Mary Poppins Returns
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All Critics (14)
| Top Critics (9)
| Fresh (1)
| Rotten (13)
Little about the Doyles makes you want to partake of their sour hospitality, even if it's only for an hour and a half.
Because Petrol is so grim, its few moments of repentance and reconciliation don't feel as contrived as they might otherwise; if any film has earned the right to be sentimental, it's this one.
As even a novice moviegoer would expect, they argue and drink, then argue and drink some more.
Solid performances and a literary feel help turn a standard family-rift drama into a dry but saucy narrative.
If, as Tolstoy observed, happy families are alike, and each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way, the Dublin-set film Red Roses and Petrol didn't get the message, being a dysfunctional clan movie that feels dispiritingly like all the others.
In Red Roses and Petrol, a soused, post-funeral postmortem on a dysfunctional Dublin family, the misery seeps from the screen in cold, damp waves; by the end you'll be grabbing for the bottle yourself.
With her static camera, director and co-writer Tamar Simon Hoffs has done little to move it out of its staginess.
Mired by cliché and oddly beset by a sense of false Irishness.
Hoffs locks down her characters in unimaginatively framed medium shots, while mixing in a few monochromatic flashbacks, some video footage of the dead patriarch and two fast-cut sequences in a vain attempt at visual variety.
Iâ(TM)d rather just sit in on one of my own families squabbles; weâ(TM)re much more entertaining.
Tamar Simon Hoffs's bland-as-boiled-cabbage adaptation of Joseph O'Connor's play finally hobbles into theaters, reminding us every 15 seconds that just because it looks distinctly American and was shot in California, it's a fookin' Irish movie.
An Irish family gather for the death of the father and some drinks. No one is happy or quiet about it. Fingers of blame are frequent in this static production that looks very much like the static stage production that spawned it, and by the end I felt as if I'd endured a soap opera marathon. Two minor characters eyeball the proceedings early on and beat a hasty retreat ... I was wishing to've left with them.
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