Gilliam’s film gets a superlative new transfer and a bounty of (entirely true) extras.
For better and worse, writer-director Sarah Polley’s adaptation of Women Talking is most noteworthy for its imagery.
There’s colossal might to a cinematic image achieved through the scrappiest of means.
Oscar’s documentary lineup typically constitutes the black sheep-iest of the award show’s 24 races, but this year’s crop of nominees is less odd, less disreputable, than usual.
The only truly graspable notion the film can be said to put forth is one of increasingly tedious sci-fi-romantic genre busy-ness.
People who saw the film wondered if they met up again. So did the filmmakers.
Sarah Polley is much more interested in the malleability of memory and the consequential refractions felt throughout her kin rather than telling a linear narrative.
It’s funny how people use mundane tasks to mark time.
It’s impossible not to look at Take This Waltz as anything other than fantasy.
As unburdened, freely (dis)associative works, it’s barking up the wrong tree to assign meaning to a film by Nathaniel Dorsky.
Save for some minor instances of edge enhancement, it’s a practically flawless presentation.
This might have been a better movie if it had gone deeper, but it’s still pretty entertaining.
If anything, the film is the ne plus ultra of aggro-female body horror.
This lavishly over-the-top and notoriously expensive oddity is essentially a compilation of Monty Python gags and storybook adventure.
See the Baron dance with Venus! See a man outrun a speeding bullet!
Sometimes extreme physical beauty grows more complex, more satisfying with age.
Sarah Polley’s directorial debut is a low-key, mature, and sensitive study of Alzheimer’s and its ramifications.
Freakitude intrigues director Isabel Coixet.
The underrated Don’t Come Knocking is possibly Wenders’s best film since Paris, Texas.
The film only longs for hard, distant men and comforting, unreflective women.