Caroline Tsai

Make no mistake: The Innocents is no young adult novel adaptation, and things get very dark very quickly.

Desplechin and his film seem to have a perverse and single-minded fixation not on “dazzling, interesting” women, but lost, tragic ones—women who can gravitate toward and glom onto Philip (Denis Podalydès), an inexplicably francophone version of the author, who lavishes the attention.

There’s no doubt that Nitram is a powerful display of filmmaking. But the question remains: Whom is it for?

“New Worlds” is an undeniable reminder of live music’s irreplaceable magic—and an entreaty not to forget it.

Full of fresh faces and unique stories, Paris, 13th District makes a case for genuine connections in a culture bent on transposing them into commodified products.

A master of slow cinema, Weerasethakul takes his time with every shot; long stretches of time pass without any dialogue or movement. In so doing, the film inculcates a kind of hypersensitivity in its viewers, who become suddenly attuned to each flitting blade of grass or buzzing fly that enters the shot—as well as to their own posture and breathing.

Marrying the discord of romantic separation and social unrest, The Divide is a tiresome frustration of a film whose advocacy for across-the-aisle bonding rings false and flimsy, even in its most pleasant moments.

A Hero delivers a nuanced examination of justice—and the many shades of injustice that surround it.

A thoughtful if occasionally melodramatic reflection on the nature of grief.

The Penn father-daughter duo undoubtedly brings an air of authenticity to the Vogels’ relationship, which is wonderful at its best and tragic at its worst. Yet the film as a whole is somewhat of a mixed bag: both a paean for a lost America and an indictment of a modern American reality.

There is a kind of violence in resistance and a kind of violence in complicity, too, and to that end, the characters in Ahed’s Knee are trapped in a perpetual dance with their own identity and nationality, a never-ending negotiation of morality and belonging.

It feels like a Frankenstein’s monster of at least two movies awkwardly combined—and perhaps a short, about French theater—riddled with plot holes, implausibilities, and ill-timed comedic beats.

Clearly, the director takes great risks off-screen. If only they were as great on the screen.

Mektoub, My Love: Intermezzo begins to feel like a human rights violation ... It’s almost impossible to stress how unpleasant this moviegoing experience was, to the point where it’s difficult to imagine a human being making this movie and considering it art.

There’s something frustrating about Noé’s approach, but also an undefinably admirable quality to the extremity of his showmanship.

The film’s dialogue is exceptional.

Meandering ... The film somehow lacks the structural cogency necessary to support a compelling narrative, while also encompassing enough discernible plot conventions to reveal a screenwriter’s meddling.

With its capable cast and sterile aesthetic in tow, “Little Joe” commands the bleak futurism of a “Black Mirror” episode, yet with slightly more muted drama.

Ly makes it hard to paint these characters in broad strokes, no matter how we might try.

In short, the driving factor of Covino’s relentlessly funny, affecting comedy is neither cinematographic ingenuity, nor its tongue-in-cheek facetiousness, though these elements surely help. No, what’s most persuasive about Kyle and Mike is, simply put, Kyle and Mike themselves.

Sciamma ... has a magnificent capability for elegant prose that wouldn’t feel out of place in a classic novel, the kind of dialogue that simmers long after it is spoken.

“Jeanne” is the passion project of a director who clearly fancies himself a humorist, yet the attempt translates unfavorably as pretentious self-indulgence.