From a review of the movie Slumdog Millionaire by Dennis Lim in Slate:
A slippery and self-conscious concoction, Slumdog has it both ways. It makes a show of being anchored in a real-world social context, then asks to be read as a fantasy. It ladles on brutality only to dispel it with frivolity. The film’s evasiveness is especially dismaying when compared with the purpose and clarity of urban-poverty fables like Luis Bunuel’s Los Olvidados, set among Mexico City street kids, or Charles Burnett’s Killer of Sheep, set in inner-city Los Angeles. It’s hard to fault Slumdog for what it is not and never tries to be. But what it is—a simulation of “the real India,” which it hasn’t bothered to populate with real people—is dissonant to the point of incoherence.