Jason Gorber

The Bibi Files may not be the poison pill that knocks the Netanyahus from power the way that those on screen may be calling for, but it’s still a powerful presentation of the facts without ever devolving into being a mere polemic.

Elton John: Never Too Late feels like the definitive authorized film biography, and plugs a very important hole in telling his story in honest yet compelling ways.

Meet the Barbarians provides a light yet engaging look into how communities are built and maintained, and how differing aspects of their identities can form something better when people of disparate backgrounds are brought together.

In the end, Chapman’s film serves as a portrait of a family rendered in three dimensions, capturing both the strength and human frailties of these individuals in a detailed fashion.

It’s a boldly uncompromising work that strips some of the more cheerful elements to the bone. Yet despite this, there’s still a sense of warmth, of optimism, of quiet humor that shows how this deft storyteller can still surprise and enthrall, incorporating another exceptional ensemble willing and able to do the work to bring his lines to life.

This is the story of one who stood up, with all his faults and flaws, one whose ideology you may not agree with, but whose capacity to show justifiable rage speaks for those too cowardly to act. It’s here that Pink’s film derives its most impressive impact, and while few may mourn for The Last Republican as both the nation and the world race toward a chaotic, uncertain future, the end result is easily one of the best docs of the year.

The end result is a highly entertaining, highly provocative film that brings the best of a revenge thriller with a boost of a bit of deeper cultural expression.

The story navigates the fine line between community pride and nationalistic zeal, providing lessons for a future while admitting to the existential futility of it all. We can shift our perspective, but every time we do, things stay pretty much the same.

With bold performances, a strong vision for the source material, and a wise decision to focus on this under-represented portion of this narrative, The Return makes for an effective character piece that proves these stories are not only timeless, they’re as timely as ever.

With clever lyrics, punchy tunes, and a committed cast, this is another jewel in the crown of Australian musical films, a worthy watch even for those cynical about such unabashed flights of tuneful fancy.

It’s a film that’s serious about play, and humble about the need for joy. Piece by Piece is, quite simply, bricktacularly brilliant.

Dancing between the ruminative and the revelatory, it never succumbs to being maudlin or cloying. The Life of Chuck is a modern fable told with the deftness of a fairy tale, with the sheer exuberance of a musical while exuding the same sense of wonder one gets staring up at the heavens.

The End paradoxically feels ornamental and operatic while at the same time almost iconographic in its simplicity.

Berger’s latest is a blast of brilliance, with a supremely compelling story driven by some astonishing performances.

This heroic journey is Ani’s story through and through. It’s a brilliant role, written with such range that it takes Madison’s strong performance to bring her to life without succumbing to archness. She makes us believe every second.

Unfortunately, even taking into consideration the fact that this is a first time filmmaker, the result is a mass of half-baked ideas and poorly executed tonal shifts, squandering the promise of its early premise and devolving into a middling mess.

If you go into Bookworm expecting more of the same chills and thrills from Timpson and his collaborators, you may be put off by this far more accessible tale. Yet, peering closer, you can see reflections of the same rich emotional and character beats that have always been lingering within the more sordid genre trappings of Timpson’s previous work.

Cassel and Kruger shine, but the rest of the performances feel either staid or over-the-top. Some of the story comes across as pretentious, and some of the pacing is disjointed and inelegant.

The performances are stellar, the pacing both restrained and engaging, the realization of Cohn and Trump’s world is top notch, and the dynamic between the two is as captivating as any.

Oh, Canada feels less a deep rumination at the last moments of an artist’s life, and more the confused ramblings of an irascible, self-important character surrounded by sycophants unable to stand up to his unreasonable demands.

Megalopolis is a magical, meandering, maddening construction, one that demonstrates that the process of experimentation is in and of itself both deeply entwined with, as well as above, dualistic notions like success and failure.

For a debut to be this assured, and for a script to so deftly dance around the obvious challenges and result in a film that’s delightfully, darkly comedic, The Unknown Saint shows that despite all the obvious ways in which this work could have gone horribly, risibly wrong in these rare cases miracles can come true.

Ambitious and yet quietly confident, Hamaguchi’s film feels an absolute treat. Drive My Car is a hell of a ride, the red Saab riding through the landscape like a beating heart, taking viewers along a journey that they won’t soon forget.

Souvenir Part II is an easy recommendation on every level, a film that stands comfortably alone and allows Hogg’s journey to filmmaking, and Honor Swinton Byrne’s capabilities as a performer, to finally shine in a light that almost every cinema lover will be drawn towards.

Casablanca Beats drums its ideas loudly and effectively. The result is a boisterous and crowd-pleasing delight, showing a community with deep specificity that nonetheless speaks to the concerns of young people all over the world.

The end result is a real pleasure, taking us along for a wild ride. Yes, it’s slightly too long, and Baker and his team could probably trim a bit to make things even tighter. Yet there’s so much charm at play, so much joy in watching even the moments of pain and embarrassment that it’s difficult to criticize.

It’s a film that’s at its best when things matter and you’re empathizing even during moments of total butchery. It’s never easy to inject humanity into inhumane acts, yet Titane, like the metal, manages to do something remarkably strong in a compact form.

This is a tonally rich, libidinously powerful, and psychologically complex tale told by a master filmmaker equally at ease with European art-film conventions and B-movie hijinks. It’s this exceptional balance between the profane and the profound that sets Benedetta apart, truly proving to be penetrating in its effect in more ways than one.