The film is a sensitive, dewy-eyed romance about two adults in the process of becoming.
The Year of the Yao is fashioned with all the objectivity and insight of a promotional special on NBA TV.
Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s In a Year of 13 Moons is the obvious influence for director Oskar Roehler’s mosaic of miserabilism.
The film reconfigures Stanley Kramer’s creaky race-relations drama Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner as a farcical comedy.
Call the film Anatomy of Jenny Craig.
Attention makeup-wearing women of the world: you are weak, bitchy sissies. So says Miss Congeniality 2.
Beauty Shop’s feisty female empowerment comedy feels about as fresh as a Jeri Curl.
Commerce comes to a Chinese countryside in the form of two exotic animals given to an impoverished farmer and his wife.
The Sword of Doom proves itself a film defined by its meticulously precise construction.
If Sin City’s construction is wholly self-aware, its deliberately affected performances wisely forgo winks to their own outlandishness.
Mondovino is a remarkably focused docu-essay, beckoning audiences to form their own opinion on a complex and timely topic.
em>South of the Clouds seems to exist only to satisfy its maker.
Abdellatif Kechiche’s film scarcely starves for intensity.
Fret not if you couldn’t get to Park City this year, the New Directors/New Films series brings Park City to you!
The film isn’t so much about Johnston’s madness as it is about the way the people in his life have learned to deal with it.
Clorox, Ammonia and Coffee! is considerably less miserable than Free Radicals, but it’s also more schematic.
Nina’s Tragedies exhibits scant political subtext throughout its tale of romance, obsession, heartache, and the therapeutic effects of love.
In spite of its formalist rigor and attention to the relationship between abuser and abused, the film talks down to its audience.
The Ring Two doggedly treads familiar soggy ground.
It partially redeems Katsuhiro Otomo’s legacy by supplying a coherent narrative to go along with its stunning imagery.
Labeling this elegant noir classic a whodunit is to ignore its masterfully complex portrait of all-consuming romantic self-delusion.