Gerald Peary
Two of the best feature documentaries this year at the Provincetown Film Festival were gay-themed.
This time that we’re getting a too-sweetened take on Hasidism, and maybe of Jewish Orthodoxy in all of its manifestations.
Cynthia Nixon is a great Emily Dickinson, so deeply angry, so heartbreaking in her fool’s life of stoic suffering.
Writer-director Nacho Vigalando blows to bits his love story and morphs his movie into a totally bonkers horror flick.
The Red Turtle is a poem to individual visual artistry and not to the anonymous machinery of technology.
I ask you, thinking of The Founder: is it just a coincidence that the name Donald is imbedded in the name McDonald’s?
Mikita Brottman gets raw, often very funny, and unexpected responses to the masterpieces she puts before her prisoners.
Film Commentary: Death Knell for American Independent Cinema?
The well has evaporated for much of new American independent cinema.
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