One look at Aaron Stanford’s chain-smoking, long-haired musician in a Hanes T-shirt and you know Flakes wants so badly to be hip.
To call Van Sant’s seminal film trashy or backward—or simply a “time capsule”—is to ignore the insights into gay life it still holds today.
Kenna Zemedkun is a pop artist with something to prove.
Robert Schrock’s Naked Boys Singing! is the biggest waste of dick since Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger in Brokeback Mountain.
If Pierce’s unvoiced rage is the heartache of black America, her hope is its spirit.
Paul Greengrass’s latest plops on the screen with lots of hi-fi energy but, strangely, very little feeling.
If you’re the type who cranes his neck to eye a car wreck, Laura Smiles is a mess that must be seen to be believed.
If the title Tekkonkinkreet suggests a mashup of different sounds, it’s not without reason.
Robin Swicord’s The Jane Austen Book Club is pitched as The First Wives Club for coffeehouse intellectuals.