The series seems content to recreate the events of the case rather than explore them in any deeper psychological or thematic fashion.
Now it’s easier than ever to appreciate both the sunny pleasures of Cameron Crowe’s ode to his youth and its self-doubting underbelly.
Jonathan Cuartas’s film vividly diagnoses a sickness of insularity endemic to middle-class America.
The film’s satisfyingly tactile action set pieces serve to hammer home just how perilous the space race really was.
The film convincingly furthers Perry’s continuing championing of DVD as the more evocative alternative to Blu-ray’s crisp digital polish.
Every beautiful, resonant image in Alex Ross Perry’s new film is fraught with neurotic, diaphanous riddles.
It typifies Fincher’s style while pushing him in new creative directions, and the minimally loaded BD wisely leaves the film open for spirited debate.
There’s a comic streak to the film that suggests David Fincher may understand the material as trash, but it’s the kind of affectation that only reinforces its insults.
Is an exploration of sex addiction, in all its different manifestations, the new flavor of the week in contemporary American cinema?
Berman, Pulcini, and Diane Lane are consistently engaged in the discussion of the production of the film.
A slick, professional high-def disc that’s designed a little like a handmade mixtape.
Clichés and contrivances and corniness, oh my!
Cinema Verite is a finely polished dramatization of the making of the landmark 1973 PBS miniseries An American Family.
What should have been a jumping-off point for a lively discussion about the meaning of life is really just a philosophically shallow wasteland.
Saved! inspires anti-Christian resentment via bad comedy.
The painfully unfunny Saved! is every bit as reductive as your average high school underdog fantasy.
A day or two in the lives of some of the most annoying people in the world, filmed with equally devil-may-care obnoxiousness.
Only time will tell if White Oleander deserves a place next to Mommie Dearest.
The lack of narrative sobriety and the director’s shallow stylistic copycatting are the film’s ultimate undoing.
White Oleander is the funniest film since I Am Sam.