Michael Frank

González-Nasser captures something essential about Sofia’s life: the exhaustion. The film, more comedy than drama, breaks both the viewer and Sofia down in equal parts, pushing either to continue this never-ending day, showing the pressure of a job that many others tell her is “so cool.”

The writer-director never rushes this story, but still wastes no time in the film––each scene contains weight and value. Each moment builds on the memories of Shula and of the women in this family, fractured together, constantly reminded of monstrosities, somehow still taking steps forward.

The Friend reminds us of the immeasurable role that dogs, and pets, play in our lives.

If you watched Reading Rainbow as a kid, the doc will leave you in puddles. If you didn’t, it will still likely leave you with tears in your eyes—happy tears.

LaRoy is the work of a director with unmistakable joy for this genre, approaching the material with a welcome earnestness.

Bryon deserves the focus, yet the film never paints any broader strokes. Transition works because of that one person, but it cannot climb any further under these limitations.

The urgency in Beyond Utopia cannot ever be understated. The consequences of the risks taken by these people––both the defectors and Pastor Kim––cannot be undervalued. Each risks everything in this journey.

It’s moving in its minuteness, in the difficulty of daily living for two men trying to survive an intensive, low-income job. Still, it returns to the issue of friendship and how, as people age, they begin to grow apart.

This is a studio offering that coasts on likability and enjoyment––luckily, there’s enough of that fun to go around.

Gorgeous to watch, with enough sly comedy to maintain levity, Fremont is notable in its decision to be small and intimate. It finds romance in everyday interactions, and in the easy pleasure of opening up a cookie and reading one’s fortune.

This feature debut represents a big swing for the Chilean director, a thoughtful, deliberate drama bursting with ecological and personal imagery. A patient narrative rewarding the patient viewer, Cow‘s an abstract portrait of a family and environment in crisis.

Park’s debut comedy leans on its cast and a smart screenplay to offer up a social commentary both bitter enough to make a point and agreeable enough to make people laugh, even leave with a smile on their faces. While it’s a tricky line to balance, Park (barely) pulls it off.

Though the film might be reminiscent of other walk-about-town rom-coms that came before, Rye Lane carries a sense of freshness.

Fairyland is McNairy’s film. He ripped my heart out. He’ll likely do the same to the majority of viewers, leaving wet eyes and sniffling nose. Fairyland is McNairy’s to care for, to love, to let go. In return, he gives his greatest performance.

Brewster and Stephenson struggle to penetrate the armor of this famous poet, focusing instead on her career, her health, and the way that others look at her. Most often they do so with deep admiration, a longing to be fixed by Giovanni.

Zlotowski’s fifth feature excels thanks to a compelling lead performance from Efira, giving insight into one woman’s relationship to motherhood. Her wants, her love, and her losses are all on display, built up only to be let down. Baked in a stern reality, the drama never loses that central, necessary thread.

If obviously silly, it represents an obsession with cutting-edge tech, the shininess of something new, and making our lives easier, lazier, and less connected. Although this commentary is blatant, the film—with all its insanity—remains highly enjoyable: real good, real fun, real simple cinema.

The film plays as one extended memory—sometimes more bitter, sometimes more sweet, always a combination of both.

The built narrative struggles against the facts of its plot, unable to find rhythm in a fictionalized version of events. But none of it matters—Brown remains a remarkable figure, a complicated character to study, and impossible not to root for.

Johansen is a force despite this film’s flaws, undeniable in both charms and quirks. His talent remains emphatic, and his stage presence is enough for the camera to sit back and appreciate him. Being enigmatic yet accessible, Scorsese and Tedeschi must capture his substantial coolness. They succeed in spades.

Sr. is sweet and tender, never playing as a dolled-up version of this relationship; it instead depicts a trueness in this bond, a warmth that has existed all of their lives. The sounds that echo after the film ends are the Downeys laughing together––about dumb stuff, about film references, about the past, about their present, about anything and everything.

It gives time, credence, and a stage to Mamie, a woman immortalized through her motherhood and 50 years of advocacy overlooked that has become overlooked. It’s a timely, essential piece of filmmaking.

For a Lynch diehard, Lynch/Oz will be catnip. For any average moviegoer, it digs into the well of American cinema history with enough fascination that it’s worth a watch.

A moving, devastating piece of filmmaking.

Brian and Charles didn’t need to be a feature. It could have continued to peacefully and joyfully exist as a short, and its material stretches the story thin as a sheet in this extended form. But the charm and fun of its story outweighs a scrawny narrative.

A genre film committed and receptive to the melted minds of its characters and the equally melted minds of its audience

Clint Bentley’s Jockey sources its strength from its casting. Led by a career-best Clifton Collins Jr. and supported by more-than-solid performances from Molly Parker and Moisés Arias, the film leans on these three actors to tell a tried-and-true story.

Unflinching in her questioning of the abandonment and how it affected each individual party, the film moves throughout Jin’s life with persistence and without rush. The result is an affecting, brutal look at the real-life trauma of the One-Child Policy for one economically struggling family in a rural area of China.