The film seems fundamentally disinterested in what makes celebrity so compelling.
The film doesn’t employ stylized fiction as a conduit to real life, as Lou aims dead on for it.
The film is startlingly earnest in having Quan play both to and against type.
Just as its style is enervating, Emilia Pérez settles for mundane portraiture.
It’s a shame that Angelina Jolie is relegated to playing by the Larraín rulebook.
Chris Sanders’s film has been cobbled together with a loving maverick spirit.
This is a film of tremendous emotion, spirit, and paradoxically restraint and ambition.
In The First Omen, Stevenson atomizes all the darkness and the light within ourselves.
There’s not that much of a feeling of precarity around where the film will eventually settle.
Coen’s film knows when to pay homage and when to move to its own rhythm.
Kore-eda’s film is perched precariously between gentle humanism and contrived sentimentality.
Eli Roth’s Thanksgiving is a slasher for today, slickly made, coolly mean, and with a satiric bite.
Haynes discusses the repetitions that abound in the film and the search for emotional truth.
William Oldroyd’s film is a deliciously a pulpy phantasmagoria of fear and desire.
Rustin roots itself cinematically more in fantasy than possibility.
The film again proves that Lanthimos is a skilled director of blunt strangeness and surreality.
Foe fails to adequately redress or rework played-out tropes within its high-concept world.
The film’s highlight is Amanda, a tempest of fully embodied desperation and psychosis.
The Sweet East is pretty fuzzy on what it wants its national tour of brainless dogma to mean.
When it’s all over, Strange Way of Life aspires to be like a victory lap for Pedro Almodóvar.