
While there’s never a moment of overt violence in Azor, a river of blood courses beneath every impeccably composed frame.

Fern Silva approaches an idyllic yet troubled archipelago with a cosmically open-minded humanism.

The film’s rendering of the interplay of memory, identity, and grief is disappointingly vague.

Amalia Ulman’s film is a bittersweet comedy of human behavior observed with a relaxed yet intently focused eye.

Each film that Wong has made is, to a great extent, a response to and revision of the one that came before it.

The disc’s quality extras ultimately outweigh its less-than-perfect visual presentation.

Kino’s release highlights the harsh beauty and bitter bombast of Konchalovsky’s outsized action drama.

Dominic Cooke’s film is content to regurgitate some of the more tired artistic tropes about the Cold War.

Vinegar Syndrome’s new 4K restoration presents Satan’s Blood in all its fleshy, blood-soaked glory.

After a while, it’s hard not to feel like Radu Jude is simply shooting fish in a barrel.

Keith Thomas’s film hums with uncanny dread, milking the close juxtaposition of living and dead for all its worth.

The film gets at the profound truth that our relationship with another person is, at its core, a collection of shared memories.

George Clooney’s film is a plodding and deeply unsatisfying genre exercise.

Steve McQueen’s series emphasizes that social change, as well as personal fulfillment, comes from connection rather than isolation.

The film is brightly colored, inventively designed, and constantly flirting with the outright psychedelic.

Too often, the film teases big, wild comedic set pieces that end up deflating almost instantly.

The film is a quietly enraged, and enraging, assault on Donald Trump’s handling of the Covid-19 pandemic.

Dick Johnson Is Dead isn’t a biography of Kirsten Johnson’s father, but rather a reflective self-portrait of the filmmaker herself.

In Kossakovsky’s latest, common farm animals have rarely seemed so un-human.

Bas Devos’s film is a street-lit trek through the eerily empty avenues and byways of a city at sleep.