If there’s anything we know about how the dead function in the beige and black hued world of House of Cards, it's that no death is wasted.
The Democratic National Convention is in full swing, but is it all just a ruse by the man behind the curtain?
The intermission in Frank and Claire’s marriage has come to a close, but it's undeniable that there’s something — or perhaps someone — missing from the mix.
In days of old, referring to someone as a “viral sensation” could more of less connote some sort of VD, but with the Conways it takes on a new meaning.
Whether it’s Frank's liver, Doug’s cold heart, Dunbar’s sound mind, or Claire’s beautiful lips, Chapter 45 of House of Cards shows us many of the characters being tested to the absolute limits.
In Chapter 44 of House of Cards, fever dreams tickle the conscience of the king while the world on the outside keeps on spinning.
Chapter 43 of House of Cards is all about math. Math and bullets.
House of Cards Chapter 42 is a veritable showdown between Frank and Claire over who is the strongest Underwood.
The phrase “If you love something let it go" takes on new meaning in Chapter 41 of House of Cards.
House of Cards returns and things have some how become even more rotten in the District of Columbia.
With a multitude of TV shows available at your fingertips, we ask the question: I can binge watch, but should I? First up: House of Cards.
The Congress is unquestionably one of the worst films of the year, but probably the only one made by a visionary talent.
Philip Seymour Hoffman leaves behind one final exceptional leading performance in Anton Corbijn’s smart, stylish, and thrilling John le Carré adaptation, A Most Wanted Man.
Never rising about the trite and tawdry nature of a Harlequin novel, the “erotic” drama Adore feels more sleazy and silly than emotionally charged. It’s a stunning miscalculation and an uneasy, unpleasant film to watch at the best of times. It’s extremely soft core mommy porn for women who would breast feed a child until they were 12.
Despite being the mind behind the brilliant L.A. Confidential, writer James Ellroy's work rarely transitions well to the big screen. Much like graphic novelist Frank Miller, Ellroy needs a director who can temper his sometimes unnecessarily over the top and formulaic material into a watchable package. With Ellroy’s latest outing Rampart, director Oren Moverman show’s that he’s simply not up to the challenge leading to film that feels wholly indistinguishable from the author’s past big screen outings about dirty Los Angeles cops.