The film’s storytelling is deceptively straightforward, rooted in realistic dialogue and Hansen-Løve’s light touch as a visual stylist.
In the end, Fernando León de Aranoa’s film suggests that there may not be a lot of daylight between a good boss and a true villain.
Julius Avery’s film, intentionally or not, exposes the political subtext of all other superhero movies.
Alex Pritz’s documentary provides an affecting look at Indigenous lives at the frontline of deforestation in the Amazon.
Ron Howard’s Thirteen Lives gets lost in a story that’s already been told.
One of the best and most inventive rom-coms in recent years gets a beautiful transfer from the Criterion Collection.
The Tsugua Diaries is something like Memento for an age of isolation and listlessness.
Much of what the series offers can’t help but come off as clever franchise strategizing.
The film fiercely homes in at the moral perversity of an industry at a particular intersection of capitalism, patriarchy, and digital-age spectacle.
The slipperiness of that word, “reel,” points to cinema’s complicated relationship to the reality of what it shows the audience.
The film confidently oscillates between the playfully on the nose and the existentially profound.
Implicit in its bleak but sympathetic portrait of a disturbed, shunned young man is that sometimes it takes a village to make a monster.
The film’s depiction of an era of rigid class divisions and incalculable loss comes through the hazy, soft-focus goggles of nostalgia.
Human Resources proves that there’s both comedy and poignancy yet to be mined from Big Mouth’s impulse-creature conceit.
After a first hour that may well hit Zoomers and their millennial parents in the feels, Turning Red gradually runs out of steam.
After its brilliantly constructed opening, the film gives the impression only of a giallo doodle.
The film fleshes out perhaps familiar characterizations by tying contemporary wounds to the persistent presence of Europe’s ugly history.
The film heightens the clash between different artists’ egos, and between their conflicting visions of meaningful work, to absurd heights.
The film goes from biting satire to broad farce and back as Alain Guiraudie fills it with both social observation and ludicrous incident.
Coma cultivates gallows humor about the state of things—or rather, the stasis of things.