Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life never stops moving forward.
Deneuve is a bit like Garbo, in that we as an audience have always projected our own fantasies onto her phenomenal beauty.
The way Dolan shyly but boastfully showed me the Cocteau tattoo on his arm is not something I’m likely to forget.
Like so many movies that you don’t really need to see, it functions as a kind of notion in my head.
There was a line all the way down Second Street off Second Avenue in Manhattan last night.
I was moved by Requiem for a Dream, but boy, has he ever made me regret that initial feeling of enthusiasm.
Williams wrote great roles for women, so many that DiLeo is even able to plausibly include Mildred Dunnock and Madeleine Sherwood in his book and make convincing cases for their detailed work in supporting parts.
Some of the entries are set in stone from edition to edition, and that’s fine in most cases, but the entries that are being added on to can get somewhat broken-backed.
In many ways, the most successful film in the set is Je Tu Il Elle, a feature in three parts that raises many issues about Akerman and what she’s after as a filmmaker.