Maren Ade possesses as fine an instinct for calibrating the emotions of her characters as any working director.
There’s a quietly revelatory virtue to Paterson in its resistance to disturb its subject’s life.
Jeff Nichols doesn’t bring to Loving the same excitement and urgency he brought to his more genre-driven work.
At maybe half or a quarter of the length, American Honey might’ve gotten by on this surface-level vision.
The sex never escapes the feeling of the very exploitation that it’s supposed to represent a rejection of.
Cruelty here can feel cheap, perhaps a result of Dumont not knowing how to effectively command comedy yet.
Guiraudie’s latest represents a lot of the same interests that were woven into Stranger by the Lake.
The issue with X-Men: Apocalypse is that Bryan Singer suggests so many possible directions to go in and still chooses the least interesting one.
The video works by representing the body as the most direct visual expression of the self.
Jon Favreau doesn’t know how to fit the material’s familiar elements into his own coherent vision.
Here, power and meaning have been accumulated at a pace appropriately representative of Kirsten Johnson’s own experiences.
The documentary is a loud condemnation of what Chinese civilization has wrought, and what it’s irrevocably lost.
This year’s True/False Film Fest bursted with new possibilities for the documentary form.
The festival, which runs from March 3rd to 6th, already seems to have the country’s most important social issue on its agenda.
For both its earnest, uninhibited sense of play and impeccable pop, Painting With is a uniquely affecting album.
Williams’s location-specific concept album serves as a reminder that her best songs need not inhabit one specific place, geographically or emotionally.
The film evenly distributes its action in quick bursts of fluidly animated fight choreography.
Donnie Yen’s performance is so good that it’s a shame Wilson Yip’s films have never strived to be more than briskly entertaining hagiography.
The album has its share of big moments, but it’s mostly made up of small, claustrophobic gestures of prickly emotional uncertainty.
The film exists less as a meaningful extension of its world than as a fan-service deployment device.