The series is a character study in which wounded introverts wrestle with their inability to connect with others.
Despite some realistic touches, Straight White Men, as directed by Anna D. Shapiro, goes to lengths to call out its artificiality.
Simon Stone’s film too often strains for a tragic gravity that its ultimately melodramatic characters never earn.
It potently clarifies how our lives are spent distracted from matters of the closest personal significance.
If Junebug focused on quieter moments of extended family dynamics, Angus MacLachlan’s film never goes beyond signpost sentiment.
The new picture quality makes George Washington, Green’s first and best film, look as if it came directly from myth.
The season provides a decent fix for your Aaron Sorkin cravings and (hopefully) signals greater things yet to come.
Christophe Honoré’s film has scope and range and more well developed characters than it knows what to do with.
Jay Chandrasekhar’s film unfolds as a silly, juvenile gloss on notions of manhood.
Indie Game follows two development teams clocking unnatural hours to complete their respective games before they run out of money and sanity.
The film has too many weak, unconnected strands, too much overtly expositional dialogue, and too unfocused a narrative to really cohere.
Beauty comes in all shapes and sizes, and Water for Elephants finds immense pleasure in juxtaposing extreme dimensionality with budding emotion.
Jane Campion’s artistry recalls the wonky, unconventional, and dreamlike beauty of Keats’s verses but also the meticulous stitching of a hem.
In Antichrist, there’s no anchor to the cataract of malevolent images other than Lars von Trier’s own crawling neuroses.
Sam Mendes makes movies that feel like department store displays, which makes Away We Go something of a surprise.
A solid sampler of the original series for those curious about the original Enterprise crew before J.J. Abrams’s latest reimagining.
It’s now just a waiting game to see if this patchy episodic specimen can gradually move past its Office-inspired roots.
em>Lars and the Real Girl is an SNL sketch reconfigured as quirky-corny Sundance pap.
Steeped in the lyrical fatalism of that last great decade for the western, the ‘70s, Andrew Dominik’s film owes a debt to myriad spiritual ancestors.
It’s so contrived and smugly pleased with its own tolerant attitudes that it comes off as a rank slice of Christmas cheese.