With Turistas, John Stockwell cements his status as contemporary Hollywood’s most accomplished exhibitor of the female behind.
As early festival rumblings suggested and the final product confirms, you’re either with The Fountain or you’re against it.
The fact that there even is a Tenacious D in the Pick of Destiny comes as something of a miracle.
The film repackages The Ground Truth into a laughably clichéd, melodramatic, Oscar-courting prestige pic.
The film’s DVD cover begs one important question: Is this Lesley Nagy person the new Earl Dittman?
Flannel Pajamas details a love affair whose insightfulness slightly outweighs its sluggishness.
Breaking and Entering plays out like a softer, more cuddly version of Michael Haneke’s Caché.
More often than not, this long-winded fable functions as a squishy, supernatural serving of Chicken Soup for the Soul.
A straightforward ghost story whose nonsensicality—unlike most J-horror thrillers—doesn’t seem to be intentional.
The film, which appears poised to deliver a wrenchingly personal account of the Armenian genocide, is undone by marketplace concessions.
Another distasteful Ron Howard production impeccably preserved on DVD.
The friction between her real-life protagonist clan’s traditional customs and the outlying modern world remains the backbone of Byambasuren Davaa’s ethnographic cinema.
A sweet film, but those who don’t shop at Walmart will get the short end of the stick in the features department.
Shottas regurgitates worn-out gangsta tropes in telling the story of two hoods trying to make it big in both Jamaica and Miami’s crime worlds.
Really, it could have been worse-like, say, Shadowboxer’s fantasy of Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Mo’Nique as lovers.
This is yet another David Ayer story about a murderous psycho with one hand in crime and the other in law enforcement.
In general, Saw III simply peddles gruesomeness of a disgusting rather than frightening order.
Fuck mainly serves as the latest example of the atrocious devolution of mainstream documentary filmmaking.
The tragedy of the film comes from the sense that the horrors of their tragic past may never be fully overcome.
What makes it a riot is Sacha Baron Cohen’s gift for establishing circumstances at once squirm-inducing uncomfortable, slapstick-stupid, and insanely inappropriate.