Intimacy’s truths are remarkably universal, so painful yet so sexy in Patrice Chéreau’s hands.
That sound, ladies and gentleman, is that of Kattan’s movie career smashing into a brick wall.
Martin Scorsese celebrates his passion for early Italian cinema with My Voyage to Italy.
Focus is a specious study of mistaken identity set in New York during the height of WWII.
Business is business in the film, but, in the end, it’s all about who has your back.
Claude Lanzmann’s stringent gaze hardly moves from the stoic face of Yehuda Lerner.
Eyes will roll, hearts will melt; just in time for Christmas.
Eric Rohmer’s film is an economical antidote to the bloated costume drama.
A self-indulgent Montmartre-set fairy tale that’s the cinematic equivalent of a dribbling lump of caramel taffy.
Alain Guiraudie supplies a heady mix of social realism and intensely muted sexual desire.
The film is as playful and politically scatterbrained as Jules and Jim, but it has the raunchier upper hand.
If your male child is at all fond of post-‘80s Nickelodeon, the lame Max Keeble’s Big Move is sure to be this weekend’s hottest ticket.
John Dahl’s film is tailor-made for the Scream crowd.
The film is a penetrating peek into the daily life of a woodcutter from Argentina’s Pampa.
Italian for Beginners is the warmest and most delicate of crowd pleasers.
Manoel de Oliveira suggests that there’s no place like home and certainly no better place to die.
It’s a one-joke movie, but a funny one nonetheless.
The film is naïvely entranced by those incidents in life that are perhaps not worth thinking about.
Todd Solondz is sensitive to criticism, a fear he hypocritically lays bare throughout Storytelling.
Mulholland Drive is a haunting, selfish masterpiece that literalizes the theory of surrealism as perpetual dream state.