Anderson moves even closer to cultural curation and further from sustained storytelling.
We’re having a lot of déjà vu this year.
The series gives Natasha Lyonne room to rasp and shamble her way through murder mysteries populated by a murderers’ row of guest stars.
Hong Chau discusses acting between the lines and balancing work and parenthood.
The script lacks for the variety needed to make more than just a tasting menu take flight.
The art is both the focus of Kelly Reichardt’s personal new film but also adjacent to the larger exigencies of life.
With The Whale, Aronofsky brings a hollow sense of dignity to his schematic brand of cinematic misery porn.
Social ills become frivolous punchlines in this dire slice of Hollywood escapism.
The film’s devotion to the belief that kindness can be a balm for almost any hurt is deeply moving.
The series argues the ways injustice might persist, and in that sense, its alternate history doesn’t look so alien after all.
It’s an earnest, genuine attempt to show the familiar hardships of a relationship, specifically one between two women.
Payne’s defenders might call his often acidic touch Swiftian, though it comes off more toothlessly noncommittal.
The dangers of filmmakers trying to replicate a golden era rather than embrace the present are part and parcel of Inherent Vice.