David Ayer's Fury is one of the few that warrants its length (or most of it). Brutal, punishing and exciting -- in that order -- Fury gives you an approximation of what it would be like to spend a few action-packed days trapped inside an under-equipped American tank toward the end of WWII.
As with Inglourious Basterds, in Django Tarantino once again seems to speak directly to the heart and from the minds of the characters he is writing for, and taps into the imaginatively creative and fantastical outcome that makes this a great movie experience.
G.W. Pabst stands alongside Fritz Lang and F.W. Murnau as one of the three great directors working in Germany during the silent film era. Pabst, however, has not always gotten the attention paid to his more celebrated colleagues.
This year's Oscar producers, Adam Shankman and Bil Mechanic, were so dedicated to the quixotic task of luring in young viewers, that we were given a show full of presenters that appeared to have gone through puberty during the rehearsals.
Welcome to the 2010 Academy Awards, a celebration of monstrous, gasp-inducing creative bankruptcy which you continue to watch year after year like the pathetic, salivating dogs we have programmed you to be!
I can't stand Inglourious Basterds' Eli Roth. Everyone on the Internet has a strong opinion about him one way or the other, and the only difference between the two sides is that one is utterly f***ing wrong.
The British Government has issued a profuse apology to the German and Slovakian governments that two of Britain's special operatives during World War II used fake IDs in their successful mission to assassinate a Nazi SS chief.
I've been asked to weigh in on whether Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds will somehow game the system or benefit from the screwy new best-picture voting process. Here's what I think: I don't care.