Director Ewan McGregor smooths out American Pastoral’s eruptions of self-loathing and doubt.
Its self-consciously witty dialogue is meant to paper over gratuitous violence with a veneer of nonchalance.
The film’s story threads are of a tonal piece, all about striking poses as opposed to exploring humanity.
Voyage of Time acknowledges that Terrence Malick’s fussy editing can only suggest meanings to that which will outlive anyone’s interpretation.
A Quiet Passion, like all of Terence Davies’s films, doesn’t lack for density of theme, allusion, and effect.
In the brutal response of authority, Bertrand Bonello offers a mirror image of the young radicals’ own actions.
Those expecting it to be one of To’s manic comedies will instead be met with arguably his most dour drama.
If Ben Rivers brutalizes its artist’s ego, Athina Rachel Tsangari’s film takes a more sardonic look at vanity.
Sunset Song is conventionally A-to-B, though it’s a strangely freeing framework within which Terence Davies achieves some gorgeously subtle effects.
At times, The Witch’s minimalist chill becomes too diffuse for its own good and lets the slack out of a film that cannot afford to loosen for a second.
Light in darkness and darkness in light; for every affirmative moment, Frederick Wiseman finds a complementary negative.
One of Hou’s constant themes (one that recurs in the work of many of the notable Taiwanese directors) is alienation, not just of a personal, but of a national sort.
Unfortunately, Rosewater rarely builds off the scenes between Gael García Bernal and Kim Bodnia.
The immediate effect is attention-grabbing, distressing, and in a few cases also emotionally affecting.
A new element in Look of Silence is the view it offers of those who knew murdered victims or who managed to escape death.
Abel Ferrara’s wholly unconventional biopic manages to stick in the brain like few I’ve seen so far.
Theodore Melfi’s debut feature, St. Vincent, is a heartwarmer that never insults.