Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett’s horror comedy is sharp in more ways than one.
John Malkovich ultimately pushes the film so far into an emotional void as to render it completely useless.
Not sinceMala Noche has Gus Van Sant produced a film so pure, uncompromising, and ravishing to watch.
Because space was tight, documentaries, shorts and animated films were not eligible. Additionally, we limited directors to no more than one spot on the list.
Kangaroo Jack’s every twist and turn has been plotted with sad desperation.
In the end, the pointlessness of this exercise is surpassed only by its rank misogyny.
The film has absolutely no pulse, kind of like this review.
The lack of narrative sobriety and the director’s shallow stylistic copycatting are the film’s ultimate undoing.
The entire film bears the hand of Donald Kaufman’s revisions found in the last 30 minutes of Adaptation.
Because Rob Marshall takes little pain to create a life between musical numbers, Chicago plods along from one outburst to the next.
Catch it if you can.
Martin Scorsese’s Gangs of New York could be considered a breakthrough or a breakdown.
Narc earns comparison to landmark ’70s police thrillers like The French Connection and Serpico.
The film’s women are little more than sudsy abstractions of cross-generational repression.
Despite the 2D animation, the film makes for a surprisingly cinematic experience.
Martin Scorsese visited early New York, Paul Thomas Anderson put Adam Sandler in a Jerry Lewis suit, and Eminem returned to his Detroit roots.
It isn’t an infuriating film until you comprehend how it works to pacify the tea-and-crumpets fanbase.
With all of its oversights and indulgences, 25th Hour is still a persuasive, undeniably fascinating film.
Could it be true? After so many years of bloodshed and war, can peace between the Federation and the Romulans actually be at hand?
Narrative takes a backseat to a sometimes frustrating, sometimes fascinating study of Samantha Morton’s face in Morvern Callar.
The gears of sentimental uplift are effectively oiled in Bruce Beresford’s Evelyn.