Lionsgate put every ounce of effort and care into serving up the fifth round of cable TV’s stiffest drink.
Henry Jaglom’s latest suggests a public-access television special.
The film makes a case without explicating one at all.
The film suggests a a perversely inverted companion piece to Michael Haneke’s The White Ribbon.
It suggests, rather compellingly, that abandoning lofty pipedreams for middle-class comfort is a crime less forgivable than murder.
Leviathan is a titanic achievement, a visceral overload whose impact registers immediately and with great force.
Amour intends to dupe us, to feed on our own pain and suffering.
In the end, Decoding Deepak is merely lip service to an idea of a deeper work.
Michael J. Bassett’s Solomon Kane distinguishes itself by not being a disastrously unwatchable mess, which is something.
Damsels in Distress is another classic in the making from one of America’s greatest comic filmmakers.
Hammering points home with teary-eyed anecdotes and wild accusations is overkill, and it squashes the purity of the film’s best intentions.
Sono’s Love Exposure is the most exhilarating four-hour melodrama you’re ever likely to see.
Tomasz Thomson’s unctuous, tongue-in-cheek film is far too self-satisfied with its jokes for any to really be funny.
Giving yourself over to Reygadas and trusting him to deliver in the end is rewarding even without a clear-cut roadmap.
Imogene sounds like it was written by somebody who has never heard a single real-world conversation.
Between Tabu and The Last Time I Saw Macao, it would seem that hardlined formal rigor is alive and well in Portugal.
The film only seems remotely conventional next to Kill List’s structural radicalism and galling aesthetic shifts.
The Master is Anderson with the edges sanded off, the best bits shorn down to nubs.
Phoned-in portent and feigned profundity form the basis of each of the seven interlocking narratives that comprise Cloud Atlas.
There’s so much more to love here, and even more to digest further.