This ready-made house of cards owes entirely too much to the likes of Hitchcock, Mamet, and noir magpie Tarantino.
Richard Kelly’s debut feature is a tale of adolescent angst ripe with enigmatic sci-fi underpinnings.
The Man Who Wasn’t There is a Cold War tragedy about a man who is as invisible to the world as he is to himself.
By virtue of existing on celluloid, Tape is cinematic.
Sandi Simcha Dubowski seemingly touches on every facet of a complex dilemma with a restraint that’s admirable.
If you like comedy, don’t miss K-PAX. It’s a hoot!
The film is a flag-waving action yarn even more ham-fisted than Pearl Harbor.
Todd Field’s film tackles grief with nary a hint of weepy melodrama.
Béla Tarr’s precise yet effortless command of the long take is so transcendent as to suggest the presence of God.
Despite playing it safe, the film is saved by its touching performances.
A sniveling diatribe from a great director beginning to resemble someone’s senile grandfather.
The London of the film is a delirious embodiment of a raging inferno, and the many on-screen deaths are remarkable to behold.
The near-hysterical portrait of angelic family life that defines film’s first hour gives way to a daunting portrait of grief.
Damien Odoul’s film is equally indebted to Truffuat and Bresson.
The film affects a nondenominational fugue state, where everyone is part of God but free of the pressures of groupthink.
Intimacy’s truths are remarkably universal, so painful yet so sexy in Patrice Chéreau’s hands.
That sound, ladies and gentleman, is that of Kattan’s movie career smashing into a brick wall.
Martin Scorsese celebrates his passion for early Italian cinema with My Voyage to Italy.
Focus is a specious study of mistaken identity set in New York during the height of WWII.
Business is business in the film, but, in the end, it’s all about who has your back.