Tze Chun’s film exudes no flair in rehashing the violence and suspense of its predictable noir-thriller material.
Hours isn’t based on a true story, but it makes a considerable effort to convince us that it could have been.
Director Shaul Schwarz, sans judgment, presents us with two men who epitomize how accepted and engrained narco culture has become in Mexico.
While it tries to relate a story about the sloppiness of life, the way best-laid plans can go wrong in an instant, its script is neatly and tidily structured.
As the film moves from one musical performance to another, the result increasingly feels like a series of celebrity impersonations set to a best-of-punk compilation album.
A delicate documentary about a way of life that’s slowly disappearing, yet gives way to nothing new.
The film best portrays the limitations that result from having an occupation, and how the fight to overthrow it dominates a person’s entire life.
The feeling here was perhaps intended to be impressionistic and elusive, but the result is instead rambling and unfocused.
The film dumbs down rather than provides new insights into the Israel-Palestine conflict.
The doc will prove fascinating only to the die-hard fans that Freda Kelly spent years writing to, though in this case that’s no small number of people.
Jill Soloway’s film is dishonest in the way it attempts to mask self-pity as enlightened self-criticism.
Claude Miller’s swan song not only shares its main character’s name but also her tempered disposition.
The obstacles that the Kelly brothers encounter are as uninspired as the film’s treacly lessons about brotherhood and staying true to one’s principles.
Its self-seriousness never allows it to become the realist counterpoint to Aki Kaurismäki’s tragicomic approach in Le Havre that one initially hopes it will be.
The film is most interesting as an articulation of how its main character’s initial status as an emblem of inter-religious understanding quickly dissolves following a suicide bombing.
This joyous doc leaves us wanting to immediately seek out the incredible, sometimes unfamiliar music we’ve just heard.
Ably leads us through its extensive investigation, faltering only when the camera lingers on Jeremy Scahill for a touch too long at the expense of his interview subjects.
We’re never privy to the central character’s actual feelings, largely because in a film about a sudden onset of solitude, Julian Pölsler is far too afraid of silence.
Alice Winocour’s take on this true story carries the superficial trappings of a period drama, but its perspective is entirely contemporary.
It’s a testament to Bruce Greenwood’s acting that Adan never becomes entirely as insufferable as the words that come out of his mouth.