Claire Denis finds the inexorable beauty (and sadness) in that most corrosive and fugacious of feelings.
Restless, at times even chaotic, the film often seems to be replicating the experience of having a manic episode.
Bruno Dumont’s formalism is charged with a spark of simultaneously controlled and spontaneous mystery.
If My King features many scenes of characters simply hanging out with each other, Three Sisters is essentially built on three such lengthy sequences.
It ultimately lacks the vision and conviction to honestly and meaningfully dissect a contemporary political movement’s deep-seated structural malaise.
Paolo Virzì’s Human Capital gives the tired trope of cutting between overlapping stories a welcome shot of adrenaline.
The film meditates on the myriad permutations of love and sensuality, from familial longings to food fetishes.
Perhaps Claire Denis’s most approachable mix of humanism and erotic meditation.
The film suggests not so much the stirring of a soul as Sir Ridley grinding his teeth behind the camera.
A feisty sex comedy of errors. It doesn’t break any ground, but it still has its charms.