Refn discusses his love of fairy tales, falling through the rabbit hole of streaming, and more.
The partygoers are caught in the tragedy of the pre-liberation closet, a more crippling and unforgiving one than the closets that remain.
Hal Haberman and Jeremy Passmore’s story is fit for a 15-minute short rather than a feature-length narrative.
This slight documentary is less a look-at-the-nerds freakshow than a portrait of the means by which Harry Potter has inspired others’ creativity.
The film’s enduring image remains that of the nude director cuddling up to a nubile beauty and talking her ear off.
The film is the apotheosis of Alfred Hitchcock’s exploration of the wronged man on the run.
I am not alone, I am certain, in coming late to the Arnaud Desplechin party poised to jump off this winter.
Hello and welcome again faithful The Futurist! and other Non-Listeners!
Charlie Kaufman makes the basic rookie mistake most people do when they direct their first feature.
The greatest respect Gini Reticker’s Pray the Devil Back to Hell pays to its war-battered Liberian subjects is simply an unwillingness to embellish.
The film’s vibrant animation and innocuously rollicking comedy remains endearing.
The film is at once too historically removed from its subject and too hysterically committed.
What does all this harried fuss point to beyond the fact that these people live irritatingly self-involved lives?
Not since Kubrick defused psychological interpretations of The Shining has a director so decisively discouraged theoretical analysis of an intriguing work.
Bernie Mac and Isaac Hayes, to whom the movie is dedicated, have had their genuine soul posthumously obscured by this slapstick misfire.
There’s a certain lurid fascination at play in Damian Harris’s fictional account of the abduction and sexual abuse of an eight-year-old girl.
While the discoveries the director makes may be eye-opening to an Israeli, anyone born and raised in the U.S. will find them merely shrug-worthy.
For those who find bloody noses and whispered voices bone-chilling, heeeeeeere’s The Haunting of Molly Hartley.
They don’t come more internally conflicted than Bruce LaBruce’s Otto; or, Up with Dead People
So many truths only become clear with hindsight. Here’s one of them: Unbeknownst to nearly everybody, even those closest to him, Andrew Johnston was a superhero.
Without its weirdo visual flourishes, The Guitar would be completely reprehensible.