Tapiroulant
Joined Aug 2023
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Tapiroulant's rating
Regardless of an interesting plot and a convincing performance by the actors, one cannot remain silent in the face of this Hollywood mangling of an Agatha Christie masterpiece, based on outright idiocies that presume the existence of Halloween celebrations in Italy in 1947!
Only the ignorance of an American screenwriter could have conceived such nonsense!
Only the ignorance of an American screenwriter could have conceived such nonsense!
If you've ever wondered what it feels like to watch paint dry while being lectured by a creepy uncle who thinks he's poetic, look no further than The Night of the Hunter. For reasons completely unknown to anyone with functioning eyes and ears, this film is somehow considered a "masterpiece." Classic? Sure. A classic example of how cinematic groupthink can elevate pretentious nonsense into legendary status.
Let's talk about the plot-or what little there is of it. A creepy preacher (Robert Mitchum, mumbling his way through a role that people keep calling "iconic" for no discernible reason) goes around terrorizing children. Sounds like a horror movie, right? Except it moves at the pace of molasses and never decides if it wants to be a fairy tale, a thriller, or a 90-minute fever dream.
Charles Laughton's direction is hailed as "visionary." Visionary in what sense? That he managed to make a horror movie without tension? That he thought having people stand in doorways while staring blankly into space was a deep commentary on good and evil?
And can we talk about the acting? Every performance is pitched at the level of high school drama club trying way too hard. Mitchum's "LOVE" and "HATE" speech is supposed to be legendary. Why? Because he has knuckle tattoos? That's literally the most interesting part of the scene.
Even the cinematography, which critics love to drool over, feels like a film student's first experiment with shadows. Yes, there are cool visuals-if you're a fan of Dutch angles and awkward silhouettes of people sitting on horses for what feels like eternity.
Yet somehow, this movie sits at a staggeringly high 99% on Rotten Tomatoes. Ninety-nine percent! That's higher than most movies that actually have a coherent plot or emotional payoff. It's as if critics decided long ago that it's untouchable, and now everyone just plays along for fear of sounding uncultured.
In short: The Night of the Hunter is a slow, awkward, tone-deaf slog dressed up in arthouse cosplay. Watch it if you enjoy being bored by something that insists on its own importance while doing absolutely nothing to earn it.
Zero stars for the movie. Extra star for the unintended comedy.
Let's talk about the plot-or what little there is of it. A creepy preacher (Robert Mitchum, mumbling his way through a role that people keep calling "iconic" for no discernible reason) goes around terrorizing children. Sounds like a horror movie, right? Except it moves at the pace of molasses and never decides if it wants to be a fairy tale, a thriller, or a 90-minute fever dream.
Charles Laughton's direction is hailed as "visionary." Visionary in what sense? That he managed to make a horror movie without tension? That he thought having people stand in doorways while staring blankly into space was a deep commentary on good and evil?
And can we talk about the acting? Every performance is pitched at the level of high school drama club trying way too hard. Mitchum's "LOVE" and "HATE" speech is supposed to be legendary. Why? Because he has knuckle tattoos? That's literally the most interesting part of the scene.
Even the cinematography, which critics love to drool over, feels like a film student's first experiment with shadows. Yes, there are cool visuals-if you're a fan of Dutch angles and awkward silhouettes of people sitting on horses for what feels like eternity.
Yet somehow, this movie sits at a staggeringly high 99% on Rotten Tomatoes. Ninety-nine percent! That's higher than most movies that actually have a coherent plot or emotional payoff. It's as if critics decided long ago that it's untouchable, and now everyone just plays along for fear of sounding uncultured.
In short: The Night of the Hunter is a slow, awkward, tone-deaf slog dressed up in arthouse cosplay. Watch it if you enjoy being bored by something that insists on its own importance while doing absolutely nothing to earn it.
Zero stars for the movie. Extra star for the unintended comedy.
Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness is a glaring example of style over substance, a film that sacrifices meaningful storytelling for relentless, hollow spectacle. While the concept of a multiverse holds immense potential, this movie fails to leverage it in any innovative or engaging way, instead delivering a disjointed mess that feels more like a series of poorly connected set pieces than a cohesive narrative.
