Alex Saveliev

The convoluted movie feels like a bunch of grandiose ideas in search of a connecting thread. Perhaps Cahill needs to reconnect with his indie roots to get his creative bliss back.

The dream-like, poetic result is an astonishing visual achievement, an example of what an artist lacking a Hollywood budget can conjure with sheer ingenuity. That said, some may find its impenetrable narrative and purposefully distancing nature irritating. There’s only so long one can stare at an abstract painting.

David Perrault’s Savage State opts for Jacques Audiard’s contemplative mood but fails to balance it out with fleshed-out heroes, a sense of humor, or even a coherent point. What we’re left with is the novelty of a well-worn genre seen through a very French, existential prism; it’s all jaw-droppingly beautiful and sleep-inducingly dull.

Say what you will about Cactus Jack, but the fact that it’s extraordinarily unsettling cannot be denied. If you find yourself relating to any second of its purposefully hateful narrative, you may want to immediately call your local psychiatrist.

The notion of exploring how a young boy views the world through his manipulative older sibling’s eyes – and how poverty affects that developing worldview – is not a bad one. It’s just delivered haphazardly. I applaud McAulay’s efforts, but Don’t Tell a Soul is at its best when it’s simply having fun as a silly B-flick. Shut your brain off, enjoy – and, like with any guilty pleasure, don’t tell a soul you liked it.

Wolfe's movie functions as an ode to Black culture, Black music, Black art; as a scathing treatise on the obstacles Black people have had to overcome (and are still overcoming) to be seen and heard and respected; as a celebration of jazz; as a showcase for two stellar performances and a majestic farewell to one of our greatest young actors.

There’s no denying the filmmaking mastery on display, but perhaps Min-ho could make his future history lessons a little more approachable.

The Truffle Hunters is about sustaining tradition in a world that seems to (d)evolve too fast. It's about mortality, but it's never morbid. It's about fungi, but it's never dull. It takes you away from the hustle and bustle of the contemporary, social-media-driven society and plunges you into the woodsy stillness of Northern Italy. You don't have to love truffles to crave a little bit of that beautiful solitude.

Breaking Surface boasts a verisimilitude lacking in its glossier Hollywood counterparts. Hedén doesn’t resort to gimmicks like sharks (ahem, except for that dog), rightfully trusting that Nature’s elements present a formidable enough foe to his two strong female leads.

Disco is about how toxicity seeps into everything from masculinity to religion to parenting and, yes, even dancing. It’s as beautiful and heartbreaking as watching a dancer pirouette into an abyss.

It comes as no surprise that Rasmussen worked on productions like Lars von Trier’s Melancholia, a clear visual and stylistic inspiration for Ghabe. Coupled with Ehsan Kalantarpour and Ida Sundqvist’s otherworldly score, Castro and his team intermittently achieve a transcendent effect.

A soulful soliloquy about the fragility of memory and starting over, Brian Cavallaro’s 32 Weeks sails along smoothly until a storm of an ending sends it sinking into melodramatic—and oddly gruesome— depths.

I’ve Got Issues brings to mind the zaniness of Quentin Dupieux, with a dash of Todd Solondz’s existentialism and the off-kilter freestyle nature of David Cross and Bob Odenkirk’s stuff. If you find one of the bits redundant, its brevity ensures another one is coming right up.

Mehta skillfully navigates both the tender sequences and the more devastating ones. Aided by Howard Shore's rousing musical score, she portrays a beautiful country ripped apart by social violence. Her film serves as an ode to those who either died or were forced into exile for having the courage to express their true identities.

Panek doesn’t sugarcoat anything in his beautifully-shot, grim tale, but ultimately, it’s his belief in human kindness that prevails. There may not be any lycanthropes in Werewolf, but they’d most likely seem like puppies next to the true evil he depicts.

At 75 minutes, Ottolenghi and the Cakes of Versailles goes down easily but lacks a distinctive flavor.

In a parallel dimension, perhaps, most movies are this well-made. Watch Parallel, and then watch it again to untangle all of its little nuances.

As it stands, it’s not much of an indictment. As honorable as her intentions may be, Bibeau ends up blowing the whistle so incessantly, it sort of leaves you deaf.

What does come as a surprise, somewhat, is Fincher’s departure from his clinical precision; he adopts a looser approach here, no less precise, but much warmer than, say, the steel-blue, fierce indictment that is The Social Network. “Photographed in Hi-Dynamic Range” to approximate the look and feel of a late-1930’s feature, Mank is incredibly dense, lush, and extravagant.

Polsky packs a lot into the film’s slim 80-minute running time. It’s dense but never overwhelming, presenting facts and anecdotes in a coherent, intuitive, supremely entertaining fashion.

It’s all deeply unsettling, a glorious massacre you can’t look away from. Kill It and Leave This Town dares you to avert its gaze. You may not be able to describe it, but good luck forgetting it.

Survival Skills has so much going for it, one may feel tempted to go along for the ride, bumps and all.

There are worse ways to pass 90 minutes for those willing to disregard the film’s numerous, glaring flaws. Call it a Chinese Mission Impossible, minus Ethan Hunt’s budget and brains.

Perhaps Landon could step away from mixing slasher horror with classic comedies and create his own thing. Or maybe this is his thing. In which case, I look forward to The Breakfast Club on Elm Street, especially if it stars Vince Vaughn.

A hope for pleasure is almost as enjoyable as the pleasure itself,” a character quotes Shakespeare at one point. I didn’t derive any pleasure in hoping for pleasure while watching Esau – and man, did I hope.

Apart from the two leads, there’s little warmth or humanity to be found here, the film purposefully cold and distancing, much easier to admire than to love. That said, there’s plenty to admire in this sad, contemplative journey into the heart of darkness.

Though Farewell Amor is not a “dance movie", it’s primarily about that moment when we dance - when everything else falls away, Amor takes over, and we bid our troubles farewell.

Like the inferno it depicts, Laxe’s film casts an entrancing spell.