The film is a sensitive character study disguised as an unnerving exercise in body horror.
The film is best enjoyed by wallowing in the lushness of its fabrics, sartorial and symbolic alike.
The film’s unifying theme is the egocentrism and inevitable violence of masculinity.
The film’s weighing of individual right to life against global survival isn’t an easy exchange.
Magazine Dreams melds the alluring and the horrific in an unsettling mixture suited to its account of the peril of pursuing physical perfection.
The film’s depiction of the fear and uncertainty of motherhood gives in to monotony.
Rye Lane’s caricatured portrait of London fails to make its central romance truly resonate.
Eric Gavel’s Full Time is more of a nail-biter than the thrillers it takes its breakneck pacing from.
Clay Tatum’s film is wholly and refreshingly uninterested in tugging at the heartstrings.
My Animal is a beguilingly stylish and sensuous feature-length directorial debut.
The film has a free-floating, nearly intangible sense of unease that greatly serves it.
Cronenberg is so fixated on freaking us out that he can sometimes neglect to do much else.
The film is an insightful examination of a character type familiar to indie cinema.
The film deals forthrightly with the question of purpose and whether it can be found in a career.
Hansen-Løve discusses her approach to autofiction, her characters’ vocations, and more.
Cat Person only succeeds when it stays in a space of mystery and unknowing.
As confident as writer-director Chloe Domont is with high-finance gamesmanship, she’s sharper as a dramatist of premarital decay among millennials.