Reviews provided by RottenTomatoes
Blistering, hallucinatory, often brilliant, the film by David Fincher is a combination punch of social satire and sociopathology.
Bloody mess of a guy film loses its battle to have any real meaning.
A bloody, hilarious ride into the twisted recesses of the modern male psyche.
New York Times:
The director of Seven and The Game for the first time finds subject matter audacious enough to suit his lightning-fast visual sophistication, and puts that style to stunningly effective use.
Wall Street Journal:
Fight Club is an arresting, eventually appalling excursion into social satire by way of punishing violence.
Los Angeles Times:
If the first rule of Fight Club is 'Nobody talks about Fight Club,' a fitting subsection might be 'Why would anyone want to?'
We're meant to take the male bonding and the blood rituals as a protest against the sterility of corporate life and modern design, but Fincher's sadomasochistic kicks overwhelm any possible social critique.
New York Magazine/Vulture:
Fight Club rolls out its indictments and its Zen koans, but what it really resembles, perhaps unknowingly, is the squall of a whiny and essentially white-male generation that feels ruined by the privileges of women and a booming economy.
New York Daily News:
Oh, for the time when men were men and were encouraged to beat the tar out of one another. That's the world "Fight Club" pines for.
The Fight Club is a memorable and superior motion picture - a rare movie that does not abandon insight in its quest to jolt the viewer.
If it had all continued in the vein explored in the first act, it might have become a great film. But the second act is pandering and the third is trickery.
It's about being young, male and powerless against the pacifying drug of consumerism. It's about solitude, despair and bottled-up rage... It's about daring to imagine the disenfranchised reducing the world to rubble and starting over.
Fight Club is a distinctively dense and often hilarious film, but in the end it's nonsense.
It is working American Beauty-Susan Faludi territory, that illiberal, impious, inarticulate fringe that threatens the smug American center with an anger that cannot explain itself, can act out its frustrations only in inexplicable violence.
You can call [it] irresponsible. Or you can call it the only essential Hollywood film of 1999.
[A] bold, inventive, sustained adrenaline rush of a movie...
Extremely funny, surprisingly well-acted, and boldly designed -- at least until its steel-and-chrome souffle falls apart.
If you want a movie that makes sense and doesn't make you chuckle at its sophomoric satire, laugh this one right off your list.