The film remains one of the most twisted evocations of godliness gone awry.
So bad it’s good, Glitter springs eternal.
François Ozon did this kind of thing better with his Criminal Lovers.
The only thing it gets right is that the P.R. flack will oftentimes forgo human decency while hawking and defending their shoddy products.
Audition plays out like a comfy companion piece to Shall We Dance? before evolving into a torturous freakshow not unlike Baise-moi.
Tender loving adult care may go far, but survival in the ghetto seems to be one part adult intervention and one part blind luck.
It’s difficult to watch the doc and not think about how these lives could have been saved if mothers had the luxury of aborting their pregnancies.
It’s fitting that PJ Harvey’s 2001 tour commences in the Big Apple, the city that breathed life into half of her new album.
Tsai Ming-liang’s compositional dynamics owe as much to Ozu and Antonioni as his penchant for stillness is indebted to Bresson.
The film’s respect for the aging process is both refreshing and certainly humbling.
Stephen Herek’s Rock Star is a Cliffs Notes journey through rock ‘n’ roll fame worthy of Cameron Crowe.
An old-fashioned spooker that owes as much to Duel as it does to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
Shinya Tsukamoto’s fetishistic Tetsuo: The Iron Man is certainly worthy of Cronenberg.
Every single image is ravishingly beautiful, like watching Secret Beyond the Door in Technicolor.
Tony Gatlif’s Vengo whets the soul with its gypsy moans and lucid imagery.
It suggests that the cast and crew stumbled upon homosexuality during a Flip Wilson retrospective.
Steven Cantor’s film proves once and for all that most bouncers are beasts.
This isn’t so much a female take on In the Company of Men as it is a white-collar version of Baise-moi.
The film is an incredible exploration of societal fear of chaos.
The film’s absurdist scenarios bring to mind Pee Wee’s Big Adventure.