The film suggests David Lynch’s masterful mindfuck Inland Empire for the influencer set.
Mother of Tears feels like Dario Argento’s Frenzy.
Mandingo is excessive, yet its excesses invariably reveal the caustic truths of social critique.
Zack Winestine’s Caravan/Prague is a first person documentary account of a 500-mile bicycle caravan across Europe.
Werner Herzog is an environmentalist in the purest sense of the term.
You Don’t Mess with the Zohan is, against all odds, Adam Sandler’s funniest effort in close to a decade.
Changes afoot at The House, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.
Back like disco, but twice as corrupt, Vadim and myself return for another week of discourse.
Castle, his actors, their stunt doubles, his camera crew, and the editor Rodrigo Balart make it all seem… effortless.
The film occasionally verges on damning its subject for being a cagey, arrogant, single-minded narcissist, but hey, that’s showbiz.
Brick Lane doesn’t so much suggest a melodrama of the heart and spirit as it does an explosion at a fabric store.
What ultimately makes it more than a dude-ranch version of the first hour of Deliverance is its ability to make fun of itself.
A sweet tale of a man learning to care about others, The Grocer’s Son is still simpleminded on a very fundamental level.
The film feels as moribund as Malcolm McDowell’s character lying on his deathbed in the opening scene.
Alex Gibney is a lucid interviewer, getting barbed, surprising comments from Pat Buchanan, Jimmy Carter, George McGovern and Tom Wolfe.
Can anyone tell me what the Czech word for magnolia is?
Nothing could possibly prepare you for the overwhelming mindfuckery that is Synecdoche, New York.
At the Death House Door slowly and subtly reveals itself to be about far more than one pastor’s life.
Jan Schütte integrates three short stories by Isaac Bashevis Singer into an uneven meditation on aging, death and lust.
The refusal to settle for Thompson’s druggy image that enlarges the film’s view of political disillusionment and connects it to our own era of fear and loathing.
The film is committed enough to the pleasure principle that the audience is served one giddy act of visual sorcery after another.