Bookended by Peggy Lee’s “Is That All There Is?” the episode opens with a telling bit of trickery.
Criterion packages Errol Morris’s essential first two features with extras that attest to their reverberating influence.
One of the first things we see in the astonishing and consistently thrilling finale of the show’s fifth season is a rabbit’s foot.
Much like the virus that makes the dead come back to life, there’s no clear, clean way to get rid of society’s ills.
Rosen’s eloquent, wondrous film offers a deceivingly simple yet powerful view of a war-ridden rabbit society.
It devolves into an extremely unsettling series of sadistic tortures, the kind of stuff that would appeal to fans of Funny Games.
To call “Spend” an emotionally exhausting experience would count as an early qualifier for understatement of 2015.
The lack of visual ingenuity, reflexivity, or awareness of genre tropes diminishes the pleasures of the action’s involving kineticism.
The film conjures a menacing perspective on how the titular occupation hulls out empathy and cultivates an unsettling strain of cynicism.
Benoît Jacquot never loses sight of the primordial compulsions that drive feelings and expressions of great love and beauty.
The filmmakers cut the film to emphasize the story’s familiar plot points, rather than highlight any instances of personal visual artistry.
Rick is seemingly also showing new colors, getting a bit more comfortable with the Alexandria folk and paying especial attention to Jessie.
Its exasperating atonality washes out any legitimate idea about identity, education, nature versus nurture, or artificial intelligence.
The show’s writing feels wrapped up in hitting plot points and story beats rather than seeking out moments of violent personal revelation.
The episode’s title reflects the caution felt by the show’s heroes in trying to adapt to life before the biters, and, of course, Woodbury.
Ficarra and Requa’s film turns out to be a strained trumpeting of the return of the proverbial king of the box office, Will Smith.
This disc does right by Miyazaki’s quietly ponderous, extravagant, and hugely enjoyable tale of the world’s surliest pig pilot.
“The Distance” feels like one of the more repetitive and dramatically light episodes of this season.
Ken Loach’s film is a critical turn away from kitchen-sink realism and toward a more improvised and unpredictable narrative style.
Josh Heald’s script takes the easy way out, ending the film with a torrent of slapdash sentimentality.
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