In appealing to the antagonist’s humanity, Peter Park finally gets to fully demonstrate his own.
It’s a smooth ride, which is precisely the problem in a film proposing to examine a hollow character’s malaise.
In The Last Station, four dimly imagined characters act out the drama surrounding the final days in the life of Leo Tolstoy.
It’s hard to escape the feeling that the real story lies in what Darius Marder has left off the screen.
It’s clear that Jameel Khan cares deeply about the characters that populate The Strip, but most of them aren’t worth his, or our, time.
Until the Light Takes Us is a fan-perspective depiction of the Nordic black metal scene.
Hopefully Serious Moonlight will not become Meg Ryan’s Trog.
a girl and a gun is a bloated hybrid of graduate-level cinema studies and rudimentary psychology.
Must Robert De Niro inflict a moribund genre botch like Everybody’s Fine on the public just in time to grinch us up for Christmas?
Russian Film Week, like the Eastern-European films it shows, runs at a devil-may-care pace.
Time Out New York has just published its picks and blurbs for the top 50 films of the decade.
Princess and the Frog only intermittently delivers on its promise of glitzy and glamorous Princess bliss.
Old Dogs is a series of sub-sitcom sequences designed to destroy any affection once felt for John Travolta and Robin Williams.
James McTeigue comes awfully close to making a successful, gory comedy out of the ridiculous splatterfest Ninja Assassin.
Throughout these films, Kazan casts assertive supporting players as foils to his ambivalent leads.
David Fincher’s blood-black comedy remains one of the most divisive pictures of the past 20 years.
The final days of principal photography are upon us.
Though both parts of Woo’s original film mostly serve to amplify his central pre-occupations, Red Cliff 2 goes a little farther in complicating them.
Gigante isn’t a great movie, but it’s likeably humble and scruffy around the edges.
The film’s pleasures are to be found almost entirely in the meticulously recreated period design.
The termitic meat of this Faustian exercise sits trapped under multiple, calcified layers of narrative and visual inanity.