Here’s to the extremes of cinema!
Prince Avalanche, a Judd Apatow-like bromance elevated to the realm of near-myth, is an extremely odd, deliberately jarring work.
Another opening-night gala screening, another crapshoot.
The film is an extremely deadpan comedy about people resistant to change beyond all rational reasoning.
Shanghai Calling doesn’t really edge on the offensive until its climax.
Ching Siu-tung’s film looks so glossy, plasticized, and unreal that all you end up thinking about is special effects.
Stephen Vittoria’s film is an especially egregious example of documentary-as-hagiography.
The all-access pass the film affords viewers on the outside looking in turns out to be a double-edged sword.
There’s no escaping the feel this film exudes of being little more than an 87-minute back-patting session.
Parked is the kind of middling bore in which the notes are all laid out, but the music never floods through.
Ungerer narrates the story of his tumultuous life with a mixture of hard-earned wisdom and youthful impetuosity.
A more inspiring middle finger to cynicism is difficult to imagine.
Under the mercurial surface lies a sorrowful heart.
There’s no empathy in Haneke’s carefully composed frames, ruthlessly prolonged takes, and generally detached stance.
Kiarostami’s images evoke a sense of theatrical artifice rippling through the real world.
Christian Petzold’s close-to-the-vest approach fits in the context of a narrative that takes place in 1980 East Germany
This impressionistic, inquisitive documentary reminds us where a troubled nation has come from and where it might be headed.
At which point does a superficially nonjudgmental approach simply seem coy rather than sincerely evenhanded?
Brooks’s spoof is, at least in part, about more than just Star Wars.
Richard Trank’s film is conventional to the point of dullness, filching from the Ken Burns playbook.