Chuck Bowen

The filmmaker's failure of empathy for those who strive to outlaw medicinal marijuana turns the protestors into hissable puritanical bad guys.

The "male gaze" that often despicably and hypocritically surfaces in these kinds of films is pointedly absent throughout.

It's eventually obvious that Cory McAbee mistakenly believes that his characters' resolutely dull adventures speak for themselves.

Rebecca Thomas's debut feature is a sensible and humane exploration of youthful curiosity.

The film is ultimately enjoyable despite its faults, at least partially because it represents an earnest, honest attempt to empathize with struggling American working-class women.

The film spins its wheels for almost an hour until collapsing under the weight of exposition that renders the mystery nearly besides the point.

Christopher Felver is too reverent to properly convey the invigoratingly profane, angry messiness of the sense of community that Lawrence Ferlinghetti and his peers too briefly brought to life.

Director Laura Archibald's approach is fatally safe, often turning poets into self-congratulatory windbags.

The film is ultimately more concerned with Caveh Zahedi's attempts to pursue a variety of dull passing fancies than with any larger agenda.

The romantic quest that's meant to drive the film is meaningless because Alexander Poe has extended empathy to no one besides himself.