A screwball surrealist comedy that asks us to laugh at an unconventional romance while also disarming us with the realization that its fantasy scenario isn't too far from our present reality.
The film's half-hearted plea for responsibility and ethics in the news, after joyfully rolling around in its corruption for the majority of its runtime, smacks of plain pandering.
Asghar Farhadi navigates his complicated narrative thicket with an apparent ease, but he isn't able to blend the brushstrokes as he has in prior films.
The Selfish Giant provides a window into the struggles and tragedies, both great and small, which lie just outside our view.
It most potently strikes the tone of an elegy, pensively observing that beneath the bickering in museum boardrooms lies a massive treasure trove of art history that's being kept from the public's eye.
The third and final film in Ulrich Seidl's "Paradise" trilogy navigates a narrow space between tenderness and cruelty.
This pair of hour-long docs depicts a community of agrarian or hard-laboring citizens without condescension and with a touch of populist poetry.
A once-precious franchise's weakest installment, which forgets these adventures' magic was never conjured by bells and whistles.
Formally ostentatious and unrepentantly messy, the film manages to implicitly convey the overdriven, coked-up confusion that many '70s period pieces make painfully overt.
A tale of memory and redemption that does little to linger in the mind and even less to decry P.L. Travers's claim that Disney turns everything it touches into schmaltz.
The film's fealty to history is both unnecessary and a hindrance, pulling us out of a story that could have easily been set in an anonymous city hit by a nondescript hurricane.
To watch the film is to wonder once again why Neil LaBute was ever taken seriously as a so-called dramatist of the gulf between the sexes.
The documentary not only humanizes Ingmar Bergman as the absent lover-cum-father of everyday life, but works as a priceless oral history of cinema.
The film compellingly captures a family wrestling mightily with the riddles and contradictions of a culture that promotes achievement at all costs.
It ably captures the provocative open forums that Dawkins and Krauss conduct, but its uneven nature occasionally dulls the effect of these intellectually stimulating conversations.
For all the heartbreaking depth with which the filmmakers explore the horrors of human trafficking, the film still leaves one with a sense of a larger story just beyond their grasp.
Where the attitudes of East of Eden are hopelessly dated and broad, the poetic longing for connection in Nicholas Ray's film will always feel timeless.
The film is eventually revealed as less interested in subverting or playing off its influences than rigorously retracing them.
Without overlooking its lapses into populist bathos, it's necessary to rescue the film from its spot at the centerpiece of untouchable American "classics."
Ian Softley is far too interested in the minutia of the plot to bother with the Chabrolian elements of bourgeois excess or the Hitchcockian themes of mistaken identity.
Our preview section is your best, most complete guide for all the films, big and small, coming your way soon. >>
Enter to win Blu-rays of Prisoners, The Lone Ranger, Shameless: Season 3, Percy Jackson: Sea of Monsters, The Beast Within, and DVDs of Toad Road! >>