Jeepers creepers, Victor Salva is at it again.
Finally, a version of Reservoir Dogs for The New Yorker set.
B13’s lead characters aren’t as deeply moved as those postmodern resistance fighters but their allegiance has a political edge.
The pretty-ugly-pretty-ugly-pretty-ugly holographic slipcase cover is a laugh riot-it doesn’t evoke gender dysphoria, only a questionable marketing campaign.
Anyone who equates Dominic Harari and Teresa Pelegri’s Only Human with the cinema of Pedro Almodóvar is either blind or racist.
Shooting a film about Cuba in black and white is risky.
Like Intimate Stories, one could say that the film’s message is the oldest one in the world: all you need is love.
Shem is condescending about sex and ostensibly reverential to faith.
The film is almost without a point but so unassuming that it earns consideration.
It’s not the obsession with Freud that’s the problem with Rudolph Maté’s 1948 noir The Dark Past.
Will the show be renewed? Will Forsyth be blamed for the murder? Stay tuned!
Goodness gets very little breathing room in André De Toth’s arresting Crime Wave.
Stuart Heisler’s Among the Living is a poor man’s gene-splice of Fury and Frankenstein.
Is it some kind of joke that I Was a Communist for the F.B.I. was nominated for a documentary Oscar?
Woman on the Run is a film with a crisp noir crust and a gummy melodramatic center.
All three of these films are banal put-ons.
Well, what did your parents tell you about talking to strangers?
Look to He Ran All the Way and Tension as examples of how John Berry was trying to push a melo-noir style.
Dominik Moll’s latest gives lemmings and women a bad name.
Throughout, the graceful camera, the movement of characters, and the overlapping voices collectively convey a genial sense of place.