It neglects to thoroughly conceive of Emma’s plight, instead making only sporadic gestures to it.
Patch Town finally displays a degraded cultural sensitivity that makes something as wretched as The Love Guru seem learned.
The opposite of enlightenment, the film hides its anxieties behind a mélange of third-rate grit and playful xenophobia.
Kino offers a Blu-ray that responds with, in the words of Commandant Van der Weyden: “Hope my ass!”
Criterion is squeezing a few extra bucks out of you by not combining this disc with their excellent packaging of The Confession.
Criterion’s ecstatically assembled Blu-ray release demands revisionist interrogation.
The film’s troubled aesthetics are exacerbated by a screenplay that contains the trappings of amateur toil.
If the doc isn’t quite dynamic in its revelations, it’s considerably more so in its challengingly essayistic presentation.
The Poltergeist remake is the cinematic equivalent of a pat on the back accompanied by a slap in the face.
It looks and sounds incredible on the new Blu-ray, though more adventurous viewers may yearn for some thornier supplements.
The film finally receives a pristine home-video release with Cohen Media Group’s stellar new Blu-ray.
Transparently wearing metaphors on its singed sleeves, it shuttles around courses of meaning and significance without committing to any.
At first it plays like a throwback to Kiki’s Delivery Service, then reveals itself to be less minimal than minor.
Never is there an Iranian perspective on the proceedings, giving the documentary the jingoistic bent its title implies.
It perverts cinephilia by asserting that anyone who engages in criticism actually, deep down, wants to be a practicing artist.
Gianni Amelio bogs down into a family drama that’s neither supplementary to the film’s initial quest or a fulfilling substitute.
Too worried about narrative fidelity and formal objectivity to pierce the veil of power dynamics that largely comprises the film’s concerns.
Keeping quiet about the Criterion’s must-own Blu-ray release of Melville’s film would be tantamount to committing a cinephilic war crime.
It’s unable to specify narrative urgency beyond a broad sense of “based on a true story” pathos that’s by turns hollowly uplifting and tragic.
The River is another essential Blu-ray release of a Technicolor classic from the Criterion Collection.