La Rinconada’s citizens are fascinating, and especially when they’re heard as well as seen.
It expresses earnest belief in the idea that accumulated life experience helps one circumnavigate narrow-mindedness.
In a perfect world, Fleischer’s rowdy super-production would be in regular 70mm rotation at our few surviving repertory movie houses.
Michael Showalter is content to trade They Came Together’s mischievous genre deconstructionism for cheap-shot indie quirk.
Kino’s superlative presentation enables us to see the film’s modernist approach to genre as a transitional impulse in Lang’s early career.
The film has the uncanny quality of an out-of-body experience, not a torn-from-the-heart confessional.
The film adheres to the dictionary definition of a classical genre without ever attempting to subvert it.
The films offer a touching close study of the on-screen symbiosis of Max von Sydow and Liv Ullmann.
What comes through clearly by the end of the film is the act of one artist’s eccentric generosity breathing new awareness into the life of another.
Kino has managed an early curatorial highlight of 2016, though the disc’s dearth of extras leaves plenty to be desired.
Thankfully, on the whole, the irksome traces of David Zucker’s political worldview get outpaced by some of the most winning slapstick inanity in American cinema.
One wonders how receptive the young should be to a film that puts its storytelling secondary to its message-making.
A buoyant tribute, even if the pedigree of the project implies something more paradigm-shifting.
Dylan aficionados and casual listeners alike ought not to look any further for a more comprehensive immersion into this phase of his career.
Out 1 is largely a film of conversation, as its prolonged rehearsal vignettes regularly give way to even lengthier scenes of verbal self-analysis.
Criterion lavishes it with their customarily meticulous restoration work, and comes away with one of the essential releases of the year.
It offers a CliffsNotes encapsulation of Edgar Allan Poe’s most enduring works for viewers unacquainted with them.
The film is the indelible fulcrum of Kieślowski’s career as a documentarian and his blossoming as a major arthouse auteur.
It never transcends its stock western template, and the home-video treatment is correspondingly unremarkable.
Guy Maddin’s indulgence in esoterica paradoxically leaves the film most vulnerable to the beating heart of this great artist of self-therapy.