Jean-Stéphane Sauvaire’s Asphalt City is less a film than a guttersnipe’s wallow.
The film is a down-in-the-muck advert for an ultimately dewy-eyed vision of the silver screen.
In this film, nuance seems to have disapparated from the wizarding world altogether.
At its best, the film’s romance comes alive through some well-wrought dialogue that rarely ventures into faux-period eloquence.
Much of the show’s drama pivots around how successful it will be at slowly pulling back the curtain.
The film falls back on the myth of modernity being born in the laps of practical, native-born American ingenuity.
There’s a difference between ambiguity and vagueness, which State Like Sleep doesn’t always discern.
The fun but more predictable Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald moves the new series forward, but only incrementally.
Jonah Hill’s feature-length directorial debut, Mid90s, is a repository of contemporary indie trends.
Soderbergh’s bracingly playful return to cinema is accorded a stunning transfer and little else, though the film itself is more than enough.
Steven Soderbergh’s Logan Lucky is an ensemble comedy that’s simultaneously effervescent and cerebral.
The only saving grace of the film’s mostly recycled horrors is how they deepen Michael Fassbender’s android David.
The film exists resolutely outside of salience and doggedly within the comfort of escapism.
Universal’s electric Blu-ray treatment for Steve Jobs could go mouse to mouse with any Hollywood studio disc from the past year.
The film convincingly furthers Perry’s continuing championing of DVD as the more evocative alternative to Blu-ray’s crisp digital polish.
Danny Boyle’s film can’t help but land in the same hagiographizing place as nearly every single other Great Man biopic churned out by the studio powers that be.
This is exactly the kind of movie at which David Wain took aim with his sublime rom-com parody They Came Together.
Every beautiful, resonant image in Alex Ross Perry’s new film is fraught with neurotic, diaphanous riddles.
Warner’s gorgeous Blu-ray preserves Paul Thomas Anderson’s Pynchon adaptation as the director’s anti-Magnolia.
Theoretically, the subject of Queen of the Desert could hardly be more Herzogian in nature.