Why are they laughing?
Poor Naomi Watts just can’t escape the big blue.
Mahatma Gandhi is—and always has been—many things to many people, but a sex symbol?
You won’t find The Birdcage among our ranks, but you will find Paul Morrissey’s Trash.
The work must be partially faulted for being almost completely irrespective of cinema as a medium-specific mode of expression.
Instead of understanding the femme fatale as a genre staple, Grossman wants to dispense of the characterization altogether.
Yesterday’s Oscar nominations came with major snubs, but it certainly wasn’t the first time the Academy stuck it to likely contenders.
The highly subjective task of compiling a list of the 10 best films of all time is nearly as daunting as the thought that plagues every film completist.
There are simply too many amazing films—thousands, really—that could occupy every slot on this list just as confidently as the ones that are here.
What is life but a string of silly exercises?
I’m not sure how Mulholland Drive would look to me now that this decade is ending.
In David Lynch’s Dune, we have a pseudo-scientific articulation of the artist’s unique way of seeing the world, and of remaking it.
The theme of “the double” has exerted a complex and ambiguous fascination throughout the cultural history of the last century.
Here are five double bills I would program if I had my own repertory house.
Reflections and rhymes abound in David Lynch’s Inland Empire.
De Palma translates Ellroy’s dick-swinging dialectics into his own, decidedly more sensitive aesthetic.
Are you bored with print criticism’s general disinterest in filmmaking itself?