The film is less concerned with placing Gauguin in his historical context than it is with his emotional tribulations.
Christophe Gans’s telling of Beauty and the Beast abounds in impersonal and unsatisfying sumptuousness.
Where Greengrass’s action sequences were once visceral and intentionally unpleasant, now they just titillate.
Maïwenn fashions a bracing film about co-dependency, capturing the erotic contours of subservience and flattery.
Xavier Dolan adapts a talky play into something that could feasibly have the same emotional effect as a silent film.
Eventually, director Matteo Garrone’s self-consciously patchwork, one-thing-after-another structure wears thin.
The hygienization of Rio into what at times looks like a soulless Southern California town is so scandalous it feels like a spoof of the Cities of Love series.
If My King features many scenes of characters simply hanging out with each other, Three Sisters is essentially built on three such lengthy sequences.
Ariel Kleiman fashions an erotic atmosphere of dusty sensuality that complicates our judgement of this world.
The most telling revelation in Tale of Tales has little to do with ugly sisters, transmogrified monsters, or angry ogres.
It’s at once devoted to corroborating and casting an exaggerated light on Soviet paranoia and the state’s rhetoric of unmasking its enemies.
The film draws out Danny Boyle’s less dazzling commercial side, not to mention his penchant for whirling excess.
Dominik Moll never addresses Matthew Gregory Lewis’s original groundbreaking ideas in the film, nor does he rework the material for a contemporary audience.
Part of the reason I’m drunk on Black Sawn while still struggling to identify its taste has something to do with the film’s hallucination-filled narrative.