Throughout, the film’s characters exhibit little life outside of their moments of tragedy and symbolic connections.
The film justly draws attention to the perpetual work that must go into preserving democratic institutions.
By all accounts, this should have been Paul Verhoeven’s Vera Cruz.
The short was inspired by a powerful involuntary mania that took hold of the citizens of Strasbourg just over 500 years ago.
The actor discusses collaborating with Joe Swanberg and a wildly talented cast on his directorial debut.
Marjane Satrapi’s film could have benefited from the tangy humor and cynicism of her graphic novels.
Dave Franco has a mighty command of silence as a measurement of emotional aftershock.
The film never feels as satisfying or as haunting as its bow-tying epilogue strives for.
The script doesn’t contain many lines that ring true, and a few clang wildly off-key.
Václav Marhoul’s film is at its most magnificent when it lingers on the poetry of its images.
The film vague on the intersections between Cara Jones’s family, Sun Myung Moon, and the Unification Church at large.
The film’s unreflective earnestness is haunting in all the wrong ways.
The Rosses discuss how performance, accessibility, empathy, and nostalgia figure into their work.
It’s in certain characters’ trajectories that the Ross brothers locate the tragic soul of the bar.
The film heralds the arrival a bold and formidable voice in horror cinema.
The film’s characters are simultaneously horny and melancholic. They seem to want plenty of sex but also love.
With no vividly drawn humans on display, the action feels like rootless war play.
The character drama becomes afterthought as it’s superseded by action.
Smartly prioritizing the bond of relationships over action, the film is in the end only somewhat convincing on both counts.
The film is a kaleidoscopic portrait of a world where emotions are accessed and revealed primarily through digital intermediaries.