When Harry Met Sally

A movie about self-satisfaction that is itself way too self-satisfied to have anything very interesting to say

Woody Allen’s decline into self-parody accelerates

A funny and well-observed chick-flick that, nevertheless, never quite gets us beyond the recognition that it’s hell being a woman.

An awful movie on a subject that deserves — and has received — a lot better

Time passes and the world moves on, but Hollywood is still making the same basic thriller — in which American government and industry are the bad guys — that it has churned out for 30 years

Earlier this year, in a review of Panic by Henry Bromell, I observed that it was possible to appreciate a film which is an impressive bit of propaganda for a political position with which you profoundly disagree. Just think of Leni Riefenstahl’s The Triumph of the Will. Nowadays, the most assiduous ideologues among film-makers are…