Jose Solís

Through focused, economic storytelling director J.D. Dillard turns Sleight into the rare kind of film that feels both familiar and unique.

Amachoukeli knows there isn’t a version of life where pain doesn’t exist, and with Àma Gloria she offers an unadorned warning––a place of refuge for when we need it.

If nothing else, Perfect Strangers is a film about how limited we are in the way in which we use technology. Rather than using it as a tool to advance our ways of storytelling and means of unique self-expression, we’re allowing its pettiest aspects to tell us who we are, becoming strangers to ourselves.

Joan’s peculiar kind of charm is mostly owed to Allen, who gives what might be the most complex, layered performance of her career.

By attempting to capture the universal instead of focusing on the specific, the film feels like a collection of ideas put forth in an amorphous collage.

An expertly crafted but extremely reverential, biographical documentary that uses extracts from the artist’s diary as narration to suggest we’re listening to the story from the artist herself.

Béatrice is perhaps the polar opposite of what we think about when we think Deneuve, and yet, as with all the other eccentrics she’s played, the actress grounds her through an otherworldly grace and humanity.

While Fifty Shades Freed, like its pair of predecessors, has many laughable elements, Anastasia’s reclaiming of her well-deserved pleasure is certainly not one of them.

For all the times I applauded the film based on its sociological achievements, I found it deeply unsatisfying artistically.

While Lazer Team might not be the most original of sci-fi comedies, it possesses the kind of self awareness — and unabashed love of genre that other films try to pass off as “homage” or “ironic referencing” — that make it quite impossible not to root for it to succeed.

Whatever its pictorial beauty, often significant, this adaptation of Paolo Cognetti’s bestseller exemplifies my distaste for films that depict toxic masculinity without questioning it, or even suggesting there is nothing heroic or brave about refusing to leave behind damaging practices as long as they perpetuate some limited idea of what constitutes manhood.

We’re left with a muddled portrait of a young man unaware of the creativity within him, a charming artist in the making who invited us into his life a little too early.

Destin Daniel Cretton’s adaptation of Jeannette Walls’ memoir The Glass Castle is more affected than affecting.

It fails as an insightful look at the class system in England because it sees every party with utmost contempt.