Kevin McMullin displays a piercing awareness of the tensions that drive the dynamics of adolescent outsiders.
The film’s mid-act about-face lends a refreshing sense of complexity to an otherwise superficial depiction of Wrinkles.
Noah Hawley treats his protagonist’s story as a somber tragedy that at times stoops to trashiness.
Vincenzo Natali’s film divests itself of stakes in the name of total meaninglessness.
Olivier Meyrou’s ironically titled documentary weaves a tightly constructed story about success, power, and mortality.
The film falls back on the myth of modernity being born in the laps of practical, native-born American ingenuity.
The film feels composed of burnished, often blackly funny, fragments of erratic memory.
Almost every element of the film has been seemingly engineered to be the ne plus ultra of slapdash ineptitude.
The film is an aimless, albeit sometimes funny, chronicle of absurd behavior and government ineptitude.
Daniel Scheinert’s film finds a very human vulnerability lurking beneath the strange and oafish behaviors of its male characters.
The second half's series of hollow visual spectacles foreground the film as a corporate product.
First Love reveals itself to be an elegant and haunting Takashi Miike film in throwaway clothing.
The Looney Tunes nature of Rambo’s murder spree tempers much of the script’s ideological offense.
Finding the crux of a Pedro Almodóvar film is not unlike asking how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop.
Balancing humanist optimism with a profoundly downcast view of our collective destiny, the film is inextricably of its moment.
Renée Zellweger can reach all the notes and hit all the marks, but Garland’s intense emoting eludes her.
If cinema is, indeed, the domain of freedom, then the festival doesn’t see Netflix as the villain in that struggle.
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