Chemistry counts for something, and Robert Redford and Sissy Spacek have it in spades in The Old Man & the Gun.
If Beale Street Could Talk is at its most potent in the scenes where human frailty and the specter of injustice come more elliptically to the surface.
A few too many on-the-nose needle drops make Beautiful Boy play like a schmaltz-infused music-video-cum-alarmist-anti-drug-PSA.
There’s barely a single scare in this Halloween that isn’t undermined by some forced bit of funniness,
Who knew that Will Tippin from Alias and Mother Monster had this much spark between them?
The supplements on Kino’s Blu-ray offer a robust spectrum of perspectives on both Grace Jones as a performer and the film itself.
It all feels cheap, a far cry from what S. Craig Zahler can do when overseeing both a film’s words as well as its images.
Fallout’s action scenes are cleanly composed and easy to follow, and so abundant as to become monotonous.
In writer-director Ari Aster’s smugly agitating feature debut, the devil is certainly in the hackneyed details.
Throughout Avengeners: Infinity War, rapidity (of dialogue and drama) is mistaken for actual rhythm.
The effect of Sophie Fiennes’s approach to her subject is to take us out of normal time and put us on Grace Jones time.
Ben Russell’s film is a thought-provoking snapshot of humanity reduced to a pale shadow by economic discontent.
There’s a narrative lopsidedness to Black Panther that sharply undercuts Killmonger’s emotional journey.
Everyone in George Clooney’s film is a bastard, worthy of being shot, stabbed, blown up, or poisoned with lye.
By going to uneasy extremes in I Love You, Daddy, Louis C.K. aims to reorient our moral compasses.
A rare bad performance from Denzel Washington sinks writer-director Dan Gilroy’s follow-up to Nightcrawler.
The cinematic touchstone throughout Schrader’s First Reformed is the Danish director Carl Theodor Dreyer.
Payne’s defenders might call his often acidic touch Swiftian, though it comes off more toothlessly noncommittal.
Bloodlight and Bami is a fragmented, purposefully obscure exploration of Grace Jones’s life and art.
Suburbicon sees a bunch of candidly left-leaning movie stars doing their best to out-awful each other.