Lena Wilson

Either this movie was made due to one of the most humongous creative blind spots in all of filmmaking, or it was made because in this, the year 2019, there are still people who believe that eroticized, lightened-up rape scenes are not only permissable – they are empowering.

Unfortunately, its lesbian representation is so shoddy that its scares also suffer.

The downside is that Lagos is a more interesting character in this film than Lady herself, who Nwosu outlines with far less finesse. Such a glaring imbalance is symptomatic of the script’s overall flimsiness, which stands in contrast to this debut’s heartfelt performances and staggering visuals.

By the end of Blue Film, it’s hard not to feel like it didn’t quite live up to its potential. As a novel, it would be engrossing. As a movie, it’s got good bones but a cowardly lack of boners.

This film more than proves its director and lead’s talents. Sure, it’s gut-wrenching, but film fans will also find it exhilarating. It is the artistic equivalent of watching a well-trained underdog vault the finish line at her first big race.

This is a staggering achievement, the sort of nonfiction project that takes unfathomable guts and skill.

Crowe’s acting is fine, but he hasn’t done himself any favors with his by-the-book direction or paltry script.

When all’s said and done, Wobble Palace is trying so hard you can’t help but like it.

Ito is undeniably brave, but this autobiographical doc could stand to be a bit less shiny.

Song of Back and Neck is worth a watch—even if you’ll scratch your head more often than you’ll laugh.

As surely as a hiker extending her arms in the middle of an undulating lava field, Iceland has arrived, with a startling movie that’s every bit as idiosyncratic, homely, and dynamic as its country of origin.

This is one of the most thoughtful films about the female experience to debut in recent years, and should be mandatory viewing for anyone eager to engage with confidently-made, skillful art cinema.

Even when it drags — 169 minutes is a lot of time to fill, even for this masterful crew — the film gamely mixes comedy, action, and drama into one truly satisfying cocktail.

Even when this film is a bit too neat, it’s still totally irresistible.

It feels as though [Loznitsa] has wrangled an entire uprising’s personality into bite-sized pieces.

It’s particularly sad that viewers can’t spend more time in Casey’s world, since newcomer Cobb is this film’s greatest asset.

What saves this wallflower of a drama is its focus on the women’s friendship, which Mosaku and Horn sell with aplomb.

It plays as if the worst episodes of “Law and Order: Special Victims Unit” have all been processed in a blender and then stretched to nearly two hours long.

Mamacruz is finely crafted, if not particularly challenging. This film clearly wants to wrestle with taboos, but that revolutionary spirit doesn’t go much further than the basic premise. With such important themes, this film deserves to be a bit more memorable than it ultimately is.

With capable performances and a smart, character-focused script, this film balances its formal conventions with narrative nerve, ultimately making for a satisfying – if not show-stopping – watch.

“Until the Wheels Fall Off” works better as a humanistic exploration than it does as a biography, making its Hawk focus occasionally feel like a weakness.

It is subversive, stomach-churning and visionary, a body-horror film that doubles as a fable of femininity gone wrong.

This script’s greatest sin is its steadfast predictability.

The patients, experts, and tireless doctors and activists who director Tracy Droz Tragos (“Rich Hill,” “Abortion: Stories Women Tell”) interviews are dedicated and admirable, but this documentary’s humanity comes at the expense of basic facts.

Equal parts choppy and charming, “See You Yesterday” has trouble balancing quirk and melodrama.

That the filmmakers manage to address so much of such a complicated life in just over 90 minutes speaks highly to their effectiveness, vision and economy.

While the result is a mostly-compelling tale of matriarchal megalomania, occasionally this group composition feels more like a jumble.

In the documentary Free Chol Soo Lee, first-time doc directors Julie Ha and Eugene Yi use archival materials in an attempt to present their tragic hero in all three dimensions. Despite their efforts, Soo Lee feels just out of reach, but the story of his life remains as important as it is horrifying.