Justine Triet’s film has more on its mind than the simple question of innocence or guilt.
The film only pretends to rail against the scourge of unchecked capitalism.
The film embodies the alienating angst of millennial life in all its nakedly neurotic glory.
Love Again is nothing but a chintzy promotional tool for Celine Dion.
If only everyone else had followed Travolta’s lead, then the film might have lived up to its title.
David Bruckner’s Hellraiser is a toothlessly retrograde enterprise.
Throughout, director John Hyams brings kinetic heat to Sick’s slasher trappings.
Few films feel as excitingly jacked in to our current social climate as How to Blow Up a Pipeline.
For a while, the performances are nuanced enough to distract from the film’s implausibilities.
Wendell & Wild is easily legible as a retread of Henry Selick’s past work.
Martin McDonagh’s film is a mordantly funny dark fable about men’s inability to work together for the betterment of society.
With The Whale, Aronofsky brings a hollow sense of dignity to his schematic brand of cinematic misery porn.
Weird accordingly—or is it accordion-gly?—takes everything to new heights of glorious ridiculousness.
The film is too invested in treacly optimism for its character dynamics to feel sketched out beyond their basic narrative function.
The film compellingly positions misogyny as an unending inherited nightmare, stretching far beyond the actions of one single man.
Ashley McKenzie’s film blossoms into a moving story about two people trapped by the institutions that they’re beholden to.
William Brent Bell’s film proves that not every horror concept has the potential to be franchised.
Scott Mann’s film succeeds by simply committing to and steadily ratcheting up the ludicrous awesomeness of its premise.
Dashcam is every bit the empty provocation as the troll at its center.
David Cronenberg stares upon humanity’s need to evolve toward some kind of survival with a serene, godlike assurance.