On the surface, Jan Svankmajer’s Lunacy is indebted to Edgar Allan Poe, but Sadean blood courses through its veins.
It strikes a very distinct pose as a queer counterpoint to American Pie but doesn’t trust its gut, overextending itself by performing in Scary Movie drag.
Todd Verow’s passion and talent, unlike Gregg Araki’s, is not equal to his ambition.
America: Freedom to Fascism is a whacked-out piece of anti-American propaganda.
The film is all mixed messages and it’s funnier because of it.
The sense of disquiet that The Quiet stirs feels unintentional, suggesting behind-the-scenes conflict.
Zak Tucker’s Poster Boy is no film, it’s a soapbox.
It’s a gripping lark that finds Claude Chabrol lithely sorting through the serpentine snarl of bourgie behavior.
The double pleasure of the film’s aesthetic is how it reflects both Sri Mata Amritanandamayi Devi’s pull and the sense of spiritual growth she rouses.
Carlos Sorin is on the road to becoming Argentina’s answer to Vittorio de Sica.
Just as AIDS is ruining Africa, films like Tsotsi are ravaging film culture.
Heather Lyn MacDonald’s documentary is a familiar mix of taking-head interviews, archival material, and accident simulation.
The world according to these far-flung shorts will only appear familiar to patrons of the BAMcinématek.
The film is heavy and nutty, which is apt given that its subject is the sponge-like effects of mad cow disease on the brain.
To enjoy the first half of Madonna’s show, without reservation, is to condone the singer’s propensity for self-congratulation.
The film is horrifyingly relentless and beatific in its artistry.
Frank Borzage’s Moonrise is a sensual scrutiny of a man’s free will.
No, Basic Instinct 2 will not cure cancer, but it isn’t trashy enough to give you gonorrhea.
The subject here is very much the incomprehension of watching bustling cities wither and die.
Aurora Borealis bites Good Will Hunting and Donald Sutherland feels most of the sting.