With its softened edges, bland aftertaste, and watered-down distillation of Raymond’s life and career, the film represents the house champagne of biographical cinema.
Pedro Almodóvar’s diverting pop-art bauble firmly placing the “relief” in comic relief and the “cock” in cockpit.
The film is unfortunate proof that Pixar, previously known for its brains, is now resting a little too heavily on its nominal brawn.
The documentary proves that Ungerer’s legacy is as historically significant as it is artistically.
Not unlike Downey, the doc is full of confused, truncated convictions.
Transformation is a major theme at the heart of the new season, and this looks and feels like a different show.
A Pig Across Paris is an exaggerated epic of traditional buddy-comedy trappings wrapped in a picaresque farce.
We Steal Secrets lacks perspective and still feels wrapped in secrets and lies.
The research and elucidating synthesis on display effectively illuminate the pernicious aura of a lifestyle pursued by the yearning, lost souls of the time.
Opting for inspiration over insight, Venus and Serena is a starry-eyed pop doc that cannot transcend its scattershot, for-fans-only filmmaking.
Despite the counter-culture subjects at its core, Daniel Algrant’s film possesses a put-upon hipness that cannot mask its disarming dorkiness.
It’s experimental in the way that the final product is more of a labor-intensive challenge for the filmmakers than a cerebral one for us.
It’s knitted together by its sense of place and lived-in performances, yet unraveled by anemic false melodrama and overbearing music.
It’s buoyant and titillates, striking that distinctly Ozonian balance between the beautiful and the sinister, but it doesn’t resonate.
With his wry latest, David Gordon Green consolidates the bromantic interplay of Pineapple Express and the erstwhile elliptical lyricism of George Washington.
More gag-friendly than idea-based, relying on the considerable charm of its leads to ground its supernatural conceit.
Pablo Berger digs for emotional intensity in his gothic retelling of Snow White and only uncovers layers of gloss.
Despite its title, there’s actually very little dancing, or rhythmic flair, in Alan Govenar’s documentary.
Soldate Jeannette depicts the disillusioned failure of materialism as it pushes its grass-is-greener agenda.
Sarah Polley is much more interested in the malleability of memory and the consequential refractions felt throughout her kin rather than telling a linear narrative.