Film
As its plot unfolds, Amsterdam treats us to a strangely magical form of visual and verbal storytelling, both humorous and hard-edged, by turns sweet and shocking, with richly curated frames and bright spirited dialogue.
Bros jokes about the hypocrisies of corporate diversity — often accurately, and with a cutting edge — while embodying some of the same problems.
The action, as it were, is mostly the exhaustively filmed grappling of two beautiful people in no-star motels.
There’s no real engagement with the ’80s, so this attempt at horror/comedy is politically and emotionally inert, profoundly unfunny and pathetically un-scary.
At a time when the nation is taking stock of the failures of our history of urban policing and looking for some new approaches, the lessons of Hold Your Fire are needed more urgently than ever.
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.
The Annual Francis Davis Jazz Critics Poll at Mid-Year: Warming Up a Riff — How It Happened, and Why It Matters