Hossein Amini's edits and sequences are engineered for narrative efficiency, often at the expense of thematic or affectual aims
You can't help but be impressed by how much it represents a natural, even defensive evolutionary step on its creator's part.
The film the tough true story has spawned is as formulaically cheery, didactically "uplifting," and fundamentally false as a Disney sports movie.
Lilting doesn't have any momentum or any sense of ambiguity, once the setup has been established.
It's attempt at conveying a candid portrait of contemporary hookup culture and the dishonesty of online dating profiles, but the film's sentiments are all past their expiration date.
It only overcomes its deficiencies and gains a modicum of entertainment value precisely when it commits to its illogical storylines and exaggerated plot twists.
Michael M. Bilandic deftly captures the arrogance and despair of New York artists in their efforts to succeed in a decadent world that forces them to produce inherently epigonic work.
The film is at once enabled and hindered by its utter strangeness, an intrinsic quality surely exacerbated in its English-language release.
Wes Ball's film is at its best when its characters are in motion, the world around them revealed as temporary, unstable, and always in flux.
All of Scott Frank's thematic concerns are little more than window dressing for a run-of-the-mill detective story in line with '90s thrillers like The Bone Collector.
It culminates in a weepy climax that verifies its status as a proud hunk of propaganda from America's massive self-help industry.
David's perversity as a character is mostly disarming for how it illuminates the sadness with which a foe can so readily be confused for a savior.
It suggests the worst possible gene splice of a Terrance and Phillip South Park episode, Fargo's blithe condescension, and the smuggest of Quentin Tarantino pastiches.
Terry Gilliam has imposed a mix tape of his greatest hits, whose greatness was debatable to begin with, on a whiff of a story that might've flourished under the maxim "less is more."
And the jury's still very much out over whether Shawn Levy is an inept comedy director masquerading as an opportunistically dramatic one, or vice versa.
The feminist bent of Robyn's quest nicely shadows the John Curran's film without ever being stated aloud.
Roberto Minervini has created a moving portrait of feminism born out of hard work and intuitiveness, but he never belittles or condescends to the faithful.
In a backhanded way, this considered, half-fictional approach perfectly serves an artist who has always been in the process of making and remaking his own mercurial image.
Wiktor Ericsson emphasizes one of the strongest and most distinctive features of Joseph Sarno's aesthetic: his concentration on female pleasure.
The complicated psychological realities of army personnel require a tougher directorial treatment than the maudlin melodrama presented here.
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