It spins the narrative of one of the Victorian art world's most mysterious marriages into a study of life lived and life merely examined, a fecund fairy tale in reverse.
Another macho celebration of fighting for "freedom" because someone else told you to, devoid of any acknowledgement of the inherent irony of that ideology.
A fawning tribute to the cult legend, enriched by a subtle current of sadness that prevents the documentary from turning into a glorified DVD supplement.
Noah Baumbach lobs jokes with hectic editing and a Sturgesian velocity, but much of this cross-generational comedy is frantic and wearisomely superficial.
The filmmakers largely stand out of Will Ferrell and Kevin Hart's way, but they also refuse to modulate the story's racial humor with any sense of subversion.
It evolves into an intimate reverie on family and aesthetics, while remaining sporadically attuned to the reflexive and ethical dimensions of ethnographic discovery.
The film's peculiarly exhilarating effect can be attributed to a sense of social outrage that's transcended for the sake of metaphoric social clarity.
It affects a general air of artistically inclined realism, but it's mostly concerned with building tension via a steady accumulation of flatly conceived misery.
The film can't reconcile Ron Rash's apocalyptic tenderness with its own eagerness to revel in romantic star allure.
Home's exposition is a mess of forced zaniness, which leaves the rest of the film with a Swiss-cheese foundation.
The film finds the actors' performance deficiencies functioning less as signs of authentic teenage behavior than as an incompetent carrier of plot.
Even though the film takes on a more overtly fictive aesthetic after he's kidnapped, Houellebecq's understated presence lends the proceedings a factual quality throughout.
The thinly sketched characters of the film are numerous and inconsequential, with director Lone Scherfig giving sparse attention to humanizing or deepening them.
It finds its strength in painting a portrait of Brazilian heterosexual gender relations as an always-volatile symbiosis between feminine hysteria and ruthless machismo.
Sophie Hyde barely elaborates on the toll James's transition takes on him and only superficially as it affects Billie's psyche.
A Little Golden Book version of drastically simplified socialism accompanied with a healthy dose of warmongering bravado.
The lack of any visual ingenuity, reflexivity, or awareness of genre tropes diminishes the intermittent pleasures of the action's slightly involving kineticism.
David Zellner's film settles firmly into the perspective of a lost soul who finds solace in the swaddling security of fantasy.
The chemistry between Pacino and his cast mates gives this lightly amusing contrivance surprising emotional resonance.
Jessica Hausner is less interested in historical revisionism than mining this real-life tragedy for its existential thrust.
After a surprising development, the film grows slack and sentimental, reverting to the survival-movie platitude about hardship making you a better human.
Other films of this ilk use widescreen composition to highlight a terrifying existential void, but these cramped frames tend to produce the nutty energy of cabin fever.
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