Minimalist and heartwarming, Errol Morris’s A Brief History in Time is a bold, poignant visualization of a brilliant man and a brilliant life.
The film is so in love with its unoriginal premise that it can’t see the forest for the trees, treating reality like an occasionally relevant prop and stalking as a sweetly romantic gesture.
This generous release from Cinema Guild, with rare extras and astute essays, is perfectly attuned to the film’s big ideas and immaculate beauty.
The Thin Blue Line remains a landmark in Morris’s oeuvre because it revealed and corrected a flawed judicial process.
It compellingly engages with the specific problems of a cultural group rarely represented in American film, but it too easily and abruptly resolves its main characters’ problems.
The embarrassingly low production value of Bernard Rose’s 2 Jacks works symbiotically with the film’s botched performances.
With its compelling, original approach to its romance narrative, coupled with Paulina García’s intuitive performance, the film delicately balances an entire octave of emotions.
There were Eisenbergs, Gyllenhaals, and doppelganger-centered film adaptations galore at Toronto.
Jonathan Glazer’s peculiar film is the most original feature at Toronto, and possibly of this year.
It fails to ask compelling questions that would merit the relevance of a fictional film about the subject in 2013.
It’s adept at showing how the slavers’ hateful descriptions of their victims are more than simply demeaning.
Jason Reitman’s film excels in giving the delicate family balance a kind of rewarding poignancy.
The bars in both Closed Curtain and Crimson Gold allude to the cognitive imprisonment of its characters.
The film is impossible to take seriously as a commemoration of Moultrie’s life or Allen’s prolific status because of its plethora of contrivances.
Its main character’s moral predicament with a woman inside a pit becomes a muddle of confused symbolism and trite psychoanalysis.
The film is dry in its humor, clever in its elaborate robbery scheme, and somewhat bloated and unspooled in its storytelling.
Ephron imbues the film with a self-awareness that remains rewarding in spite of its contradictions.
Seidelman’s attempts to provide positive, alternative representations of marginalized people and problems is overly ambitious.
Sergei Loznitsa occasionally writes his ideas too explicitly in the film’s dialogue, though he makes up for this by deftly employing some ironic symbolism elsewhere.
The film is the cinematic equivalent of a teenager, making everything more melodramatic than it needs to be, and impatient with the subtle details of life.