Reviews

The zombies twitch, leap, gnash, and destroy, but the film has all the thrill and surprise of a model U.N. summit.

Unfortunate proof that Pixar, previously known for its brains, is now resting a little too heavily on its nominal brawn.

Its audio-visual overload testifies to a group of filmmakers' belief that some films are made to be remade.

Part end-of-life romance, part grossly manipulative mush, the film tries to stare grief and mortality in the face while practically shitting rainbows.

Tobias Lindholm's hostage-negotiation drama wields its verité style for maximum tension.

The film is most interesting as an articulation of how its main character's initial status as an emblem of inter-religious understanding quickly dissolves following a suicide bombing.

Too deliberately balanced in its depiction of its three leads, but it largely makes up the difference with its informed grounding in the economic and social terrain of contemporary France.

Its myriad impressions never quite add up to anything coherent, but perhaps the incoherence is precisely the point.

Yet another ghost story that insists there's nothing more chilling than a woman charged with raising a child on her own.

All its faux-patriotism isn't played for satire, but instead utilized to align the film with an idyllic, unquestioned vision of goodness.

Sofia Coppola seems curiously unmotivated to bring full analysis or provocation to her themes, leaving the film feeling like a disappointingly toothless satire.

It's disheartening that, despite some half-hearted overtures toward shifting the comedy paradigm, the filmmakers make little attempt to expand their comedic palette.

Peter Strickland understands the most terrifying subtext of any horror movie and brings it brilliantly to the forefront: the fear that you, and everyone else, are all alone.

Sergei Loznitsa occasionally writes his ideas too explicitly in the film's dialogue, though he makes up for this by deftly employing some ironic symbolism elsewhere.

What most rankles about the film is the way that its insistence on paternal instincts as the principal signifier of male adulthood leads it to sanction the most childlike behavior of all.

Brad Bernstein's documentary proves that Ungerer's legacy is as historically significant as it is artistically.

First-time director BJ McDonnell lacks the looser, more whimsical hand that would have allowed Hatchet III to transcend its thoughtlessly imitative state.

Markus Imhoof's film reveals itself as a curious, audacious mix of personal essay film and nature documentary.

Despite the multitude of cinematic tricks the prolific Andrew Lau has up his sleeve, the film is a disappointingly rote entry in the wuxia pantheon.

The documentary provides welcome context for the semi-hysteria that recently took over the U.S. media in regard to Uganda's "Kill the Gays" bill.