It’s a provocative juxtaposition for Dry Wind to stage its queer kinkfest at the epicenter of the land of Bolsonaro.
David Freyne manages to indict the societal expectation of heterosexuality as a traumatizing force while also humanizing its straight victims.
Heidi Ewing’s tale of immigration and deportation afflicting the lives of a Mexican gay couple flashes its reason for being at every turn.
Reiner Holzemer’s adulation of his subject feels most credible because he spends a lot of time focusing on the clothes.
Mehrdad Oskouei’s documentary is striking for the way its subjects describe horrific forms of violence in the plainest of language.
Václav Marhoul’s film is at its most magnificent when it lingers on the poetry of its images.
The film’s characters are simultaneously horny and melancholic. They seem to want plenty of sex but also love.
Throughout, it’s as though Werner Herzog were more witness than author, simply registering Japan being Japan.
There’s colossal might to a cinematic image achieved through the scrappiest of means.
Across the film, the most idiosyncratic reactions of an ordinary human become real documents of human history.
Throughout the film, it’s as if mundane objects hold the remedies for the wretchedness of everyday life.
In the film, the matter of cinema is the process of creativity, arduous and unrealized, as it ebbs and flows.
Throughout Francis Savel’s 1980 porno, gay sex is depicted as immune to guilt and fear.
Christophe Honoré deposits all his chips on the comedic premise at the expense of character study and gravitas.
These notable documentaries utilize found footage to document the aftermath of dying in dramatically different fashions.
Many of the films at Visions du Réel expand the notion of “the real” in all of its plasticity.
David France’s most remarkable accomplishment emerges from an aesthetic commitment of a very particular kind.
The film grapples with the various shapes that guilt and honor (or lack thereof) might take in a context of state-sanctioned death.
Tsai Ming-liang seems to say that, even in a world rigged against queerness, certain things can’t still be shared.
The film is an unending source for the worst possible clichés and most overdone series of graphic matches in the history of film editing.
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