Every scene in Josephine Decker’s film operates at a maximum frenzy fraught with subtext.
The filmmakers patiently savor the great thrill of genre stories: anticipation.
On the Record implicates nothing less than the entirety of American culture in hip-hop’s sins.
Everything here wraps up as tidily as it does in your average Hallmark Channel movie.
Throughout the film, it’s as if mundane objects hold the remedies for the wretchedness of everyday life.
Once the film shifts into a broader comedic register, it no longer capitalizes on Kumail Nanjiani and Issa Rae’s gift for gab.
Throughout the documentary, Benjamin Ree upsets conventions, offering a moving portrait of two lost souls.
Pegg occasionally fulfills the nightmarish potential of the film’s fairy-tale premise.
The series’s ambient preoccupation with death is foregrounded more than ever before with this film’s main dramatic subplot.
It ends as a sincere story about a young woman’s emotional reconciliation with her alien, perpetually troubled place of origin.
The film seems almost content to have you forget about everything that inspired it in the first place.
In this time of peril and chaos, Elizabeth Carroll’s documentary is a balm for the soul.
In the film, the matter of cinema is the process of creativity, arduous and unrealized, as it ebbs and flows.
Every scene is virtually self-contained, and so Capone feels as if it’s starting all over again from frame to frame.
It recognizes that even the sturdiest of friendships are inevitably tested by time and the evolution of personal responsibility.
The film’s animation leans into its most jerky, artificial qualities, all the better to enhance the atmosphere of bizarre unreality.
The film offers a refuge of idealism and intellectuality in an age that’s actively hostile to both of those qualities.
The film’s insistence on keeping the stakes low throughout is probably its key strength.