
Andrew Wright goes to bat for Roland Emmerich:
Considerable Velveeta factor aside, though, the guy's a visually gifted, unabashedly middlebrow director who consistently delivers big, goofy epics about things blowing up real good, without any of the casual misogyny, smarm, or Genuine Draft sheen espoused by Michael Bay and his posse. (Or the spatial incoherence, for that matter: Emmerich is one of the few remaining blockbuster directors to understand that special effects lose much of their pop when you can't tell what the hell is going on.) If his cinematic sensibilities seem stuck at the level of an imaginative adolescent boy with a bunch of Tonka trucks and a crapload of M-80s, well, that's what pre-matinee booze is for.
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