This is a noble enough tribute, but what would a documentary entitled The Sex Lives of Famous Cinematographers look like?
A modest Blu-ray presentation of Gray’s uniquely sensitive drama that fittingly appears to have been sabotaged by the competition.
Forks Over Knives has a lot of the right information, but it panders to the same common denominator as any SUV or “Got Milk?” commercial.
The offbeat family dynamic is the show’s greatest asset.
To have been surviving amid the squalor and crime of Alphabet City was a fortunate fate too remarkable to go un-catalogued.
As far as Blu-ray releases of adaptations of The Mikado go, the Criterion Collection’s is sufficiently decayed.
Cockburn’s musicianship remains cheerfully complex despite moments of verbal sterility.
The Critics is an icily witty exercise in Windy City rancor.
All About Eve looks into Broadway’s artichoke heart to ring an early death knell for classic Hollywood.
Sometimes an inner demon can be silenced with a single dirty joke.
When We Leave is far less than its socio-political relevance would suggest.
Even as Milos predictably batters through a meager group of challengers, the film draws us in with relentlessly lyrical kinesthetics.
The film explores what happens when inchoate rage gets its hands on unlimited ammo and a vague political purpose that legitimizes any and all violent fancies.
If only Dimitri Mugianis were as worthy of our attention as Michel Negroponte considers him.
There But for Fortune’s fidelity to its key demographic doesn’t allow it to go far enough.
Growing up requires occasionally yielding to, if not the stark darkness, then the bewildering gray of interpersonal ethics.
Nénette thankfully doesn’t dote on its subject’s obvious sadness, though it occasionally yields to an undercurrent of heavy-handed sympathy.
The film doesn’t make much of a case for its subject’s scribblings, and some of the man’s most seemingly defining personal events are inexplicably rushed through.
You Wont Miss Me is a safely stylized orgy of generic juvenile malaise.
Saint Misbehavin’ has all the biographical trenchancy of a fundraiser infomercial.