Per usual, a considerable amount of this year’s selections are carryovers from Toronto and Park City.
The general mellow atmosphere is conducive to Frisbee and cruising the vendor tents for hacky sacks and homemade Phish T-shirts, but Sunday evening proved that the fest has some cajones underneath all that tie-dye.
Abbas Kiarostami is exhausted, and understandably so.
As long as drugs, sex, rock n’ roll, and war continue to drive the human race, though, there will always be a place for the Doors.
This year’s “Film Comment Selects” program collects 18 features that span the full spectrum of the cine-world stage.
At least everyone can agree that Britney Spears’s rediscovery of underwear is an encouraging trend that will, we hope, continue into 2007.
Iraq ruled not only the news but movie screens as well in 2006.
Nothing less than a miracle is needed to rouse Ingrid Bergman's characters out of their spiritual stupor, and Rossellini provides it.
At age 63, he’s one of the few living links to a host of great British actors who are now gone: Gielgud, Olivier, James Mason, Alan Bates, Rachel Roberts.
The received wisdom on Jacques Rivette, for supporters and detractors alike, is that his is a cinema of endurance.
At one time, Phil Hall navigated between the worlds of public relations and film criticism, two professions that could not be more dissimilar.
It was fitting that the final stop on Goldfrapp’s U.S. tour, at New York’s Roseland Ballroom, began with Cerrone’s “Supernature.”
Rosenbaum continues to write long-form pieces during a time when most professional critics are increasingly marginalized.
In the new issue of Shock Cinema, House contributor Jeremiah Kipp interviews unconventional leading man Ron Perlman.
Laura is routinely seen as a prime slice of film noir, though Preminger scarcely delved into the furious paranoia that always was the genre’s bread and butter.
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.
Saul Levine’s edge is his elation and his constant pricks at our consciousness bring about a sort of revelatory catharsis.
Hell, the mood was so sedate that Sean Penn and Russell Crowe were even chipper, the latter happily chatting up fans in the street.
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.
Argentina, which has emerged as one of the most prolific national cinemas of the new millennium, dominated the Latinbeat program last year.
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