Wes Greene

Via the film’s juxtaposition between footage of Jones performing in front of fawning crowds with the dark personal stories of those who knew him best, Nick Broomfield bitingly undercuts the rock star’s veneer of public adoration.

Seemingly channeling the spirit of Claude Chabrol, Antoine Barraud’s Madeleine Collins is a decidedly classy throwback thriller about a seemingly humdrum character committing perverse acts of subterfuge against others.

The elegantly underplayed performances ensure that the film never succumbs to melodrama.

The film’s triumph is keeping us on our toes by sending us into an ether where fear and wonder live hand in hand.

Monica is an unsentimental exploration of its main character’s search for personal fulfillment through human connection.

The film surprises by revealing deeper layers to both its subjects and social commentary.

Sansón and Me has a way of frustratingly pulling focus away from its ostensible subject.

The film is a sensitive character study disguised as an unnerving exercise in body horror.

The film may not suffer from didacticism, but it’s at its most volcanic when it promises to blossom into a study of a generation’s financial difficulties.

David Leitch’s film pulls off the notable feat of making human beings out of cartoonishly violent psychopaths.

The film’s ominous atmosphere derives less from the mystery of a disappearance and more from the scary business of getting older.

The film abounds in honest and at times disarmingly off-the-cuff moments that are borne out of character contrasts.

Despite the mystery of the home invasion becoming increasingly tangential, Human Factors remains a compelling puzzle-box.

The film is at its most effective and engaging when simply capturing the vibrancy of a world onto its own.

Formally, Huda’s Salon is nothing if not effective, sustaining the unrelenting tension of its opening scene for the duration of its runtime.

Dog cannily smuggles a nuanced inquiry of a social issue under the guise of popular entertainment.

The film’s quietly uncanny narrative wondrously depicts not only a dying man’s reflection on his life, but also the very nature of Hawaii itself.

In the hands of its cast, Mass gives such precise and profound expression to the totality of grief that it comes to feel downright palpable.

With its pulpy thrills, hyperbolic dialogue, charismatic scumbags, and a score heavy in electronic effects and percussion, the film effortlessly coasts on a gnarly old-school vibe.

The film’s poignancy derives from its profound understanding of its main character’s identity crisis.

Across the film, director Augustine Frizzell balances a dynamic aesthetic energy with a generosity of spirit.

The film tends toward the dramatically monotonous, but its unwavering sense of purpose ensures that it’s also compellingly human.

The film’s cramped compositions hauntingly underline the claustrophobic nature of its protagonist’s life.

Much of the film’s power comes from a series of deft, often wry juxtapositions between video and audio.

The film refuses to shy away from the unvarnished honesty of Blind Melon frontman Shannon Hoon during his brief moment of fame.

Its sensitivity to how something as seemingly ordinary as food can have an immense emotional impact is consistently and unobtrusively profound.

It’s an unfussy, intimate chamber drama that’s fearless in confronting the attitudes of its exalted subject.

Writer-director Yeo Siew Hua suggests that becoming another person is as easy as dreaming it.