Jonathan Christian

Baghdadi’s affection for cherishing quaint moments overwhelms the opportunity to fuse the band’s affable charm to a well-rounded depiction of modern-day Middle Eastern women existing on the fringes of their culture.

Depriving “Nothing Compares” of any mention of O’Connor’s more recent life irreparably wounds the film. Had Ferguson bothered to cast aside her rose-tinted gaze, the documentary might have, akin to O’Connor’s rebellious spirit, broken the mold of what’s expected from cinematic works of biographical nonfiction.

In a vast sea of tasteless or mishandled cinematic nonfiction, Simple As Water displays the voice of a talented filmmaker, exhibits a potently important topic, and shines a light on the international plight of families who deserve to be admired for their courage.

Freeland endures as an introspective, succinct mood piece enriched by Fairchild’s phenomenal lead performance and the artistic vision of two compassionate filmmakers in tune with the essence of their craft.

Fever Dream never delivers on its promises and eventually collapses due to its cluttered narrative organization, unintentionally sluggish pacing, and an unbridled assortment of themes

At its core, Pray Away is a chronicle of pain. It is a candid, unceremonious study of people who have struggled for years with discovering who they are and who God is; and, perhaps most importantly, it is an exploration in the lasting damage caused by misinterpreting Biblical teachings and misunderstanding the Gospel’s message.

In a parallel universe, perhaps Naked Singularity might have delivered on its bold aspirations, but in the world in which it exists, that is, sadly, not the case.

Regrettably, the documentary is too oblique for the casual viewer, too rudimentary for the film savvy, and unfortunately proves that style cannot supplant substance for a project with too little to say.

Stephens and Velez should feel reassured that their three-year venture was not in vain. With “The American Sector,” the two artists crafted a gem—a film that, while tranquil in spirit, assembles a composite sketch of the 21st-century American landscape that shouts with the energy of a thousand voices.

Its message is timeless. Its performances? Flawless. And if The Killing of Two Lovers can be described as anything more than a must-see film, it can best be defined as a cautionary tale dedicated to the fragility of the family structure in the United States, a showcase of a radically talented filmmaker and a dedication to the painful reality of love.

If Us Kids had shed its extra weight and fine-tuned its focus, the nonfiction feature might have bloomed into a decade-defining documentary.

Despite its dower subject matter, Apples arrives bearing gifts of uplifting encouragement and pensive meditations on the nature of the human experience. Equipped with deadpan humor and numbing silence, Nikou’s philosophically minded dramedy strives to create conversation as much as it actively attempts to entertain.

In the case of a film conceived by a clearly talented artist, one would hope that Sandoval’s work would mirror her potential, but “Lingua Franca,” a film preoccupied with formulaic ideas and distracted by speaking points, falls short of its goals.

The Mole Agent is a perfect film. From a technical and emotional viewpoint equally, The Mole Agent possesses no flaws. Yes, as with every documentary, manipulation is openly displayed and validity can always be questioned, but The Mole Agent dissuades any inkling of pessimism or negativity through its unabashed sincerity.

It is an old-fashioned case of vision overstepping budget constraints and unchecked creativity exceeding much-needed limitations.

In an era marked by omnipresent terror and universal doom, 7500 sparks fear and soothes anxiety in the same breath. Although the film utilizes violence as its foundation, 7500 promotes the idea that heroes exist everywhere, proving that, even amid turbulent opposition, survival, and endurance are sometimes the bravest acts people can ever accomplish.

You Don’t Nomi cuts through the excessive nudity and stylized hyper sex of “Showgirls” to reveal the heart hidden behind the grime, relishing in the entrancing panache that has fascinated and charmed viewers for years.

Imperfections cannot steal away the ambitious underpinnings of Hersh’s intentions for “The Surrogate,” a down-to-earth analysis of the ever-precarious, self-serving human condition; an examination that speaks volumes despite its reserved demeanor.

The meandering narrative flow leapfrogs without any sense of rhythm, almost as if the collection of scenes was augmented by a haywire randomizer.

Aligning itself with the director’s prior works, Costa’s cinematic dissertation on the impermanence of life, love as a sacrificial commitment and the existence of God requires a refined attention span and a liberal tolerance for a slow-burning narrative flow, but viewers in search of a visually masterful and emotionally desolate arthouse feature could find Vitalina Varela to be one of the most thought-provoking international features to debut in quite some time.

Authentically pensive and distressingly honest, Colewell remains true to its convictions by prominently exhibiting the uncomfortable truths of growing old. Remarkably, the film’s subject matter is treated with an impressively respectful restraint, opting to stay grounded and not venture down melodramatic sideroads.

If Waddington’s fairy tale harbored any substance to counterbalance its external beauty, it might have established itself as a pleasingly subversive piece of pop art. Yet, despite its commendable goals, Paradise Hills will likely be lost to time.

Counterbalancing a tongue-in-cheek treatise condemning the shallow obliviousness of the upper-middle class with niche comedic thrills, Greener Grass earns its reputation as a delightfully nauseating charmer that should be regarded as a salvia-covered tour de force for years to come.

Beyond a commendable amount of love and effort, there’s nothing substantial to take away from The Disappearance of My Mother.

Similar to the cringeworthy performance art that wraps itself around the core of the film, This Is Not Berlin is emotionally hollow, more than a bit confused, and regrettably forgettable.

Tiny is a sobering contemplation on flaws, forgiveness, and redemption that deserves to be recognized.

Maiden simultaneously functions as a timeless ode to passion and a reflective account of a fascinating highpoint in the history of women’s involvement in the sports industry.

Leto sadly feels more like the conclusion of summer than the start of the year’s brightest season, and is too devoid of energy to warrant a recommendation to anyone other than diehard fans of Serebrennikov’s prior work.