Film
In our politically correct times, the temptation would be to make a simplistic film in which Sandra, the good Black woman, is beset by bad white people.
Move over Patrick Bateman, there’s a new axe-wielding psychopath for impressionable young cinephiles to project themselves onto in town.
Reviews of three new documentaries at TIFF: My Imaginary Country, To Kill a Tiger, and Miucha: The Voice of Bossa Nova.
In their recent films two disparate documentarians – Abigail Disney, the scion of the legendary Hollywood mogul, and Patricio Guzmán, exiled Chilean socialist – investigate the past, present, and future of their nations’ essential illusions.
Crucially, Blonde lacks a sense of joy. As Marilyn Monroe crumbles into an alcohol and drug haze, this expressionistic version of her life disintegrates into a succession of discomforting, sometimes laughable, scenarios.
This American remake does not have the power, the confidence of tone, or the aesthetic artistry to measure up to the horrifying original.
This American remake does not have the power, the confidence of tone, or the aesthetic artistry to measure up to the horrifying original.
The Whale is a bracing two hour battle against destiny.
There are cringe-worthy moments as well as scenes of mesmerizing beauty in Disney’s live-action Pinocchio. But I’ll go against the critical grain and argue, for several small reasons, and for one big one, that it was necessary to make it.
As a satire on the power of male-dominated corporations to manufacture consent and conformity, Don’t Worry Darling is devilishly amusing. Though credibility is not its strong suit.
At this year’s Toronto International Film Festival, there were celebrities, studio premieres and plenty of films with modest budgets that vied for attention.
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