Refn discusses his love of fairy tales, falling through the rabbit hole of streaming, and more.
The film endeavors to airmail the middle-aged suburban angst made fashionable by American Beauty safely back to cynicism-free sitcom territory.
The film has blood and sweat (and laughs) to spare, but not quite enough tears.
Live-In Maid may be a bit schematic in design, but it understands both the way humiliation can eat the soul and the freedom of not having money.
The Band Wagon highlights Fred Astaire’s technical genius, particularly in numbers where he’s dancing alone.
The film is a work of Jarmuschian deadpan obsessed with modes of freedom and expression.
At least the dancing is good, and Minnelli’s restless camera gooses a plodding story into liveliness.
It’s all very minor, but the film is wonderfully acted (especially by Judi Dench) and casts a lovely spell.
What’s revealed to us over the course of the documentary’s two hours is a horrifying vision of globalization gone terribly amuck.
The film operates under the contrived notion that old people are smart and young people are big dumb animals.
This vision of the dead sharing the same space as the living isn’t predicated on a gimmicky reduction of human faith.
You may need to be in a K-hole to remotely enjoy Bulgarian filmmaker Sophia Zornitsa’s Mila from Mars.
Assholes attracting assholes. How charming.
Portraying tragedy without a meaningful point of view is a sticky situation for a movie to find itself in.
After the Apocalypse is bleak, minimalist science fiction reminiscent of Chris Marker via Andrei Tarkovsky’s Stalker.
The resonance of Rachel Boynton’s documentary Our Brand is Crisis is flabbergasting.
True to its metaphysical fixation with the art of embroidery, characters often feel like strands undone from an uncompromising human tapestry.
Tsai’s film is an illuminating, musical embrace for the ages.
Chris Wedge’s Robots more or less confirms that production studio Blue Sky is likely to be remembered as the Jan to Pixar’s Marcia and PDI’s Cindy.
For giving an ethnographical face to post-war Angola, the importance of The Hero shouldn’t be underestimated.
The film highlights writer-director Rebecca Miller’s frustrating proclivity for overly dreamy, precious storytelling.