Perry’s Cubist portrait finds a fitting balance between reverence and mischievousness.
The level of detail with which the filmmakers depict the unionization process is eye-opening.
It’s a shame that Angelina Jolie is relegated to playing by the Larraín rulebook.
The film is a strange case of the homage that outstrips what it’s meant to be imitating.
Daisuke Miyazaki’s tale of young love is a little too country to be rock ‘n’ roll.
Dea Kulumbegashvili’s film seeks to embody a dizzying span of human experience.
It quickly becomes clear that Greg Jardin’s film isn’t just here to dazzle us with visual trickery.
The particulars of time travel in the film give the whole thing a tactile quality.
Ross’s remarkable film fashions mesmerizing, affecting poetry out of Whitehead’s prose.
This exuberant biopic is as hard to resist as it is to believe that it got made in the first place.
The film is an effulgent love letter to ’80s kid cinema, laced with a quirky, Kiwi dryness.
In the context of the trilogy, Youth (Homecoming) feels both standalone and summative.
Francis Ford Coppola’s 50-year-old dream is now an audacious, uncompromising reality.
The film obnoxiously looks back at the first SNL with the 20/20 vision of hindsight.
But how deeply can a film explore the psyche of a man who so nakedly shows us his worst?
This year’s edition of the festival is a cinematic cornucopia unlike any other.
The tone of Neo Sora’s film wobbles between a sober social commentary and outright satire.