“Missing the delicious irony that for all his worry, Harry was simply ignored—the filmmaker instead persists with all sorts of jittery nonsense. Prosserman lays on cacophonous sound effects, a quivering shaky-cam and a score riddled with nonstop bleating flutes. Eventually it starts to feel like a parody of an Errol Morris film.” – Philadelphia Weekly, 08/31/2011
“For starters, there’s nothing good about it. The third and worst of SNL star Jason Sudekis’ trio of 2011 crappy raunch comedies. Forget all the messiness of sex or complicated emotions, and don’t even think about anything vaguely erotic or transgressive. This is group sex as a series of happy sitcom endings. It’s like a group hug, only stickier.” – Philadelphia Weekly, 08/31/2011
“Anne Rice and Stephenie Meyer might have defanged vampires into weepy emo boys, but Farrell is proudly feral—twitching, taking giant bites out of apples and somehow finding a way to chew the scenery even when he’s just kicking back with a sixer, watching Desperate Housewives.” – Philadelphia Weekly, 08/24/2011
“It’s a very pleasant lie, sending you out of the cinema on a high note. But what vexes me is why the lie even needed to be told in the first place. Aren’t there enough true stories of heroism during the Civil Rights era? Is it really appropriate for us to all stand up and applaud this courageous, fictional white girl?” – The Improper Bostonian, 08/24/2011
“The biggest structural problem with Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark is the filmmakers’ attempt to prolong a situation that in any sane world would have a swift and rational solution: ‘Honey, there are a bunch of talking fucking rats in this house who feed on children’s teeth. Perhaps we should sleep somewhere else tonight?'” – Philadelphia Weekly, 08/24/2011
“How many other pictures would dare set a romantic moment at a Shoah memorial? The Names Of Love inspires a strange fascination, thanks mostly to an sometimes awe-inspiring indifference to matters of propriety or good taste. It just skips along with its relentlessly upbeat energy and romantic music cues, even when a supporting character commits suicide.
” – Philadelphia Weekly, 08/17/2011
“Oh, here we go again.
Just in case you haven’t yet had your fill of wheezy boomer nostalgia for ‘the ’60s, man,’ here comes another hagiography for that tirelessly self-congratulating generation, charting Ken Kesey’s sad decline from brilliant young novelist to drug-addled bore.” – Philadelphia Weekly, 08/17/2011