Yann Demange’s ‘71 isn’t meant to look like one continuous shot, as Birdman is, but it often feels that way anyway.
Alejandro González Iñárritu’s anti-critic harangue is petty coming from a writer-director whose spotty filmography has largely been met with critical praise.
Unremarkable films propped up by exceptional lead performances are as much a certainty of the autumnal season as yellow leaves and pumpkin patches.
A Haunted House not only panders to, but encourages the same moviemaking impulses it’s supposedly satirizing.
A Dark Truth is one of those unfortunate projects whose component parts are immediately at odds with one another.
In wearing its flaws on its sleeve(less shirt), Miami Connection makes them more endearing than problematic.
Yelling to the Sky isn’t the outraged indictment its title would imply.
Koi No Yokan further solidifies Deftones’ status as far and away the most long-lasting and consistent act of the maligned sub-genre from which they came.
Red Lights implodes so spectacularly that it’s almost worth the price of admission just to see what all the fuss is about.
Color of the Ocean is sincere, well-crafted, and nice to look at—it just isn’t especially vital.
The film’s serio-comic technique and ping-ponging aesthetics ultimately make for a winning approach.
Cool title though.
Strained relationships between parents and children mark the films of Kore-eda Hirokazu.
More impressive than the film’s kinetic pacing is the fact that it doesn’t feel nearly as fractured as its abbreviated runtime might suggest.
Fightville’s interviewees are constantly, if unwittingly, addressing the concerns of hesitant viewers like me.
Rachel Harris elevates the material in a way that cuts through its ugliness and leaves something truer, more genuine in its place.
Free Men ultimately belongs firmly in the well-intentioned-misfire category, a film of modest ambition and a short grasp.
To question where things went wrong feels somehow strange, as the project seems to have been ill-conceived from the very start.
If The Lady never quite blossoms in the way one might hope, it’s largely because its subject has never been allowed to either.
Drive embraces and even takes comfort in the misery wrought by its characters' dealings with one another.