In what is for the most part The Denzel Show, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a character in a movie talk so much as this garrulous, perpetually pished bit of rough. A wonderful script laden with occasionally profound insights and asides, it’s another tour de force from Denzel.
You’re in the presence of greatness.
A perfectly reasonable and noble biopic, so totally in awe of its subject that I lost interest and inevitably pulled the plug due to how tame and by the numbers it was.
But that hour wasn’t torture; I spent most of it on the topic’s Wikipedia entry, a few mumbling song renditions in the background.
So, thanks for the wee boost, for I can now hold a five-minute conversation about Bob Dylan.
James Woods as the odious pimp Lester Diamond in Casino (1995).
The lad features for a mere 10 minutes but in those precious scenes cements his acting legacy by effortlessly creating one of the the sleaziest, slimiest characters ever put on celluloid.
James Woods is a treat and we should be grateful to him.
Strong nostalgia tour here, the type of entirely unnecessary sequel you’d expect after a 30-year hiatus.
It’s okay for what it is – hit and miss, breezy enough for an hour but far too draining once the physical comedy reaches breaking point in its repetition.
And erstwhile golfer/legendary hellraiser John Daly has a cameo. I forgot about him. But I’m glad I have learned he is still alive.
I tried.
Scorsese always deserves a second change of pants.
This movie is fucking atrocious. The needless, meandering, wholly unmemorable dialogue was the worst element of this unimpressive stinker.
You get the impression they are all about to drop the bombshell. And there isn’t one.
And it’s not even funny.
I hated it and hope you do too.
Sorry, Marty.
Jerry Bruckheimer. Hans Zimmer on score duties. A beautiful leading man. Is this another era? I’m torn: it’s either the late 1980s or early ’90s.
A perfectly good movie here, throwback feel revved up to suitable levels of nostalgia but with cutting edge pyrotechnics.
How a gruesome series of sadistic slashers whose sole concern is setting up, with our complicity in the premonition, chain-reaction sequences of unfettered butchery can be … fun is entirely testament to the filmmakers.
And this is by a mile the best yet.
It’s brilliant.
Complex but not too much so, at breakneck pacing the internal paradoxes of time travel have seldom had such thrilling treatment. It’s all a bit depressing as well, with one wrong move ruining future generations, but it’s done in an enjoyable way. Dumping Jennifer, Marty’s beleaguered girlfriend and soon-to-be wife, in an alleyway (and then a porch) is a bit naughty, though. That’s not aged well.
As for it’s prediction of 2015, much of it was accurate, but I don’t recall hoverboards a decade ago. Even today, members of Edinburgh’s shrieking underclass community are still pounding it along pavements on pink scooters (stolen), with lifted cleaning goods from budget supermarket Aldi shoved down their tracksuit bottoms.
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