Criterion has outfitted Paul Thomas Anderson’s magical and career-redefining whatsit with a shimmering and gorgeously immersive transfer.
By retaining so much of the book’s plot, the movies fail to offer anything of real interest or challenge to those going into the final installment knowing how it ends.
We hope to shine a little light on brilliant, touching, often funny performances which enrich our understanding of what it means to be human.
As a metaphor for the way we respond to the media, and the way our politics are funneled through the media lens, the film succeeds most when it revels in ambiguity.
Theater director Ivo van Hove has made a habit of breaching borders.
Anton Corbijn constructs a stifling world of shadowy surveillance and intersecting national interests, building on John Le Carré’s sense of moral and emotional exhaustion.
Throughout, it becomes difficult to know whether we’re meant to empathize with these characters or laugh at them.
If there’s anything with even the slightest ability to nudge Cate Blanchett’s path to Oscar victory off course, it’s the seemingly endless Farrowgate scandal.
Francis Lawrence imbues the source material with visceral pleasure in well-wrought scenes vacillating between elaborate spectacle, breathtaking terror, and surprising beauty.
All right, all right, all right. We should’ve known.
Time will tell if the Academy’s newest rule adjustment will throw off the mojo of latecomers like Les Misérables, but it’s sure to benefit a movie like The Master.
The Master is Anderson with the edges sanded off, the best bits shorn down to nubs.
This is a father-son love story, and it’s caustic, complex, and utterly compelling.