Throughout Cow, a kind of affective connection is formed between animal and the cinematic apparatus.
As we re-enter the circuit of in-person film festivals, the peculiarities of the physical world feel just as alluring as the movies themselves.
This is a patchwork dystopia of white poverty whose facets are difficult both to deny and to prove exist as depicted.
At maybe half or a quarter of the length, American Honey might’ve gotten by on this surface-level vision.
That Wasn’t Me is devoid of the snarky arrogance that defines this category’s other recent inexcusable winners.
Andrea Arnold is reluctant to turn Heathcliff into the dashingly sadistic scheme-meister he becomes in the novel.
Wuthering Heights is designed to hack away at the ornamental crust created by years of genteel literary adaptations.
Suffocation takes many forms in Fish Tank, the most notable being romantic promises written in water.
Andrea Arnold’s second feature is the heir to a long-standing British tradition of kitchen-sink realism
Arnold’s filmmaking style is precise and concise, as tight and lean as her teenage heroine.
The experience afforded by a collection of this sort demands something of a reexamination of one’s relationship to the medium.
By limiting our entry into its protagonist’s headspace, Red Road feels disingenuously committed to sympathetically portraying her situation.