Paul Verhoeven’s infamous 1995 satire isn’t Camp going by Susan Sontag’s definition, but it is one of the great American movies.
Author: Matt Cipolla
Gerard Bush & Christopher Renz’s feature debut is a misguided, crass, often silly tale that throws away its cast and premise.
The latest from Sean Durkin is a quiet, searing look at a family falling into disarray featuring stellar work from Carrie Coon.
The franchise’s long-awaited third entry is a harmless jaunt that lacks its predecessors’ novelty and surrealism.
Jay Baruchel’s adaptation of the 2010 comic is an ugly attempt at social commentary that lacks irony or emotion.
Hans Petter Moland’s adaptation of Per Petterson’s novel is a sensual look at growing up, but it’s more inert than introspective.
Brandon Trost’s directorial debut finds two Seth Rogens balancing old, new, and distant family, to largely mixed results.
Romola Garai’s directorial debut, Amulet, aims to mix body horror and feminist storytelling but instead feels like a short film stretched to feature length.
Natalie Erika James’ feature debut mixes loneliness, intimacy, and a strong Bella Heathcote performance to disconcerting effect.
Andy Samberg and Cristin Milioti buoy Max Barbakow’s first scripted feature, mixing laughs and light philosophy in the process.
In light of his passing, we look at the eclectic work of the man who loved camp, callousness, and everything in between.
Hirokazu Kore-eda’s first film outside of his native Japan is a light, star-studded family affair of modest potential and diminishing returns.
Without its own texture or style, Lars Damoiseaux’s camp-adjacent feature debut exists in a vacuum divorced from its inspirations.
The adaptation of the first in Eoin Colfer’s series is alarmingly messy for a project that’s been in the works for almost two decades.
The once-controversial story of “liberal elites” hunting people for sport has a provocative premise, but it’s far less than the sum of its parts.
The last entry in the Trip series provides more insults and impressions, but it isn’t so much about the jokes this time.
Michael Showalter’s latest comedy suffers from a hackneyed script that forces its otherwise-likable stars to do all the heavy lifting.
Benedict Andrews’ retelling of FBI’s pursuit of the French New Wave star under the Hoover administration relies far too heavily on broad stokes.