The film quickly flounders into a predictable series of extravagantly well-lit clichés that tend to plague daughter-seeks-daddy narratives.
There’s something pleasurable about watching the privileged heterosexual couple writhing in ennui to the point of near self-destruction.
For a film so proud of its trail-blazing status, 3d Sex and Zen: Extreme Ecstasy is certainly driven by the same good old symptoms.
The Tiniest Place takes a disturbingly literal approach to a wound-scratching homecoming.
Anselm Kiefer’s pieces are so monumental, Richard Serra and Anish Kapoor’s works might look like miniature fare by comparison.
The film is very much a contemplation of the split, or non-split, between masculine and feminine, imprisonment and freedom, lover and lover.
White men will definitely not save brown women from brown men in All She Can.
Mumblecore has, it seems, become more ersatz than hyper-scripted speech.
Hood to Coast imagines racing as collective therapy.
Catherine Breillat’s version of cinematic female agency is more worried about corporeal dynamism than psychic labor.
It paints a portrait, sometimes tainted by art-house film affectations, of an urban hell in which men are despicable when powerful and depressingly impotent when not.
Queen of the Sun is honey pornography with an activist heart.
One of the most distinct pleasures of Beginners is the way it puts together fragments of someone’s life with humility.
Tied to a Chair mostly suffers from a sense of confusion that never reads like bona fide experimentalism, just aimlessness.
For a moment you wonder, or hope, that this will be a film entirely shot in Second Life.
The film’s experimental spirit gets washed out by its ultimate surrendering to more conventional, and overrated, narrative imperatives.
Given most people’s unfamiliarity with New Zealand idiosyncrasies and politics, much gets lost in translation here.
This rubbish affectation of a film finds Mickey Rourke doing his Mickey Rourke thing.
The film is uninterested in the narratives of intimate heroism that are often attached to films about dysfunctional blue-color life.
This is a plea for self-described indie filmmakers to stop utilizing hyper-polished technique to talk about human misery.