Running With Scissors is a schizophrenic film. It simply doesn’t know what it wants to be — a witty and wacky satire, or a serious and heartfelt drama. As a result, the entire film wheels around wildly on unstable cinematic feet before collapsing in a heap of earnest yet irreconcilable best intentions.

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There is a moment in The Prestige, following a puzzling trick when, after it is reluctantly explained, a character says something to the effect of, “Once you figure the trick out it ceases to be interesting anymore.”
Exactly.

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It’s a Hollywood staple: the bored teenager, burdened with dreams of wanderlust to leave his tiny, stifling town and make it big in New York City. In A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints the protagonist is already in New York City (Astoria, Queens to be specific) and he, conversely, dreams only of getting as far […]

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The Departed heralds Martin Scorsese’s return to the top of his game and simultaneously secures for the film a place in the pantheon of the very best of American crime cinema.
Welcome back to Scorsese’s mean streets.

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