Steve Macfarlane

Hollywood celebrities romping around in a candy-colored Alexa-shot criminal underworld, pretty much as a means of passing time.

A film for those who, whether here or in Israel, believe the law is the beginning, and not the end, of rights discourse.

The chop-socky wire-fu scenes are beautifully choreographed, but pretty crudely edited; despite its gourmet neo-grindhouse trappings, the film won't bring the heat like you've never seen before.

It's a pretty tired proposition to complain about movies being manipulative, but Café de Flore sets the bar especially low.

Essentially a live-action anime, it sweats rivulets of Tarantino-era digital anxiety from all pores--every kick, punch, pan, and zoom exaggerated for maximum impact.

A dazzling heist film that can't help but come off as duly influenced by Steven Soderbergh's Ocean's trilogy, South Korea's number one box-office champ of all time is never less than clever.

Private Property abounds in inventive low-budget filmmaking while stress-testing a pulpy, dime-store premise.

It's well established by now that the mythic Old West was always a trope written and controlled by men, and that there's really no bottom to which men won't stoop when women are a scarce quantity. In its mad rush toward performative allyship, the film exhausts every possible means of conveying those bombshells.

As a magnum opus, Once Upon a Time in America falls just a few point tragically shy of greatness.

It's as unsparing a sketch of twentysomething life in New York City as American independent cinema has yet offered.

A much more antic, exploitative experience than the Frankenstein/Wolfman/Mummy/Dracula pictures it stands alongside, Creature from the Black Lagoon perfectly typifies the transition from older, more European horror styles into bloodthirsty schlock and ever-cheaper thrills.