The Oscar-nominated actor brought a sense of honor and dignity to every role he played.
Martin Eden works better as a story of self-loathing and self-destruction than it does as a social critique or political statement.
Criterion gives one of last year’s most deeply felt and beautifully shot films a rich transfer and a respectable set of extras.
The extras are superfluous, but the first-rate video transfer and superb, resonant audio promises to generate more fans of the remake.
The film feels like a disservice to Mark Hogancamp’s story, in no small part because no one in the film feels human, even outside doll form.
Fede Álvarez’s The Girl in the Spider’s Web suffers from a compulsion to be capital-C cool.
Doclisboa offers a vertiginously eclectic and vast lineup, with a mishmash of old and new films from a multitude of countries.
Guadagnino’s remake is a funereal pseudo-realist drama about political upheaval and the violence of systems that’s at odds with itself.
The Ballad of Buster Scruggs is a silly, mood-shifting shaggy-dog anthology that feels at once structurally ambitious and almost perfunctory.
A story of filth and fury and, eventually, of placidity and peace, Her Smell is Perry’s most chaotic and unmuffled film—until it isn't.
At Eternity’s Gate is both a fitting tribute to an artist who rebuffed conventional painting techniques, and a disappointingly self-indulgent exercise.
Wildlife, a film about the destruction and rebuilding of self-esteem and the self, is utterly devoid of ego.
More than any other prestige TV offering, BoJack Horseman is simultaneously edifying and infantile.
The film is, even by Paul Schrader’s standards, a bleak endeavor, concerned with the durability of spirituality.
It too often relies on lazy synchronicity, drawing awkward parallels between Sakamoto and the films he’s worked on.
It’s an earnest, genuine attempt to show the familiar hardships of a relationship, specifically one between two women.
William Friedkin’s films are obsessed with the ambiguity of villainy and the perishability of the human spirit.
An incessant deluge of subplots drowns what could have been a sparse and beautiful ghost story.
Lynne Ramsay’s You Were Never Really Here is rather minimalist, offering slivers of story and characterization.
The film exists in a kind of timeless realm, one where things change so often that it’s difficult to keep track.