If you haven’t started collecting the individual seasons of That ’70s Show, you’d be a real dumbass to pass up this economy-sized stash box.
The film employs a flashy text-and-graphics aesthetic that immediately brings to mind the satirical undercurrent of a Grand Theft Auto video game.
Despite the multitude of cinematic tricks the prolific Andrew Lau has up his sleeve, the film is a disappointingly rote entry in the wuxia pantheon.
Raoul Peck’s Fatal Assistance, on the other hand, holds an appropriately cynical attitude toward spectacle.
A pity that nothing was afforded in the way of supplements for this set, but at least Beetlejuice is finally all in one place.
The mockumentary setup indicates that this is all meant to be taken as an exercise in Hollywood-insider rib-nudging, but the proceedings rarely rise to the occasion.
Disappointing supplements notwithstanding, this release of the under-seen The Last Stand does well by a film that’s proud to be small.
The film aims for a sense of soulful introspection that instead comes off as an unwitting parody of languid indie conventions.
Phie Ambo deftly captures her subjects’ sense of paranoia and helplessness without encroaching on their brave candor.
The Big Wedding couldn’t possibly be more square.
This re-release of Croneberg’s ecstatic masterpiece is cause for celebration.
So generous in its characterizations that it’s easy to overlook that its hot-topic drama (bullying, economic marginalization, etc.) amounts to little more than padded lip service.
An unusually tepid collection of episodes, but one not without riches if you’re willing to dig beneath the surface…down, down…
One wonders if the filmmakers ever asked themselves who their film was intended for, or if it was at least a consciously self-serving effort from the outset.
Kristina Buozyte’s scintillating sci-fi throwback draws inspiration from Stanley Kubrick and Andrei Tarkovsky, among others, but without feeling plagiaristic.
College is swift, hilarious, hopeful, defiant, and ultimately life-affirming.
What Craig Scott Rosebraugh’s film lacks in originality, it makes up for in comprehensiveness.
Scenes of solemn importance drag on to the point of self-parody in an attempt at establishing mood, while dialogue reeks of connect-the-dots spoonfeeding.
Tim Sutton’s Pavilion is, at least in part, a film of comfortable silences.
It’s hard to exhibit anything other than pity toward Escape from Planet Earth.