Martin Tsai

Ultimately, Bitter Christmas never reaches the crashing emotional clarity of Pain and Glory, whose self-interrogation cut far deeper. Still, there is something quietly heartening about watching Almodóvar return to familiar territory with renewed playfulness and formal confidence. Even when circling old obsessions — performance, desire, memory, self-mythology — he remains one of the few filmmakers capable of making self-examination feel simultaneously sumptuous and dangerous.

Sheep in the Box gestures toward grief, artificial consciousness, and emotional dependency without ever probing the psychic or societal consequences of any of them.

The secret longings the characters have been carrying for one another are eventually disclosed with almost offhand casualness. By the film’s end, we know them with unusual intimacy. In any case, the revelations feel nearly incidental. Fukada is less interested in what these people have done than in who they are when left alone with themselves.

Basir’s script is ambitious and thoughtful, though flawed. The regrettable characterizations of women aside, some of the dots don’t quite connect.

Even during the fantasy musical numbers, which give cover to stray from the overall aesthetics of the film, Phillips is just incapable of delivering the genre’s requisite razzle dazzle that would surely complement Joker’s persona.

Given Almodóvar’s established penchant for melodrama and that the subject is euthanasia, the film is strangely aloof. It never reduces the proceedings to Lifetime territory or patronizes moviegoers in the process. It does, however, leave you to wonder a bit about the indifference you might ultimately come away with yourself.

At a different time, I might have been more inclined to entertain Reijn's proposition seriously. But it's just her luck that the great Catherine Breillat, who has devoted her illustrious career to investigating these taboos, dropped a far superior film on the same subject matter, Last Summer, just a few months prior, beating Reijn to the finish line.

Pablo Larraín's Maria is a one-note exploration of another public figure that just makes the same points over and over again.

Burton’s vision from 1988 remains fully intact. If anything, he has expanded on world-building. It’s the best possible outcome from the studio’s blatant cash grab as a singular vision is rigorously and thoughtfully preserved in the storytelling.

Even if you agree with the film’s political lean, it’s hard to overlook the unorthodoxy. Common Ground smacks of propaganda masquerading as documentary. If such can qualify as documentary, then so should reality TV.

The film never fully commits itself to neo-noir beyond the plot.

Next Goal Wins is [Waititi's] best and most crowd-pleasing effort to date.

Although its internal logic and messaging are at times muddled and not fully formed, Dream Scenario still proves immensely entertaining.

Well-researched and polished, even if it’s essentially a feature-length episode of “Behind the Music.”

Gelb’s documentary gives viewers an overview of who Lee was and what made him tick, but mostly within the context of comics.

Garcia delivers a standout turn as Richard. It helps that he’s not yet a household name, so he isn’t carrying the baggage of any external frames of reference. His earnest and engrossing performance absolutely carries Flamin’ Hot.

The Quiet Girl has a meaningful message on nurturing. But with so little of consequence going on, it’s crucial to get the emotions precisely right. Without voiceover narration tying everything together, some scenes feel out of place, random, or offer little beyond aesthetics.

Though Kore-eda began his career as a documentarian, his positions on social issues are far from neutral. He reveres the resilience of those who have been dealt a bad hand in life, a sentiment that certainly shines through in Broker.

The information presented in “Lowndes County” is absolutely vital, but all the archival interviews it surfaces make one wonder if a better documentary on the same subject exists.

Lee stars in, directs, co-writes, and co-produces this taut, extravagant, and technically proficient effort, which comes off more as an auspicious filmmaking debut than a vanity project, one that stacks up favorably with most American spy thrillers.

Other than the pair of outstanding lead performances, there really isn’t much cause to watch it.

An occasionally seductive but muddled examination of a complex physical and emotional relationship.

Experimentalism isn’t a bad thing in and of itself, but the form, content, visuals, and motifs of There There aren’t inspired or interesting enough to warrant serious mental engagement.

It’s based on historical facts and real-life characters, yet it feels timeless and allegorical. It’s indisputably Harron’s best, and she deftly locates stately classicism amid the crass and the banal, and vice versa.

Everything about this one is lovely and magical, but it’s also deeply heartfelt.

While Chevalier is by no means terrible, it seems like such a huge missed opportunity for an important historical figure to have finally gotten his due.

The director hits no false notes. He knows firsthand the feelings each scene should convey, but he also has the skills to render them accurately.

Johnson freely bounces around buzzwords like “disruptors” and “influencers” with dripping mockery, but he stops way short of satire. He never entices us to take an active interest in this new cast of characters, and there isn’t much suspense or high stakes to speak of even when things start to head south.