It does little to counteract the bad taste left by its opener, offering up songs that tend to be blandly forgettable.
What could have been a rote retread of Pasolini’s Teorema blossoms into a study of factional identity and power dynamics.
Josh Mond’s film confronts the hard realities of a world in which few make it to maturity without their share of scars, and no one makes it out of adulthood alive.
The new Green that emerges through these songs is a sort of AME church-derived Liberace.
The film devotes too much time delivering information to establish a convincing visual foundation for its account.
Despite the defeated tone of Patricio Guzmán’s tales, a spotlight is placed on the power of persistence.
It’s too pallid and diffuse, and so the development of its mood and characters suffers as a result.
The film finds delicate poetry in the dispassionate pursuit of revenge.
B’lieve I’m Goin Down steadily develops into an album that’s as multifaceted and profound as its mysterious creator.
A definitive reflection on the work of two great directors and the specific slices of cinema they so fruitfully cultivated.
The album continues the band’s slippery practice of defining themselves through a mixtape-style method of cover curation.
It does well in using dialogue to shape its escalating tête-à-tête, but the filmmaking is too fuzzy to expand on those ideas.
Wildheart communicates the realities of an ever-more-fractured sexual landscape by dancing between extremes of light and dark.
While Young’s anger and focus are admirable, The Monsanto Years doesn’t come anywhere close to matching his passion.
The laughs are invariably of the throat-catching variety, their humor curdling almost instantly.
Its worst quality is its underhanded attempt to convey a complex recounting of one family’s ordeal while fudging all the pertinent details.
Fly International Luxurious Art feels both overextended and under-conceived.
The lack of real analysis or consideration leaves this perilously close to a Goldilocks-style depiction of privileged female indecision.
Cherry Bomb is further proof that Tyler, the Creator is a talented but conflicted voice.
Never Were the Way She Was is less a duet than a battle, a folie à deux between two oppositely pitched instruments.