National Review, October 24th, 1994
Having despised Michael Tolkin's pretentious and godawful The Rapture, and having had scant use for his supposedly acerb but actually toothless screenplay for The Player, I expected little from his current The New Age. I can't say that I got much more than that, but here and there this movie about Los Angeles that is not about the movie industry shows signs of life. They are mere spasms of vivacity and veracity, but even that is an improvement.
The main problem with the film is that it feels contrived and programmatic - voulu. Mr. Tolkin is hell-bent on delivering a moral sermon on the empt...
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