The plot, if one can even call it that, is a convoluted mix of undercooked ideas and contrived character decisions. The titular Doctor Strange, a character with immense potential, feels sidelined in his own movie, playing second fiddle to Wanda Maximoff's erratic descent into villainy. Wanda's arc, while rich in WandaVision, is reduced here to a caricature, turning her into a one-note antagonist driven by the flimsiest of motivations. The emotional depth and complexity that made her compelling are thrown out the window for cheap shock value.
Director Sam Raimi's signature style-known for its quirky horror elements-feels awkwardly shoehorned in, clashing with the established tone of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. The result is a tonal inconsistency that leaves the movie oscillating between moments of cartoonish horror and unearned sentimentality. Raimi's penchant for campy visuals might work in isolation, but here it feels jarring and out of place, detracting from the film's already fragmented narrative.
The performances are uneven at best. Benedict Cumberbatch seems to be sleepwalking through his role, offering little of the charm or gravitas we've come to associate with Doctor Strange. Elizabeth Olsen does her best with what she's given, but her character's drastic turn is so poorly written that even her talent can't salvage it. Supporting characters like Wong and America Chavez are reduced to plot devices, adding little depth or dimension.
Visually, the film is a mixed bag. While some of the multiverse sequences are visually inventive, others are cluttered and overwhelming, lacking the polish and creativity one might expect from a project of this scale. The heavy reliance on CGI feels uninspired, and the action sequences, though abundant, are devoid of emotional stakes or real tension.
Worst of all, the movie feels utterly disconnected from the rest of the MCU. For a film that promises to expand the multiverse, it does shockingly little to advance the overarching narrative or introduce compelling new ideas. Instead, it feels like a throwaway entry, more interested in setting up future projects than telling a satisfying story in its own right.
In the end, Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness is a frustrating, hollow experience - a movie that squanders its immense potential and ends up being one of the weaker entries in the Marvel franchise. It's an unfortunate reminder that even a universe as expansive as Marvel's is not immune to creative misfires.
The plot, if one can even call it that, is a convoluted mix of undercooked ideas and contrived character decisions. The titular Doctor Strange, a character with immense potential, feels sidelined in his own movie, playing second fiddle to Wanda Maximoff's erratic descent into villainy. Wanda's arc, while rich in WandaVision, is reduced here to a caricature, turning her into a one-note antagonist driven by the flimsiest of motivations. The emotional depth and complexity that made her compelling are thrown out the window for cheap shock value.
Director Sam Raimi's signature style-known for its quirky horror elements-feels awkwardly shoehorned in, clashing with the established tone of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. The result is a tonal inconsistency that leaves the movie oscillating between moments of cartoonish horror and unearned sentimentality. Raimi's penchant for campy visuals might work in isolation, but here it feels jarring and out of place, detracting from the film's already fragmented narrative.
The performances are uneven at best. Benedict Cumberbatch seems to be sleepwalking through his role, offering little of the charm or gravitas we've come to associate with Doctor Strange. Elizabeth Olsen does her best with what she's given, but her character's drastic turn is so poorly written that even her talent can't salvage it. Supporting characters like Wong and America Chavez are reduced to plot devices, adding little depth or dimension.
Visually, the film is a mixed bag. While some of the multiverse sequences are visually inventive, others are cluttered and overwhelming, lacking the polish and creativity one might expect from a project of this scale. The heavy reliance on CGI feels uninspired, and the action sequences, though abundant, are devoid of emotional stakes or real tension.
Worst of all, the movie feels utterly disconnected from the rest of the MCU. For a film that promises to expand the multiverse, it does shockingly little to advance the overarching narrative or introduce compelling new ideas. Instead, it feels like a throwaway entry, more interested in setting up future projects than telling a satisfying story in its own right.
In the end, Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness is a frustrating, hollow experience - a movie that squanders its immense potential and ends up being one of the weaker entries in the Marvel franchise. It's an unfortunate reminder that even a universe as expansive as Marvel's is not immune to creative misfires.