Living epitome of the three-star film you nevertheless throw a heart.
First time a movie’s made my ankles hurt from foot-wagging. Septuagenarian Russell Mael lifting weights and doing squats as funny as any image in Edgar Wright’s filmography.
I am the person who will beam when Christi Haydon appears so there are qualms about not enough time for Angst In My Pants, Gratuitous Sax needing its own doc, etc. This also sits as evidence of one specific fan's perspective, and at ~140 minutes I didn't detect skimping; within that runtime I'm…
This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
(Though they are clearly marked.)
• Significant that this is the first Tarantino period film set in his lifetime, specifically when he was six. Hollywood often seems to be seen through youthful eyes, amazed at the existence of the world itself, turning a wind-whipped convertible drive, the aural wallpaper of radio ads and snippets of songs both unknown and not (dig that inversion of "Mrs. Robinson") as spectacle. How many sound-image combos in his canon are as exhilarating as Polanski's…