Vol. 3 is overly dark, overly busy and often overly dull.

Like a detailed treatise on the Holocaust, summarizing it as a great example in character building.

The adventure and adrenaline are the stars, and here, they’re as bright as anything else put out this year.

The world hasn’t seen this kind of dedication to organization since the Nazis stormed into Poland.

Time and again, Aftersun teases a large reveal only to end up in the most boring of all possible endings.

Triangle of Sadness pulls you into its world with the ease of a master hypnotist.

Amsterdam is a plethora of pomp, but little requisite circumstance.

Blonde’s platinum sheen is nothing more than a dime-store dye job.

An economy-class ticket has rarely been this entertaining.

Luhrmann’s technique had my toes tapping, but left my intrigue lacking.

An errant large asteroid wouldn’t be enough to wipe away this mess.

The power it holds over you is that of a master hypnotist toying with a fully pliant subject.