Refn discusses his love of fairy tales, falling through the rabbit hole of streaming, and more.
You can’t call Commune bougie, which is just as the Black Bear Ranch people would like it.
Shut Up & Sing is part vanity project, part image rehabilitation.
Heroin is bad and, if used for an extended period of time, will ruin your life.
A point emerges, this notion that we’re all born good, but it’s not one that gets a concerned workout.
The stink of Crash hovers over Flags of Our Fathers.
What would Diane Arbus have made of Nicole Kidman in Fur?
Bill Plympton’s world of fantasy is right on target with that of fellow shock animator Don Hertzfeldt.
Actors playing doctors will want to study the final shot of As the Call, So the Echo.
Robert Aldrich’s Kiss Me Deadly ups Spillane’s ante and calls his bluff.
Body horror is piled atop more body horror, none of it with much consequence.
Clint Eastwood’s creaky history-class lecture Flags of Our Fathers makes the nature of heroism its primary point of concern.
The plot of the film is ultimately as emaciated and insubstantial as its leading bags of bones.
Sweet Land is exquisitely in tune with the rhythms and connections of lives both present and past and, expectedly, those yet to come.
The Prestige’s performances have a big-budget, larger-than-life robustness.
The film is an Oliver Stone panorama by way of The Love Boat.
The Marine comes pretty close to achieving a histrionic level of giddy, Mystery Science Theater camp.
The film is closer to the melodic élan of a Jacques Demy film, as wistful and fragile as a sand castle.
Like Michelangelo Antonioni, Francesco Rosi sees architecture as a reflection of cultural turmoil.
David Lee Fisher’s sound remake of Robert Weine’s classic is a sincere form of flattery.
Infamous takes a more complex approach to exploring Truman Capote’s disintegration than Bennett Miller’s Capote.