You slowly sink into its bizarre charm, and by the time its sinister epiphanies begin to proliferate, you’re too deep to get out.
American Horror Story has evolved over the course of two seasons from a reliably lurid soap to a sophisticated work of despairing protest pop-art.
I’m so thankful I moved in time to take in the indelible shot of Sandra Bullock floating in an embryonic state.
Much like the character of Edward Bloom, Big Fish tries too hard to convince us that it’s special.
For Stiller, apparently, James Thurber’s classic story is occasion to craft what eventually amounts to a totem to his own vanity.
You can remodel a bathroom, but you can’t remodel a human being; intangible things, like reputations, are not so easily mended.
Marion Cotillard is an icon of suffering in James Gray’s somber passion play.
Gloria is an affectionate, lightly comic, yet unsparing gaze at a middle-aged woman’s day-to-day travails.
There’s no shortage of bastards in this tale about the destructive power of a deeply dysfunctional family.
Rithy Panh’s personal story is always the most compelling and visually arresting.
Fatboy Slim is back with a new track, a collaboration with producer Riva Starr that samples some dude the pair met in Brooklyn.
Like its heroine, Abuse of Weakness wastes no time looking back.
The latest release from Katy Perry’s Prism, is a surprising and effective throwback to early-’90s house.
Having built up the tension to a breaking point, Giraudie doesn’t let down the audience.
Breaking Bad’s series finale, “Felina,” fulfills the implications of last week’s “Granite State.”
Like Dana Brody’s storyline, Peter Quinn’s mission is also lazily dramatic and lacks subtlety.
The more movies he makes, the more Paul Greengrass’s have-it-both-ways m.o. as a filmmaker becomes clearer.
Jim Broadbent and Lindsay Duncan are an ideal fit for Hanif Kureishi’s bitterly funny, yet surprisingly tender script.
Like the folk scene it immerses us in, Inside Llewyn Davis is intrigued by authenticity.
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.