I can forgive Corneliu Porumboiu’s film for its didacticism because it feels well-earned.
It once again brings something like the best—or at least most talked about—Cannes offerings across the pond for their American premiere.
Von Trier is a compulsive button-pusher in the battle of the sexes, the battle of political correctness, the battle of cinema as playground of ideas.
Writer-director Dan Sallitt joins us to discuss his recent retrospective at Krakow’s First Annual Off-Camera Film Festival.
Agnès Jaoui’s Let It Rain is the kind of film it’s hard not to be snotty about.
Sympathy comes at a premium in Chouga.
The problem with Gomorrah isn’t that it feels incomplete or underdeveloped.
Both The Headless Woman and Tony Manero are staggering in different ways.
What makes Kelly Reichardt’s Wendy and Lucy so haunting is mostly ineffable.
Happy-Go-Lucky works because the outlines are banal but the performances are phenomenally lived-in.
This year’s edition seems most conspicuous for not bearing the teeth marks of Dario’s daughter Asia.
Redacted revels in a mixed, often muddled sense of humor and horror.
This is definitely one of those films made of moments greater than the whole.
There’s not much new here, aside from Lumet’s enthusiasm and simple craft.
Both employ vivid palettes of light and color to evoke feelings of adventurous movement through time and space.
The film never coheres in the ways its individual moments suggest it will.
By most accounts, this year’s New York Film Festival is one of the strongest in years.
The Japanese legal system comes under intense scrutiny in I Just Didn’t Do It.
There’s little of substance here beyond a slightly pleasurable twinge of recognition.
Saul Levine’s edge is his elation and his constant pricks at our consciousness bring about a sort of revelatory catharsis.