series gets mouth raped by americans who are after a quick buck. The only redeeming quality to this film is that were I to meet the director I'd be able to take pleasure in breaking his teeth. Twat.
Has an idealist free spirited air about it that makes you think that the person who wrote it has at some point taken a large amount of hallucinogenic drugs, probably in a desert.
I felt duty bound to watch this since I've seen the first two. This one is comprised of 70% sudden sharp zooms on buildings and/or people with appropriate swooshing noises, 25% shaky, motion-sickness inducing action sequences which make you wish somebody would buy Paul Greengrass a tripod for Christmas and 5% utter greatness.
Second part of the biopic about a bungling criminal whose ineptitude is only exceeded by the police force pursuing him, thus by default making him Public Enemy No. 1. The story in this one still skitters about like a baby giraffe on an ice rink but it's far more entertaining than the first due to it's focus on Cassel running around shooting guns (and usually missing), escaping from prisons (by waving guns around) and crashing cars (whilst attempting to escape).
Some of the most impressive FX I've ever seen fail to hide the fact that Roland Emmerich is a cock gargling moron who really shouldn't attempt to make intelligent, emotionally rich films and should maybe pursue a more suitable alternative career. Maybe as a paperweight, or a doorstop. Prick.
Korean film that isn't the ghost story that it presents itself to be. Slowly reveals a complication of plot strands that completely absorb and as an added bonus contains some of the finest one shot deaths ever committed to film. The biggest mystery, though, is who sent it to me?
Despite it's age, watching a giant lizard wade through a sea of fire that was once Tokyo is an impressive speactacle. And despite it's legacy there's not an ounce of kitsch on it.
I had read that this was a feminist horror movie (a quite preposterous notion), but it's not. It's a horror movie made by women (who are probably fed up that everything they do is seen as a pro-feminist stance), and that's a very different thing.
Pretentious, incoherent twaddle that attempts to document the relationship between Francis Bacon and George Dyer. Except it doesn't because it spends all it's time desperately trying to be a film equivalent of a Bacon painting and failing catastrophically. Total bollocks.
Tarantino surprised me by making a fairly excellent 70 min Grindhouse pastiche. He then quickly let me down by making a far, far shittier second movie and clumsily bolting it onto the end. What a nob.