Rohrwacher and O’Connor discuss the ethereal qualities of the film’s main character.
Even when it’s painting its story in broad strokes, the film plays expertly to audience emotion.
The film takes on a justice system unequipped to prosecute those who commit sex crimes.
What makes IFFR so endearing is an atmosphere that’s joyful and devoid of self-importance.
One of the film’s great strengths is how confidently it lets details speak for themselves.
The film’s lack of charm prevents it from transcending the thinness of its high-concept premise.
The film’s humor is a clenched-fist assault on runaway greed and systemic corruption.
The film meanders its way toward its goal with a maddening lack of focus and narrative thrust.
The film lucidly shows how a coming of age can be thrust upon a person against their will.
There’s considerable emotional truth on display throughout Benjamin Ree’s documentary.
The film takes the world’s addiction to self-actualization to one of its darkest implications.
The film is fatally convinced that it has a subversive relationship to genre.
The film brims with a vitality that’s in lockstep with the titular trio’s work and ethos.
A wealth of contrasting stimulation gives the film a singular and intimate atmosphere.
The film is an insightful look at modern discontent and the pandemonium that it breeds.
Bertrand Mandico’s film is the cinematic equivalent of a French Symbolist poem.
Alex Schaad’s film traffics in body ambivalence more than body horror.
Panico neither caters to newcomers to Argento’s work nor preaches to the converted.
Sam and Andy Zuchero’s film suggests a Pixar film by way of Stanley Kubrick.
Eisenberg’s film doesn’t embraces easy answers or platitudes.
The things that elevate Chiwetel Ejiofor’s film are those that elevated Rob Peace’s life overall.