Pete Davidson’s personal tragedies provide most of the dramatic detours in King, making for a cathartic movie that might not be as funny as you’d expect.

It seems to aim for “David Fincher meets Steven Spielberg” in its aesthetic, and it hits that target.

The concept of immortality is a fascinating one that the film explores thoughtfully from a wide variety of angles, and perceptions on it have a fantastic way of morphing the characters motivations, moralities, and convictions (heroes and villains alike).

At the end of the day, this is Hamilton, as performed by the original Broadway cast, which means it’s brilliant.

[I]t doesn’t manage to flip the script on the sub-genre and coalesce as a film that can legitimately be called entertainment that the entire family can wholly enjoy.

Save for a few legitimately good gags with excellent payoffs, it plays too safe to the point where it ceases being a comedy about the event and instead starts feeling more like a commercial.

[A]s a vehicle for the message Jon Stewart wants to get across with the movie, it equates to sticking a high performance engine built for a Maserati underneath the hood of a faux-wood-paneled minivan.

[The house is] the kind of setting that is expressive enough to qualify as a character within the story… and unfortunately it’s the most interesting one that the film presents.

The mythology’s too dense for young ones, and the execution’s too simplistic for advanced audiences. It’s a surprising misfire by Sir Kenneth Branagh.

A compelling treasure hunt story, with an extremely powerful undercurrent that’s provided by the history of our country, and the deep scars of war.