Don’t hate. I was given tickets. Then I stayed thinking it could not get any worse. It did, and my faith in the industry is waning, along with my hope for humanity.
Unscripted Wahlberg slides on a knee from a Detroit dump site onto Oxford cobblestone into an antique sub and back onto midwestern fields where he leads the rebel band of transforming good guys against both the anti-alien strike force and Megatron’s bad-car band stars.
Hideously disconnected, nothing shocks more than the horrid acting from legends like Anthony Hopkins and Stanley Tucci. If money led them to this decision, the world has sunk to a new low. More character intros than a History Channel film, and more stolen moments than Shayamalan could boast, Bay thrusts Tony Hale’s sad screams into too many unrelated scenes so his two new Megan Fox wish list girls can attempt to save the world with Merlyn’s lost staff, a shapeshifting suction token, and a mini wannabe bb8 bot.
Michael Bay, still so obviously suffering from arrested development or boredom allows his pre-pubescent humor to direct scenes without sense. He calls for the low bar and gets it every time. Despite bright colors, explosive chase scenes, expensive effects, and 2012esque planet-threatening invasions, an extensively narrated opener of exposition can’t make up for a complete lack of story. This extended screen test for fresh-faced potentials hoping for their Stranger Things debut became a nonsensical comedy by minute 12, and the longest toy commercial ever by minute 5.
Ryan Gosling’s character, b-class private investigator with decent intuition but bad judgement ceases to impress his toughest critic: his preteen daughter.
One of Pete’s Dragon‘s fatal flaws had to lie in casting: Karl Urban plays the nicest bad guy, Bentley gives off disinterested dad vibes, Howard sadly looked constipated for most of the film, and Redford must have filmed his short scenes all in about a day.
Sadly the magic of this film was mostly lost in long, streaming dialogue, kid-film slapstick, and overly dramatized pauses. Those lingering gazes of wonder at the empty sky must have made for long days of filming and a lot of hopeful discussions with CG artists. Not even the interspersed narration by Robert Redford himself could heal the dragon’s lackluster character.
Woody Allen offshoots from his recent run of sweet charming Paris-in-the-20s films and jumps into New York & LA in the 30s. Cafe Society, though beautiful frame-for-frame, is a diatribe, a tragic spiral into the depths of disappointment over past failures and Niche-esque psychological queries on the purposelessness of life. 
Steve Carell’s forefront character, remains abrupt and unfeeling throughout. Jesse Eisenberg is the perfect young Woody Allen replica with his despondent stammer and tragic tropes as he works to woo Kristen Stewart, still sullen post-Twilight. Blake Lively is barely there, a wisp in model pose for the few moments she walks on-screen. My favorites, Paul Schneider and Parker Posey, were sadly more like extras, mere furniture in the film, not fixtures. 
The true tragedy is, if this film had succeeded in producing even a single hopeful, likable character to root for, it would have been enough to redeem even the wooden performances of the least emotional actors in Hollywood.
I’ll say: 3/10
Horrifying. Tragic. Unlovely. Why?
It jolts from the start. Then impending death threatens at every corner. An odd romp to a summer camp hotel for sad solitary souls quickly turns terrifying and totally unpalatable with slow suicides, dogs kicked to death, murderous night hunts through the woods, threats of gore, and overt sexual scenes. It goes too far.
The heart was right. But the execution…abrupt and ill-conceived.
The actors, however, proved themselves professionals. Mary Elizabeth Winstead (best as Ramona Flowers in Scott Pilgrim) and John Gallagher Jr. (from the beloved short-lived HBO series Newsroom and the perfect indie Short Term 12) cared that their roles were believable and strong. John Goodman obviously enjoyed playing the crazy bunker-builder. They seemed eager participants in what felt like an experimental suck-up film, each shot an attempted homage to JJ or Spielberg. But even that would have been nice had this not felt more akin to Shayamalan’s more recent tragedies.
It all felt forced, and left too many unsolved mysteries about the characters themselves: like the unsolved main issue of Michelle’s backstory and serious relationship on the rocks. Any real details about her Emmett in the hatch, oh sorry the bomb shelter. Man, good thing they barely had to redecorate the Lost set after Desmond set the place up. Aren’t they supposed to be hitting a button every 108 minutes?
If you wait for breadcrumbs to lead you to truth in this one, you’ll go hungry. They mean nothing in the end. (Wait. Maybe this IS another Lost finale.)
I don’t know. Maybe people don’t go to the movies to think. Maybe I’m alone in blaming sloppy writing / directing. Sure JJ may have paid for it, but his MO is to support up-and-comers. He’s walking in the footsteps of his mentor Steven (Spielberg) and helping the fledgling directors take wing. Unfortunately, this Icharus not only flies too close to the sun, he flies into it inviting strangers from outerspace back with him to take over our planet. After this film, you’ll wonder which is worse: crazies on earth or crude angry aliens.
Anne Hathaway, I am convinced, is Shakespeare’s vampire-bitten wife by the same name, ageless and continually remaking Princess Diaries and the Devil Wears Prada. She’s finally made it as her own boss in this one, and she is determined to show that she can run a company all by herself without becoming a hateful, bitter, or too busy to have a family. 
This film promotes the positive business model of improving a work-life balance. It examines the pitfalls of start-ups, the benefit of experienced voices in the workplace, and the process of mentoring. Obvious from the previews, it’s an anti-agism play, but DeNiro rises as the professional for his kindness, his offering of time, his gracious attitude, and his personal initiative. He alone proves that gentlemen do exist and pocket squares are proof. The office falls for him, and his reward is helping each co-worker find success. If that were every worker’s personal motto, the face of business would be changed. Seeing this on the heels of Steve Jobs (2015) proved a fascinating study on growing businesses, sharing ideas, and becoming a business leader. Where Jobs repulsed, DeNiro wooed. 
The Intern, which feels a great deal like an attempted sequel to The Internship (2013) is full of Home Alone hyjinx and freshmen boys bathroom humor. Not enough to be sorry I saw it, but enough to never really need to see it again.
Splatter: on FILM 