Jake Isgar’s review published on Letterboxd:
The candy-colored pulp fantasy that can only come from Beatty's brand of self-aware, oddball classicism, Dick Tracy stretches from star vehicle to full-on fetish object. Its technical & formal grandeur veer between playful and gorgeous and are as stark as the parade of grotesque criminals rampaging through the streets. One of the few films of its ilk to invite a true auteurist critique, the vigorous torn between "love & duty," but which is which?
I miss when these movies were allowed to be sexy -- Nolan's Batman would lash himself for even taking a peek at Breathless Mahoney. Surely there wouldn't be a space for Al Pacino to scream health facts about walnuts either.