Most beguiling here are the handful of moments devoted to N’Dour’s activism.
For women it’s potentially empowering, but for men it inspires detached amusement and the whisper of an erection.
Despite its meandering script, Sügisball is a mildly piquant experience.
Ball Don’t Lie contumaciously refuses to play to its strengths.
Pressure Cooker is breathtakingly equal opportunity in its search for human poetry.
Communication by touch is perversely the film’s most effective reoccurring image.
Burma VJ is a haunting reminder that the news can still be heroic.
The domestic New York rendered in The Big Shot-Caller has not appeared so seductively hazardous since Spike Lee’s heyday.
It’s only at first glance that the film seems like nothing more than a deliquescent rewrite of The Postman Always Rings Twice.
Accuracy, schmaccuracy: Korda’s horny history lessons are best taken with a grain of salt.
Like Gabriel García Márquez, Carlos Sorin creates imagery with sensual exactitude.
Despite occasional stabs at humor, Eldorado is a tragedy.
Surely first-time writer-director Lindsey Christian knew what she was doing.
The film is only likely to frighten those with rubber mask phobias.
It’s unlikely that Reeves could have made Witchfinder General without first learning from the mistakes of She-Beast.
The films collected in Science Is Fiction are never more than mildly educational, but never less than visually hypnotic.
Béla Fleck, jazz/bluegrass banjo player, embarks on an African adventure in Sascha Paladino’s documentary.
The film consistently trips over its zeal to approach the heady subject matter without appearing reductive.
The central gimmick inspires one to paraphrase guruji Louis Armstrong: He who has to ask what yoga is never gets to know.
Danton suggests that while blood is thicker than wine, the latter might be a preferable vice for our political leaders.