What makes IFFR so endearing is an atmosphere that’s joyful and devoid of self-importance.
The ’ story, despite the anthemic folk-tune trimmings, has the heft of a quest for dignity and self-preservation.
This year’s festival is, in part, a celebration of Ariel Dorfman’s lifework and commitment to understanding the psychology of the prisoner of war.
Tamar Yarom’s documentary packs an emotional whallop.
The film is considerably more engaging than Carmen Castillo’s similar, rambling Calle Sante Fe.
What I love about Tanaz Eshaghian’s filmmaking is how she stands completely out of the way.
Castle, his actors, their stunt doubles, his camera crew, and the editor Rodrigo Balart make it all seem… effortless.
Alex Gibney is a lucid interviewer, getting barbed, surprising comments from Pat Buchanan, Jimmy Carter, George McGovern and Tom Wolfe.
Nothing could possibly prepare you for the overwhelming mindfuckery that is Synecdoche, New York.
Watching Abraham, I kept thinking that he’s ripe for rediscovery and reinvention as a comedian.
Documentary focus is something that, like car keys, should not be given unquestioningly to high schoolers.
Even romantic Woody Allen comes with a heaping side-order of questions and doubt.
Clint Eastwood is a masterful director, but he loses control of Changeling’s tone.
What a long, strange week it’s been.
You can tell a lot about a film festival from its opening-night selection.
Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne continue their remarkable streak of films with Lorna’s Silence.
It all begins in earnest tonight, the official opening of the 34th Seattle International Film Festival.
After the disappointment of Blindness on day one, I enter day two ready to make the most of my time here in Cannes.
Armed with a life-affirming mocha breve from Caffé Zingaro, I make my way to the subterranean blue battleship known as SIFF Cinema.
Blindness would be a tough assignment even for a really smart director, and Meirelles has always been a fundamentally shallow one.
Let’s make it count