At its best, Damsel suggests a dark fantasy riff on Neil Marshall’s The Descent.
The film’s overtly non-specific title mostly just reflects the story’s lack of definable character.
The film shows a preference for forgiveness over vengeance, which feels like an okay way to end this particular year.
Criterion gives one of the most compulsively rewatchable movies of the last generation its most fully satisfying home-video edition to date.
When its tone slides firmly back into the murk, it’s hard not to see DC’s notion of heroism as borderline nihilistic.
Blade Runner 2049 is so terrified of disreputability that it renders itself dead from the waist down.
Wonder Woman’s Diana is ultimately an idealized abstraction more than a fully rounded character.
Baltasar Kormákur’s film is a tasteful, sweeping, carefully balanced reconciliation between the irrefutable authority of nature and mankind’s innate need to circumvent it.
The show’s writing feels wrapped up in hitting plot points and story beats rather than seeking out moments of violent personal revelation.
The film might hit you right in the feels, even as your eyes are rolling.
As executed by writer-director Ari Folman, the concept is tidy, superficially clever, and almost defiantly irrelevant.
Glancing over this year’s Emmy nominations is to marvel again at just how much the television landscape has changed in 20 years.
Anton Corbijn constructs a stifling world of shadowy surveillance and intersecting national interests.
The weather in Washington, D.C. continues to be permanently overcast in season two of House of Cards.
In the realm of the old masters, there were at least two films in the festival that played as powerful elegies to the disappearing medium of 35mm.
Poor Naomi Watts just can’t escape the big blue.
So deadly serious and yet so goofily unbound that, in some scenes, incest truly seems like it’s on the scandalous menu.
Fincher’s reputation as the best modern American director is further reinforced by this disc.
This is really nothing more than the story of girls running to and from their daddies, and no matter how you dress it up, it’s inherently retrograde.
If Robert Altman had made a cop drama, it might have looked and sounded like Rampart.