Cassie da Costa

That Decker is able to transmit a deep and compelling curiosity about this journey through each and every image is reason enough to follow a deeply familiar and sometimes overearnest plot.

The language of the film is found not in the thoughtfully restrained dialogue Ishiguro has written—which accurately reflects the collective repression of polite British society—but in the images Hermanus, cinematographer Jamie Ramsay, and editor Chris Wyatt have constructed, in collaboration with production designer Helen Scott and costume designer Sandy Powell.

Sharp Stick is deeply personal; a series of constellation-like animations that arise in Sarah Jo’s mind as she has sex serve as a reminder of those resonances. Like any artist worth her salt, Dunham yields to the farthest corners of her imagination and experience—backlash be damned.

Ali, in his first lead role, is let down with a hollow script and sanitized surroundings that his character barely struggles against.

There’s no shame in a remake where the re-rendering is genuinely fresh—but del Toro’s take empties its source material of significance, taking us for a gimmicky ride.a, who are too complex for their underwritten characters.

Being the Ricardos reduces the physical comedy that made I Love Lucy work night after night to a series of explainers. Speech after speech drills into the workings of a comedy script or gag, yet nothing makes you laugh.

What’s most arresting about Flee isn’t its animated sequences, but Rasmussen’s detailed and attentive recording of Amin’s vocal expressions. However conversant he is in several languages, from Dari to Russian to Danish, Amin has a way of letting silence interrupt.

Much of what you see in Passing you’ll miss if you don’t really pay attention. This is, obviously, the entire idea. No matter the language we use or the identities we are assigned or take on, race is not material or fixed—it transforms and distorts.

From visuals to music choice, there’s a lack of style here that is only further emphasized by the film’s refusal to focus.

The result is an extremely thorough documentation of events, and a literal one. The Rescue is not so much a film as it is a record.

We get a smattering of piercing thoughts about family separation as sanctioned by the U.S. government and a roster of deeply felt performances, but not the vision to see it through.

With The Lost Daughter, Gyllenhaal easily proves her talent and instinct as a director by unflinchingly infusing a great story with her own ideas and images‚ and assembling an unbeatable cast and crew (including Happy as Lazzaro and Never Rarely Sometimes Always cinematographer Hélène Louvart) to bring it home.

You’ll leave the film unable to stop thinking about its dimensions.

What saves Larraín’s film from perfunctorily treading well-worn ground is that he appears to be more intently interested in queer myth-making, collective refusal, and fantastical plotting.

Director Liesl Tommy and screenwriter Tracey Scott Wilson do not let reverence for the legend trap them in an unimaginative limbo. In following Franklin from ages 8 to 29, they place a musically expressive yet interpersonally mysterious woman within multiple vital contexts, and with visual and sonic specificity and flair.

Annette is remarkable for its formal intensity—how every image and song is not merely reflective of, but tangled up in the ideas they give life to.

It’s all incredibly silly, yet undeniably honest.

With Soderbergh and his collaborators, you can never complain that great thespian skills were left to wander, or that you were bored. I’m not sure that I ever really knew what was going on in No Sudden Move—something about redlining, pollution, and the American auto industry—but I was never taken out of the moment. Each beat pulsed with both anticipation and absurdity. If that’s not movie magic, then, well, it depends on what you think movie magic is.

All Light, Everywhere is a tremendous work that anyone merely curious about the various relationships the government has to both private industry and an enormous public ought to see.

Rather than trying to undo or edit the history of how her story has been told, Tina makes fans and observers another offering: Experience the full range—musical, emotional, and spiritual—of a rock-and-roll legend. You won’t regret it.

Blackness isn’t a fixed identity or static community—it’s ever shifting, retracting, then proliferating, coming in and out of communion with itself. The Black radical tradition, specifically, says that by bridging past and present, such chaos can organize and revolutionize itself. The Inheritance stages an encouraging attempt at re-invention.

The Human Voice’s images tend to call out in vain; not an utterance is heard. They are symbols suspended in time and space, indicators of something that doesn’t seem to matter very much.