Despite the (largely) fine performances, there’s something a little shallow about American Horror Story.
Sensitive and well acted as this new Grey Gardens is, it feels like a wish-fulfillment fantasy that gives Little Edie a happy ending.
This isn’t Oscar time. It’s Ed time. Edward Copeland, that is.
The underrated Don’t Come Knocking is possibly Wenders’s best film since Paris, Texas.
My Mom is a larger than life character crafted with one part June Cleaver, two parts Mahalia Jackson, three parts Oprah, and four parts Dorothy Parker.
The film only longs for hard, distant men and comforting, unreflective women.
Even as the casting goes against convention, Don and Jarmusch never sufficiently look past the clichés of these roles .
Choose the lesser of two evils: Make Tom Cruise proud and medicate yourself with Prozac Nation and not the actual pill.
A more considerate Erik Skjoldbjærg could have made a better picture had he not watched Requiem for a Dream prior to shooting.
Burton fans will be delighted by the excellent commentary-slash-chat-session between the director and mystery interviewer.
Big Fish is a cosmic gallery of gothic inventions and magical wish fulfillments.
It manages an act of alchemy as it exudes the foul miasma of flop sweat at the same time as it showcases Fosse's consummate cinematic talents.
There’s something a little perverse about a director who models his own ego trip completely after someone else’s movie.