By most accounts, this year’s New York Film Festival is one of the strongest in years.
MTV decimated whatever tiny shred of integrity its annual Video Music Awards show still had when this year’s list of nominations were announced.
This year’s Human Rights Watch International Film Festival features one of the strongest lineups in the program’s history.
Per usual, a considerable amount of this year’s selections are carryovers from Toronto and Park City.
Is there a general consensus in the industry that Mary J. Blige is owed something?
Oscar trends continue to have shorter and shorter shelf lives as the award season calendar continues to pork up.
Scuttlebutt has it that this year’s edition of the New York Film Festival is one of the richest in the festival’s 44-year history.
De Palma’s oeuvre owes at least some part of its brash vitality to the destructivism his critics sparked in the director’s bruised ego.
Happy birthday, MTV. You’re 25. A little old to be playing with 12 year olds, doncha think?
He is as abstract a fantasist of romance as Jacques Demy, who he surpasses through the sheer duration of his obsession.
George W. Bush’s human rights violations have fully caught up with today’s documentary filmmakers.
Any film connoisseur worth their salt knows that the purveyors of this genre aimed low but shot high.
This year’s edition shouldn’t be shrugged off because there are no sure-things like Murderball and Junebug on the bill.
A time to taste small, savory dishes from all over the world before the bigger feast of the upcoming New Directors/New Films series.
“We Belong Together” earned its title long before this year’s nominations were even announced.
The emails were mostly informative and insightful, sometimes infuriating and self-important, but almost always funny as shit…at least to us.
Talented filmmakers working on material from genre aficionados, yielding uneven results.
As usual, the festival will be remembered equally for the films left outside its door.
Trust us when we say that you’ll enjoy this list. If you don’t, well, then you can take a sugar-frosted fuck off the end of our dicks.
I’ve gathered three of Slant’s music boys to dish the dirt on the multi-octave songbird’s first nine releases.