Wild even by Sion Sono’s standards, and on home video it makes the ideal party movie, or a great way to piss off that neighbor you hate.
Hannibal’s wildly variant, ambitious, possibly final season is sent off in style with a surprisingly thorough home-video package.
The premise should be prime fodder for director Wim Wenders’s brand of poetic regret.
As ever, writer-director Paolo Sorrentino ironically cuts the legs out from under his protagonists’ wistfulness with grotesquerie.
Abel Ferrara takes his gonzo style to its most abstract dimensions and produces one of his most essential, and least heralded, films.
One of the Ryan Coogler film’s greatest traits is its reticence, its refusal to say 10 words when two will do, or to say one word when silence says it all.
The Criterion Collection rallies to put out one of its all-time best packages in its masterful restoration of Satyajit Ray’s most famous films.
By retaining so much of the book’s plot, the movies fail to offer anything of real interest or challenge to those going into the final installment knowing how it ends.
F.W. Murnau’s epic rates as one of the master’s finest works, and Kino’s Blu-ray highlights the intricate precision behind its huge scale.
A neglected gem of the 1990s, this racially oriented neo-noir adds yet another layer to the genre’s longstanding preoccupations with black and white.
There’s much to admire here, from its symbolically sickly aesthetic to its clearly shot action sequences.
Sion Sono imagines gangs not as rebels without a cause, but a lost generation of displaced, poisoned youths.
Crimson Peak is Guillermo del Toro’s fussiest, most compartmentalized construction, filled with the most powerful sense of repression and delusion.
Rebecca Miller is at her best when she finds the shared wavelengths of her lead cast’s divergent styles.
It’s the fleshed-out first segment that best presents characters with actual lives, as compared to the thinly veiled talking points of the film’s second half.
It spotlights the act of filmmaking as an act of resistance as well as a possible source of propaganda and manipulation.
Philippe Garrel’s film uses its characters’ stodgy, formal language to betray their self-consciousness.
Those expecting it to be one of To’s manic comedies will instead be met with arguably his most dour drama.
If Ben Rivers brutalizes its artist’s ego, Athina Rachel Tsangari’s film takes a more sardonic look at vanity.
At times, The Witch’s minimalist chill becomes too diffuse for its own good and lets the slack out of a film that cannot afford to loosen for a second.