The Ballad of Buster Scruggs is a silly, mood-shifting shaggy-dog anthology that feels at once structurally ambitious and almost perfunctory.
Everyone in George Clooney’s film is a bastard, worthy of being shot, stabbed, blown up, or poisoned with lye.
There’s a simple magnetism inherent in this kind of filmmaking, and the Coens know how to orchestrate it.
The Coen brothers’ sardonic revisionism of Hollywood’s golden era is, ironically, their most earnest feature.
A grippingly expressive espionage yarn, another exemplary entry in Steven Spielberg’s late-career period, receives a top-tier, must-buy transfer.
Joel and Ethan Coen’s idiosyncrasies elevate Hail, Caesar! above the level of a mere creative exercise.
Criterion’s heavyweight disc is a major release for the label that may pass through the market square without much fanfare.
Only rarely does Steven Spielberg observe how queasily at odds our patriotism is with our humanity.
Its chief misstep is taking its title too literally, and ultimately depicting Louie as an indestructible, and thus largely inhuman, superhero.
I was telling Sven about the time Edna bought that Blu-ray there and then he told me they came out with another one with a better image, doncha know?
David and Nathan Zellner’s paean to cinema, and to the kindness of strangers, curdles into miserablism.
Llewyn Davis is arguably the most vivid and complex character the Coens have dreamed up since Marge Gunderson.
Instead of understanding the femme fatale as a genre staple, Grossman wants to dispense of the characterization altogether.
Berlinale, the most smoothly run of all major festivals, is a pleasure for the Anglophone.
Part Coen brothers and part James L. Brooks, Alexander Payne makes comedies about serious stuff like abortion and midlife crises.
Only marginally noteworthy in the Coens’ canon, but the stunning 1080p transfer makes a case for repeat viewings on its aesthetic heft alone.