In the film, the matter of cinema is the process of creativity, arduous and unrealized, as it ebbs and flows.
It’s a carefully measured and satisfying, albeit occasionally tone-deaf, suite of fleeting, dispersed impressions.
In We Have a Pope, scenes of gently comic melancholy alternate with sequences of gently satirical buffoonery.
Even at its messiest and most meandering, the film exudes a refreshing warmth toward its characters.
If Cannes is the cinephile’s version of the Olympics, the media critics covering the event are its long-distance runners.
Grief has rarely felt quite so empty as it does in Quiet Chaos.
The experience afforded by a collection of this sort demands something of a reexamination of one’s relationship to the medium.
The near-hysterical portrait of angelic family life that defines film’s first hour gives way to a daunting portrait of grief.