Motor City channels the spirit of the vigilante films and other exploitation genres of the 1970s.
Is the golden age of Judd Apatow already waning?
How dismally arch and self-satisfied can a Chelseacore sex comedy get?
Jared Leto looks like he’s eaten his 30 Seconds to Mars bandmates in Chapter 27.
When Shotgun Stories locks into this tragic narrative, it gradually tightens the notch until violence becomes inevitable.
The film ponders: How do we blame higher-ups like Rumsfeld for what happened at Abu Ghraib if they weren’t psychically in the picture?
The film begins (of course) in Vanda’s room.
Lance Hammer’s Ballast suggests and suffers from the influence of the Dardenne brothers.
The film’s world is so hermetically sealed that it seems to have been intended only for writer-director Emily Hubley’s pleasure.
The first project of the here! gay television network’s new movie initiative, Shelter regrettably plays closer to Lifetime fodder.
Remaking Rocky Balboa as a comedy starring Adam Carolla was a terrible idea.
The most intimate, unnerving cinema on the Iraq fiasco yet made.
Vanishing without a trace is always a promise and a threat in Olivier Assayas’s films.
The Ice Storm tries its best to identity itself with the dark heart of the early ’70s.
Like Criterion’s magnificent Paul Robeson box set from early last year, it reintroduces us to a performer whose gift was ahead of its time.
Ari Libsker’s interviewees refer to the stalags with an expected mixture of seriousness and giddiness.
Sue Williams’s obvious sincerity for her subjects is undermined by a whitewashing aesthetic.
Neil Marshall’s film thrives on the basis of chic, iconic imagery, juxtaposing eras new and old in a violent upheaval of social values.
The film’s title is a literal translation of the Chinese term for “hearse,” and it’s a fitting moniker for a take about a regressive journey from present to past.
Asian horror films’ obsession with gaunt female ghouls and their face-obscuring stringy black hair persists in Epitaph.
Megane is the type of cutesy-quaint foreign import that’s just about insufferable.