Family kills itself, director exploits it for dour ironies. More at 11.
Nearly as much as Jerry Lewis, Albert Brooks’s comic persona is defined by its unlikability.
Fans of the director’s austerity will not want to miss the last entry in his feel-bad trilogy. Others may just want to skip straight to the Prozac.
Michael Haneke could be cinema’s Debbie Downer, if only he had any sense of humor.
Michael Haneke’s death-of-the-soul-of-Europe saga soldiers on with 71 Fragments of a Chronology of Chance.
Carrière is very much his own auteur, suavely playful and elegantly subversive.
Like Hearts and Minds and Fahrenheit 9/11, Winter Soldier is less documentary than in-the-heat-of-conflict document.
Death, longing, and transformation made challengingly sublime, though the shabby transfer is surely its own kind of hell.
Purgatory to Aleksandr Sokurov is spiritual disconnection.
It’s no Nashville, but give this comedy-drama a second chance.
The elephant in the room of The Thing Called Love is a desiccated River Phoenix
This underrated noir drama deserves to get out of Laura’s shadow.
Its subtle analysis of shadowy tropes proves both a continuation and a deepening of Preminger’s use of moral ambiguity as a tool of human insight.
An important, lacerating document receives a hearty DVD treatment.
Suzuki is an acquired taste, though a movie with a kabuki play performed by children may not be the best place to acquire it.
If you made it this far, you’re a real Suzuki fan. Either congratulations or a straitjacket is in order.
Throughout the film, there’s no denying Seijun Suzuki’s knack for ravishing disorientation.
The film is the work of a restless prankster still delighting in pulling the rug from beneath his audience’s feet.
Three hours plus is a high price to find out that not every European TV miniseries can reach the heights of The Best of Youth.
Jean-Daniel Verhaeghe’s film remains ponderously stuck in lesser Merchant-Ivory territory.