Refn discusses his love of fairy tales, falling through the rabbit hole of streaming, and more.
The trailer for Anderson’s eighth feature-length film dropped less than 30 minutes ago and cinephiles are already frothing at the mouth.
Writer-director Franck Khalfoun’s Amityville: The Awakening is an elegant entry in a lame series of horror films.
The film’s performances and narrative flounder to strike the right balance between comedy and drama.
The longer things drag out, All I See Is You becomes every bit as amorphous as its protagonist’s vision.
Östlund says that he has no qualms about skewering his characters’ more blatant hypocrisies.
Everyone in George Clooney’s film is a bastard, worthy of being shot, stabbed, blown up, or poisoned with lye.
The Snowman is missing so much basic connective tissue as to be rendered almost completely inexplicable.
Joseph Kosinski’s Only the Brave displays a kinship to Howard Hawks’s hard-nosed, old-fashioned pragmatism.
Thomas Jane’s dramatization of rage is shrewdly comical in its overt and ultimately moving über-manliness.
Throughout, the narrative padding is conspicuous, and the copious references to better films are gratuitous, even lazy.
Biscayart discusses acting as a form of therapy and why more people should think about dying.
Richard Turner is a charismatic subject who demands more than a conventionally entertaining documentary.
The characters’ emotional vacancy feels like another auteurist tic to which Lanthimos is dauntlessly committed.
The documentary wavers between a sincere investigation of the avant-garde music group Laibach and self-satire.
It’s incisive in its condemnation of the oppression innate in the social structure of Brooklyn’s Hasidic communities.
Leatherface may as well have been overseen by any hipster looking to make a mark at Platinum Dunes.
Writer-director Attila Till is content to indulge a complication-free mix of bloodshed and pathos.
This is a heartfelt essay film that digs into several instances of trauma occasioned by Mexico’s drug war.
While the scares don’t quite work, Jungle revels in a different aspect of horror-thrillers: the gross-out.
Woody Allen’s Wonder Wheel feels as artificial and unsatisfying as the cotton candy twirling in a vending cart.