Bernstein’s gifts as a storyteller are less narrative than atmospheric.
The Clan of the Cave Bear has nothing on Zacharias Kunuk’s Atanarjuat.
Dogtown and Z-Boys more than exposes the roots of the skateboarding boom that would become “the punk kids’ revolution.”
Raimi’s film still feels like the punchiest horror flick this side of a Dario Argento giallo.
More tragic than the uneven mix of jokes and schlock is the brevity of Jeremy Irons’s cameo role.
Seijun Suzuki doesn’t waste any time here with petty rules of continuity.
It demonstrates director Claire Denis’s signature obsession with the human body, cultural rifts and the permissions of sex.
Arguably Lynch’s most literal-minded creation, the film is also his most scatterbrained.
The too-precious All About Lily Chou-Chou retreats into an ether far more suffocating than Lily’s music.
he film simultaneously embraces and rejects the dog-whistle vaudeville of Rush Hour and the testosterone overload of Bad Boys.
Marcel Carné’s France, unlike the fiddle-dee-dee of Victor Fleming’s cotton pickin’ South, is a poetic realist’s wonderland.
Randall Wallace does great things with Native American myth yet there’s no real flair to his visual palette.
Not since Magnolia has a film been so drunk on celebrity dick as 40 Days and 40 Nights.
Like Slackers, Super Troopers, and last year’s Wet Hot American Summer, Van Wilder brings to mind the gross-out yarns of yesteryear.
Werner Herzog’s symphonic use of native chants compliments the evocative use of stock footage from the war.
Dario Argento’s fascination with the subconscious reaches a ridiculous low here.
Michael Rymer’s The Queen of the Damned is a relatively lifeless, abridged version of the second and third tomes of Anne Rice’s The Vampire Chronicles.
The film is a half-assed amalgam of Sixth Sense boos and Mothman Prophecies suggestiveness.
The film’s beautiful, simple finale suggests second weddings will open doors to second lives.
Pesache’ke Burstein remains a rather elusive figure though something fascinatingly akin to a product of myth thanks to Arnon Goldfinger’s bittersweet use of archival footage.
To quote Brian Cox’s chief highway patrolmen, Super Troopers is entirely too “antsy in the pantsy.”