Come for McCarthy going down in flames, stay for the trenchant seeds of political media.
The White Hell of Pitz Palu sums up the romantic motifs of the genre invented by geologist-filmmaker Arnold Fanck.
Decades before Stallone in nut-hugging shorts, check out the first cliffhangers.
Le Plaisir illustrates not merely Max Ophüls’s unparalleled sense of flow and texture, but also his proto-feminism.
Dreamer loses to Seabiscuit by a nose in the race for most inane underhorse, err, underdog crowd-pleaser in recent years.
The film is so aesthetically corrupt that it makes Michael Bay’s The Island look like a Bazinian tract by comparison.
The film’s first image sets up the template for this magnificently excruciating study of romantic degradation.
Love hurts. Fassbinder’s often misunderstood study is magnificently excruciating.
Sam Raimi’s sequel/remake is full-on gore slapstick, more Tex Avery than Dario Argento.
Raimi’s splatter-slapstick classic gets the deluxe treatment. In Ash’s immortal words: “Groovy.”
From down-home Christian horror to Disney?
Cry_Wolf bamboozles viewers in ways that outdo even the characters’ interminable hoaxes.
Jennie Livingston’s preference for feeling over exoticism secures an ultimately hopeful study of the search for personal wholeness.
Hardly a drag. Fifteen years later, Paris still burns with life.
A revealing but slender offering from a still-underrated funnyman.
Slant recently spoke with the director about Monty Python, Buñuel, the hardships of dark comedy and the elusiveness of perfection.
“The Movie of the Decade.” What else is on?
Director Peter Weir and screenwriter Andrew Niccol merely settle for purveying unthreatening, self-satisfied cleverness.
Not a bad finale for one of French cinema’s oddest couples.
To cast Jean Gabin and Alain Delon side by side is to invite a crash course in French cinema history.