As much about see-food as seafood, The Secret of the Grain is as close to a contemporary fable as we have.
Mad Men continues to hit its stride most indelibly while rendering the off-kilter uneasiness of transition.
Mugabe and the White African is cinema-as-journalism at its most aesthetically confident and humanely satisfying.
Black Narcissus, as with the remainder of Powell and Pressburger’s masterworks, is sound, hue, and shadow as holistic dramaturgy.
The story slowly exposes the brutal details of Lisbeth’s torturous formative years with This Is Your Life!-caliber sloppiness.
There’s a shrewdly but skeptically revisionist tone about Oliver Stone’s new documentary South of the Border.
How does one continue a TV show that’s already ended more than once?
The Mexico of Backyard terrifyingly resembles an American funhouse nightmare of subaltern stereotypes.
Long after the film’s smart, case-specific rallying cries dissipate, we may find that its structure subtly raises perennial questions about justice.
There’s little doubt that Mystery Train is Jarmusch at his most emotionally forthright.
Wah Do Dem is a brief, peripatetic love letter to Jamaican tropes scrawled on hemp stationary.
Bozzetto’s primary idiom is the animated short, and his métier is physical comedy.
Few films begin with the argumentative lucidity and utilitarian lyricism of Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky.
Papaleo needn’t have diluted his musicians’ buoyant masculinity.
The Double Hour seems determined to vacuum every last empathetic crumb from its cheap surprises.
What makes you special is very often nugatory in the real world.
Convention comes across as a needlessly prolix footnote.
Finding Bliss obnoxiously and misleadingly wants to have its cake and get eaten too.
At its more noticeable nadir, it’s a trite and partially incomprehensible ersatz-tragedy.
To appropriate Samuel Beckett’s observation of James Joyce, Brakhage’s films are not about something, they are that something itself.