On the occasion of Spider-Man: Brand New Day’s release, we ranked all the films in the MCU.
A more considerate Erik Skjoldbjærg could have made a better picture had he not watched Requiem for a Dream prior to shooting.
The film is the equivalent of watching a man walk into quicksand knowing perfectly well that he will sink to his death.
This sequel banks on its cast of squealing queens to make complete and utter jackasses of themselves.
Marco Tullio Giordana’s aesthetic is neither rigorous nor carefree, but it’s not anonymous.
This unbearably sweet dramedy is liable to get by on its surface pleasures.
Practically every trait that would come to signify the art of De Palma is at play in the film, many of them, natch, in direct conflict with another.
Its beauty and grace is its unparalleled ability to capture the idiosyncratic rhythm and cadence of everyday dialogue.
David Twohy’s mega-budgeted The Chronicles of Riddick is an extravagant orgy of used sci-fi parts.
The film is unevenly pitched somewhere between a straight-faced Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and a magical-realist Big Fish.
Though the film threatens to run out of steam at each and every turn, it never runs out of ideas.
This trilogy of films proves that that the exchange of pop-cultural parts works in multiple directions.
Vile Bodies, Evelyn Waugh’s satirical tribute to London’s frenetic party people, is the basis for the spectacularly irrelevant Bright Young Things.
A quiet and small film, to be sure, but a debut that nevertheless should not be ignored.
Taking a cue from Memento, Novo treats a flesh-and-blood man’s short-term memory as a kind of moral invisibility cloak.
A pristine example of style and plot over substance.
This is disaffection for disaffection’s sake, as imagined by a student of Robert James Waller.
Door on the Floor is a smutty, bargain-basement version of In the Bedroom.
Everything falls dutifully into place.
The film traffics in one depth-less character after another and watches as they blindly engage in a spectacle of shallow bumblefuckery.
The film is a rhythmic ode to togetherness, non-cynical communication, and the power of mother’s milk.