This crowd-pleaser sets out to snuff out much of what’s so singular about its central story.
The film tries quite hard to keep its story in the placid realm of the feel-good.
The film is an unending source for the worst possible clichés and most overdone series of graphic matches in the history of film editing.
The Dinner is shrilly, luridly, dully, and unremittingly ugly, preaching to a choir that it also demonizes.
In The Dinner, writer-director Oren Moverman wastes no time in establishing a tone of grandiose scabrousness.
Noah Baumbach’s breakthrough still looks like his sharpest, most personally inflected work.
The film gets close to a double-barreled satirical thriller commenting on the historic rift between city and country.
The film’s story threads are of a tonal piece, all about striking poses as opposed to exploring humanity.
Sully presses the case that the complexity of the human condition distracts us from the pure dignity of a noble act.
It makes a convincing argument for viewing Thomas Wolfe’s work as a product of the exuberance of the 1920s.
Out of the Shadows approximates the coked-up frenzy of a particularly chaotic Saturday-morning cartoon.
One of our finest actresses, she has a knack for making cool, even somewhat icy characters seem sympathetic.
It ignores the delights and hardships of becoming an artist in lieu of simply presenting the long-touted liberating effects of art.
45 Years is basically a showcase for Haigh’s finely tuned screenplay and the performances of its two leads.
The film is guilty of some of the same quick judgment it clearly doesn’t endorse.
Jacob Aaron Estes’s The Details is as smug and self-satisfied as its privileged lead character.
Throughout, Michell and screenwriter Richard Nelson keep you at arm’s length from Franklin D. Roosevelt.
The moral that it impresses on us is that there’s great value in “special relationships,” be them between world leaders or illicit lovers.
The Big C has never really been a show about cancer, but rather one whose story takes place in the context of the disease.
Terence Davies’s films often run on multiple kinds of consciousness.