Andrew Haigh’s film always feels perched on the precipice of unlocking a deeper register.
Shining Girls ultimately doesn’t give us much sense of what’s at stake in its byzantine narrative.
The film is a disastrous amalgamation of modern-day tech-savvy thrills and Clancy’s conservative expressions of patriotism.
As a musical, Dexter Fletcher’s film is just fun enough to (mostly) distract us from its superficiality.
The film knots several strands of new-millennium despair into something that very nearly approximates greatness in its first half.
Bening and Bell discuss Gloria Grahame and Peter Turner’s relationship.
The film’s derivatively stylish cinematography laboriously hints at un-broached turmoil and passion.
A rare bad performance from Denzel Washington sinks writer-director Dan Gilroy’s follow-up to Nightcrawler.
By the end, Toa Fraser’s film tellingly leaves the root causes of the militant group’s malcontent entirely unexplored.
It adds more grist for the mill to the notion that studios don’t hit the big red “reboot” button in any other state than a panic.
Cinephiles in sync with the film’s politics may still blanch at how snugly their interests are courted.
The film is too nihilistic to believe its protagonist can be saved, declaring him a lost soul and satisfied to let him suffer.
The sex in Nymphomaniac is inhuman, mechanical, boring, and predictably viewed through the (male) scrim of someone who characterizes women solely as withholders.
With little more than two strategically placed parentheses, von Trier may well have delivered the best poster of the year.
The film utilizes revolutionary technology and animation for an ostensible nostalgia trip, which has little bearing on this exemplary transfer.
The film looks strangely outdated, and certain production decisions scream budgetary compromise.
Steven Spielberg’s The Adventures of Tintin is a wittily kineticized adaptation of the internationally loved comic books.
Retreat’s wheels are constantly spinning, but they’re not always taking us anywhere.
There are sufficient rewards to engage a viewer who hasn’t encountered this quintessential Victorian, death-steeped romance since sophomore English.
Without pretense, Kevin Macdonald regards landscape and tribal living mythically.