Gentrified London is akin to Guy Ritchie’s filmmaking: a characterless mockery of its former glories.
None of director Steve McQueen’s prior features has explored its subtext with such depth.
The film concerns four women who take fate into their hands in the wake of their criminal husbands’ deaths, forging a future on their own terms.
Throughout Dan Gilroy’s film, a promising character study is smothered beneath lazy genre machinations.
The characters’ emotional vacancy feels like another auteurist tic to which Lanthimos is dauntlessly committed.
Jerusalem is a city of beige and tan, a vast barren sprawl that is, despite the brutal heat and muted colors, quite beautiful.
Sofia Coppola serves up a cautionary revenge tale told from multiple perspectives, and thus none at all.
Sofia Coppola is faithful to the trajectory of Thomas Cullinan’s original story while reorienting our allegiances.
A blackly comic performance by Colin Farrell provides the emotional anchor for Yorgos Lanthimos’s film.
It joylessly coopts the hoariest stylistic tics and narrative tropes from your run-of-the-mill 1990s thriller.
The film exists resolutely outside of salience and doggedly within the comfort of escapism.
The inclusion of each cut of The New World marks this as the definitive home-video edition of Terrence Malick’s greatest film.
As intelligent, often hilarious, and occasionally insightful as it is, it aslo shows a filmmaker’s style hardening into shtick.
True Detective’s first season had a methodical and measured approach to tracking its villain, but this season doesn’t know when to stop changing things up.
This is an irritating table-setting episode in which the characters constantly explain how the pieces fit together.
Everything you need to know about the inconsistencies of the show can be summed up by the two standoffs that occur in this episode.
Throughout this season of True Detective, a singular point has been drilled into our heads: “We get the world we deserve.”
Good and evil have often been described as two sides of the coin that is humanity, and “Down Will Come” certainly puts that theory into practice.
Finally, there’s Frank, who’s still in what he referred to as a “papier-mâché” state of being—neither coming nor going.
Ultimately, what gets Frank out of bed is an echo of Leonard Cohen’s sentiment in the show’s theme song, “Nevermind.”