Christopher Gray

Întregalde is a sharply drawn and subtle fable about the meaning of charity and the limits of altruism.

The film questions the fixed nature of human behavior in a world whose borders are constantly shifting.

The documentary represents a city ground down by inequality and division, where millions of selves who have by and large given up on one another.

The film confirms that the ruthless knack of the wealthy and powerful to remain so is a universal impulse.

Corneliu Porumboiu’s film is very much a genre exercise, and a particularly Soderberghian one at that.

As Mati Diop mourns Senegal’s lost men, she honors their grief and affords them tremendous power all at once.

What's most stirring about Céline Sciamma's film is the lack of artifice in Héloïse and Marianne's feelings for one another.

The film is an intimate portrait of a nation terminally anxious about who will see fit to rule it next.

Much like its subject, Avi Belkin’s documentary knows how to start an argument.

The film elides politics in order to earnestly consider whether love is necessarily an act of possession.

The film uses Santiago Genovés’s experiment to scrutinize memory and capture the feeling of life under a very curious sort of dictatorship.

The documentary shrewdly illustrates how media savvy can turn a fledgling protest into an international cause célèbre.

The portrait it paints of its Marines is appropriately discordant, redolent of the twitchy frustration caused by a long stint in a sparse landscape with a hazy mission.

The film’s gritty, mundane agonies come to feel like a series of moral tests with genuinely unpredictable outcomes.

Sandi Tan's view of what the original Shirkers represented, and what her new film should be, proves surprisingly expansive.

The film’s intimacy is as precise as its intellect is vague.

Hale County dwells on the beauty of the everyday as it recognizes the fragility of individual lives.

As sharply as it delineates an America of spotty, informal economies, the film avoids articulating most of the people who live and work in these spaces.

Matthieu Lucci deftly carries the weight of all the symptoms that The Workshop loads upon Antoine, a resonant character whose inscrutability is at once dangerous, sympathetic, and eerily apt.

James Foley’s film suggests that any semblance of capitulation on Christian’s part is a win for Ana and women at large, even if that momentary triumph leads to a further sacrifice of Ana’s independence.

No American film since Zodiac has exhibited such a love for the way information travels than The Post, but it's nonetheless steeped in self-congratulation.

The film’s habit of courting and then insulting the viewer is a conscious nod to the cycles of abuse that mark Tonya Harding’s story, but the filmmakers’ attempts to implicate their audience are I, Tonya's broken shoelace, too pat and glib to be convincing.

Through its energy and inherent beauty, Brimstone & Glory hits concurrent notes of peril and bliss, but even at a scant 67 minutes it can seem a bit aimless and scattershot.

It's incisive in its condemnation of the oppression innate in the social structure of Brooklyn's Hasidic communities.

A uniquely American comedy, Greta Gerwig's Lady Bird is testy, humane, and firmly rooted in its time and place.

We come to understand the camera’s distance from its subjects as an act of respect that allows the complex, funny, and indomitable personalities to shine through.

Last Flag Flying is colored by how time reshapes our sense of self, embracing some memories while occluding others, and the film ingeniously folds the viewer into a similar state of reflection and uncertainty about previous eras of false optimism about national values.

Though some of Spettacolo's tension is superficial, the stuff of any let’s-put-on-a-show narrative, its latent anxieties are myriad and profoundly resonant.