Q: What's an example of a movie review?
An example of a movie review is here: The Gang of Roses. "Every rose has its thorns."

A mix of old western and hip hop, blended perfectly together. The clothing styles, the scenery, and the plot are all suited to what the director wanted.

Plot - in five years, they robbed twenty-seven banks and then vanished without a trace. Now, a small western town is under siege, and one of the first victims is Rachel's sister. The Rose Gang is ready to ride again. And this time it's personal.

Rachel (Michael Calhoun), Chastity (Lil' Kim), Maria (Lisaraye), Zang Li (Marie Matiko) and Kim (Stacey Dash), five gunslinging women who split up after five years of riding together. When Rachel's sister is killed, she ends up rounding up her friends once again and riding on a trail of vengeance.

A good, muck around version of western. (If you've seen Bad Girls, well this is a little bit better in the ways of the female characters).

I gave it 10/10 because the characters, plot and scenery made it for me.

Q: What's an example of a movie review?
An example of a movie review is here: The second attempt by a New York intellectual in less than 10 years to make a "Swedish" film - the first being Susan Sontag's "Brother Carl" (which was made in Sweden, with Swedish actors, no less!) The results? Oscar Wilde said it best, in reference to Dickens' "The Old Curiosity Shop": "One would have to have a heart of stone not to laugh out loud at the death of Little Nell." Pretty much the same thing here. "Interiors" is chock full of solemnly intoned howlers. ("I'm afraid of my anger." Looking into the middle distance: "I don't like who I'm becoming.") The directorial quotations (to use a polite term) from Bergman are close to parody. The incredibly self-involved family keep reminding us of how brilliant and talented they are, to the point of strangulation. ("I read a poem of yours the other day. It was in - I don't know - The New Yorker." "Oh. That was an old poem. I reworked it.") Far from not caring about these people, however, I found them quite hilarious. Much of the dialog is exactly like the funny stuff from Allen's earlier films - only he's directed his actors to play the lines straight. Having not cast himself in the movie, he has poor Mary Beth Hurt copy all of his thespian tics, intonations, and neurotic habits, turning her into an embarrassing surrogate (much like Kenneth Branagh in "Celebrity").

The basic plot - dysfunctional family with quietly domineering mother - seems to be lifted more or less from Bergman's "Winter Light," the basic family melodrama tricked up with a lot of existential angst. It all comes through in the shopworn visual/aural tricks: the deafening scratching of a pencil on paper, the towering surf that dwarfs the people walking on the beach. etc, etc.

Allen's later "serious" films are less embarrassing, but also far less entertaining. I'll take "Interiors." Woody's rarely made a funnier movie.

Q: What's an example of a movie review?
An example of a movie review is here: The Perfectly Stupid Weapon. I think the guys dancing at the beginning of one of Steven Segal's movies was intented to mock Jeff doing his forms to dance music at the beginning of this stupid movie. The plot is predictable, the fights were fair and Jeff acts about as well as the sofa he beats with some sort of weapon in one scene.

Q: What's an example of a movie review?
An example of a movie review is here:
The saddest thing about this "tribute" is that almost all the singers (including the otherwise incredibly talented Nick Cave) seem to have missed the whole point where Cohen's intensity lies: by delivering his lines in an almost tuneless poise, Cohen transmits the full extent of his poetry, his irony, his all-round humanity, laughter and tears in one.

To see some of these singer upstarts make convoluted suffering faces, launch their pathetic squeals in the patent effort to scream "I'm a singer!," is a true pain. It's the same feeling many of you probably had listening in to some horrendous operatic versions of simple songs such as Lennon's "Imagine." Nothing, simply nothing gets close to the simplicity and directness of the original. If there is a form of art that doesn't need embellishments, it's Cohen's art. Embellishments cast it in the street looking like the tasteless make-up of sex for sale.

In this Cohen's tribute I found myself suffering and suffering through pitiful tributes and awful reinterpretations, all of them entirely lacking the original irony of the master and, if truth be told, several of these singers sounded as if they had been recruited at some asylum talent show. It's Cohen doing a tribute to them by letting them sing his material, really, not the other way around: they may have been friends, or his daughter's, he could have become very tender-hearted and in the mood for a gift. Too bad it didn't stay in the family.

Fortunately, but only at the very end, Cohen himself performed his majestic "Tower of Song," but even that flower was spoiled by the totally incongruous background of the U2, all of them carrying the expression that bored kids have when they visit their poor grandpa at the nursing home.

A sad show, really, and sadder if you truly love Cohen as I do.