It may seem hard to believe, given the months of hype and speculation, that record-shattering opening and the merchandise — so very much merchandise — but movies other than “Star Wars: The Force Awakens” opened in 2015.
Entertainment Columns
Fans of Quentin Tarantino know that if there’s one thing the writer-director loves — even more than bloody violence, music from the 1970s and women’s feet — it’s the sound of his own words.
When it was announced that David O. Russell’s next movie would tell the story of Miracle Mop inventor Joy Mangano, I couldn’t wait to see how the filmmaker responsible for such recent delights as “Silver Linings Playbook” and “American Hustle” could turn that into a compelling movie.
If 2015 has produced a more satisfying pop-culture moment than seeing Han Solo (Harrison Ford) and Chewbacca (Peter Mayhew) reunited with their beloved Millennium Falcon, accompanied by a bit of John Williams’ iconic score, I don’t want to know about it.
In the days before Wikipedia, many a student assigned to read “Moby-Dick” did so via CliffsNotes, those truncated little study guides that summarize a novel’s plot and themes at the expense of a real understanding of the text.
If nothing else, “Scrooged” should have taught Bill Murray the hazards of producing a live TV special on Christmas Eve.
In a year of reboots ranging from entertaining (“Mad Max: Fury Road,” “Jurassic World”) to dreadful (“Vacation,” “Terminator Genisys”), “Creed” may be the most surprising one yet.
One of the biggest drawbacks to adapting a series of books for the big screen, especially with the obligatory splitting of the final novel into two movies, is the lack of closure.
Bored. Just bored. That’s the best way to describe sitting through “SPECTRE,” the butt-numbing extension of “Skyfall” that plods along ground so familiar, it’s easy to see how Daniel Craig could have grown tired of playing James Bond.
In case you’ve spent the past 24 hours holed up inside a Tauntaun, you’re well aware that tickets for “Star Wars: The Force Awakens” go on sale tonight after the trailer debuts during halftime of “Monday Night Football.”
Children tearfully watch filmstrips about how their best chance to survive a nuclear attack is to “duck and cover.” James Donovan (Tom Hanks) looks on in horror as Berliners are gunned down trying to clamber over the newly constructed wall. At one point, shots are fired into his New York home.
It’s a little-known fact of film criticism: Saturday morning screenings are almost universally awful.
You wanna win the war on drugs? Find a way to get each cartel boss alone in a room, then have Benicio Del Toro glare at him. It won’t be long before the world’s supply of illicit substances dwindles to whatever weed Seth Rogen happens to be holding.
Space travel + ’70s-era radio hits = awesomeness.
Not long into “Black Mass,” director Scott Cooper’s grim tale of Boston mobster James “Whitey” Bulger and his dealings with the FBI, I started trying to guess the fate of each new character as part of a game I called “Whacked or Not Whacked.” Spoiler alert: The result was usually Whacked.
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