These films, and Tolkien's entire oeuvre, are most affecting in their depictions of friendship, and the performances here represent platonic male intimacy in convincing, often moving ways.
2014: Annie's America makes director John Huston's elephantine, synthetically charismatic 1982 adaptation look like a Minnelliesque model of focus and concision.
Even as it entertains increasingly far-fetched detours, the film's folkloric narrative offers an ideal vehicle for this pictorial play.
Mr. Turner is an astute summation of director Mike Leigh's glum view of humanity, but also a challenge to this disposition and his own pessimistic perspective.
Nuri Bilge Ceylan again exhibits his gift for making interesting stories out of predetermined plots, locating small eddies of change in the midst of eternally fixed dynamics.
If Junebug focused on quieter moments of extended family dynamics, Angus MacLachlan's Goodbye to All That never goes beyond signpost sentiment.
This third and supposedly final edition in the franchise is nothing more than an uncomfortably transparent contractual obligation.
The actors play off one another beautifully, but If You Don't, I Will bottoms out just as it's getting warmed up.
Had Lewis Carroll switched from jotting down his visions to carving them in stone, his works might have looked a lot like Antonio Gaudí's.
The dangers of filmmakers trying to replicate a golden era rather than embrace the present are part and parcel of Inherent Vice, but the ramifications are political as well.
It doesn't take long to realize that Ridley Scott's adaptation is only aiming for certain forms of credibility, and callously eschewing others.
It has the plot of an intensely lurid thriller, but Egoyan can't bring himself to face that and actively tend to the story; instead, he trades in barely coherent, high-brow euphemisms.
Without overlooking its lapses into populist bathos, it's necessary to rescue the film from its spot at the centerpiece of untouchable American "classics."
Instead of finding one consistent tone and sticking to it, Serge Bozon allows the wildly hilarious and the grimly serious to uneasily coexist, exulting in the resultant clash.
It puts the viewer inside Maidan, allowing them to draw their own conclusions about the ideas and agendas espoused by the movement's leaders and participants.
We Are the Giant is less an incisive activist documentary than an endless barrage of pandering, politically minded statements and quotations.
This is kind of didactic topical movie that distributes its rhetoric evenly between characters with clear distinction as to who's playing devil's advocate to the other one's points.
If The Tree of Life was a contemplation of the universal mysteries and verities of life, The Color of Time is an hour spent scrolling through a stranger's family album.
Chuck Workman simply compiles Orson Welles's greatest moments, offering little in the way of an authorial point of view.
This is a micro-budgeted affair of the heart that's never precious or obnoxious, but tender and moving and occasionally explosive in its intrinsic emotion.
The film that director Jean-Marc Vallée has created out of Cheryl Strayed's beloved 2012 memoir never quite matches the blunt audacity of its simple title.
Liv Ullmann's film is no tearjerker, but it makes the stage play's guessing-game quality on screen without copping to reductivism.
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