“The world is in very bad shape, but cinema in a way is a peaceful life.” — Agnès Varda
I saw a handful of fiction films which were well directed, capably acted, and offered meaningful stories.
The first three films I watched at SXSW this year were picked by me with the editors in mind. Not coincidentally, the editors also had pedigreed Massachusetts roots.
Greta is a slight, uninspired by-the-numbers genre film — we’ve seen this paranoia-inducing tale too often.
It is safe to predict that the winner in this category will be one of the entries that squares off against mortality.
Did I try to fit in at my segregated school, betraying my father and his values to be a popular white boy?
Shame on you, Academy, for such feeble, uninspired, downer picks.
Not since Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blow-Up and L’Aventura has there been such a mesmerizing tale of the more you look, the less you find out.
How will PC New Englanders react to seeing nutria gunned down by hunters, and some bashed on their heads to make sure they are dead?
Reading is treated as a commodity, namedropping literary titles as a way for middlebrow film audiences to feel proud of themselves for being in the know.