Though Visconti operates on the surface level of the material, he crafts a seductive surface.
Perhaps carving enough space for the previously unheard voices of Muslim gays to speak is enough to ask of this socially groundbreaking work.
Now only twilight and sunset.
Will we be a land of Charles Kinbotes?
A Thousand Years of Good Prayers is so slender and unassuming that it registers only as a pleasantly forgettable triviality.
Bryan Bertino’s film is a white-knuckle thriller in which a couple going through relationship difficulties is terrorized by psychos.
Blindness would be a tough assignment even for a really smart director, and Meirelles has always been a fundamentally shallow one.
In a world of stick figures, Jeff Bridges is a Michelangelo.
I’m happy to say that Lichman and Rizov are back with the arrogant debauchery and drinking that you’ve come to despise and love.
A first-time watcher of The Outsiders could easily follow and appreciate the plot without having to listen to the dialogue.
Let’s make it count
The best reason to attend this festival is the resurrection of Gone to Earth.
Andrew Adamson puts far less energy into moral dilemmas than into an unfunny talking mouse lamely reminiscent of the Shrek director’s Puss in Boots.
The film doesn’t stand shoulder to shoulder with many episodes of the TV show.
Wise Blood is a sharp, busy canvas that, like a man with a good car, doesn’t need to be justified.
Did you know that fucking is the best way to resist totalitarianism?
Deprived, so suddenly and unexpectedly, of his place to write, Glenn Kenny created a new one.
Paz Encina’s script is a beautifully written and considered immersion into the humdrum of campesino life.
Yella hinges above all else on a climactic surprise, and a frail, trivializing one at that.
Quid Pro Quo is appealingly offbeat until its narrative takes a wayward detour into pat simplifications.
It’s too bad that Trumbo over-relies on actors to goose up his voice with PBS-style epistolary “class.”