It shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone who truly understands how the Oscars work that the still above isn’t from Asghar Farhadi’s A Separation.
We’re not exactly batting a thousand in this category, but we’re pretty sure we got this year’s winner pegged.
Is it just us or can the Academy’s infatuation with The Artist be felt even in categories where the film isn’t nominated?
Bridesmaids is just glad to be invited, no? A “memorable” quote from the film according to IMDb: “You’re like the maid of dishonor.”
Fernando Trueba’s Chico & Rita is a shallow romanticization of Batista-era Cuba.
The most delightfully animated feature in this bunch, Kung Fu Panda 2 is still at best a slab of warmed-over holiday seconds.
The film displays a higher regard for the material makeup of gruesome-looking dolls than it does for the psychological turmoil of its characters.
In Xavier Gens’s The Divide, the revolution will not be televised, only the degradation of human civility.
See below for a list of the films that just missed making it onto our list of the best films of 2011, followed by our contributors’ individual ballots.
This is really nothing more than the story of girls running to and from their daddies, and no matter how you dress it up, it’s inherently retrograde.
What we really need to talk about is the fraudulence of Lynne Ramsay’s overripe collage of bright colors, smug pop music, and flimsy characterizations.
Shame articulates a shallow, even mundane, understanding of an uninteresting man’s sex addiction.
Courageous doesn’t even pretend to be anything other than a crusade.
Intentional or not, the sly punchline to Roman Polanski’s Carnage calls bullshit on Michael Haneke’s Caché.
This is character assassination, plain and simple, a calculated attempt on Broomfield’s part to place a roadblock in Palin’s 2012 bid for the White House.
Looks can be and usually are deceiving in The Skin I Live In and secrets are beyond abundant.
Melancholia is a film of few epiphanies and even fewer insights, and as artful as the film’s doom and gloom may be, its symbolism flounders.
Marc Forster’s canon is rife with overripe folly, so Machine Gun Preacher’s doc-style humdrumness is sobering by comparison.
On September 18, Bryan Cranston will not win his fourth trophy for Outstanding Lead Actor in a Drama Series.
Matt Damon’s beating heart is but a whimper in a vast, chilly spectacle of connect-the-dots scare-mongering.