What sets the third season of Fargo apart from past seasons is its comparatively small cast of players.
In this incarnation of Fargo, evil isn’t just expressed haphazardly or ineptly through accident or spontaneous acts of violence.
Glancing over this year’s Emmy nominations is to marvel again at just how much the television landscape has changed in 20 years.
It often suggests an alternate world that exists parallel, or perhaps perpendicular, to the dimensions of the film on which it’s based.
This paean to cinema, and to the kindness of strangers, curdles into miserablism.
Content to faithfully hew to convention, the film rarely surprises, but its portrait of foolishness and fallibility, and its atmosphere of inevitable doom, remain sturdy and captivating.
Films about the not-so-great outdoors pervade this year’s festival.
Junk Palace is a beautiful piece of craftsmanship well worth the small expense of time it takes to see it.
The Mackendrick film’s plot and imagery both rely on the timely, English steam trains that always seem to be within earshot of the action.
This isn’t Oscar time. It’s Ed time. Edward Copeland, that is.
The feeling of déjà vu in “Three Minutes” permeated beyond the recycled footage.