A new day dawns and, from this side of the web, it seems business as usual.
Wong’s sense of artistic priorities is the true subject of My Blueberry Nights.
The concept behind Lucid Screening’s second annual April Fool’s day White Elephant Blog-a-thon seems pretty straightforward.
The filmmakers have padded their running time with gracefully choreographed but needlessly long, convoluted action scenes.
On Valentine’s Day we’re turning the House lights way down low, and offering a little special something…for the looooovers.
Has cinema recovered from The Jazz Singer?
Rambo is America’s undying warrior spirit made flesh.
The two astonishing sequences that unshackle themselves from formula cast an unflattering light on the rest.
For a decade now, Paul Thomas Anderson has been American cinema’s giant-in-waiting.
Joe Wright’s version of Ian McEwan’s novel is visually snappy but emotionally inert.
It starts with an overture and ends with a quip.
Ridley Scott and Steve Zaillian seem determined to snuff out bright patches before they can catch fire.
What is Robert Zemeckis up to, anyway?
Ronald Bronstein’s Frownland is a film whose synopsis screams, “Avoid at all costs.”
The Coens’ narrations often hint at, but rarely confirm, the existence of deliberate, supernatural forces.
About three months ago, my digital camera conked out, and I still haven’t replaced it. In the apparently endless interim, I’ve taken to buying disposable cameras.
Lake of Fire looks and moves like a cross between a D.A. Pennebaker documentary and a Nike ad, and it really shouldn’t work at all.
The movie dramatizes Cronenberg’s preoccupations more, well, organically than his his other collaboration with Viggo Mortensen.
It surely isn’t lost on Mamet that the title of his 1987 debut feature, House of Games, doubles as a three-word summation of his career.
The film is riddled with nonsensically motivated and poorly thought-out characters who bear little resemblance to real human beings.