Wes Greene

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

The film has an atmosphere of endless experimentation, which compliments the constant revision the subjects apply to their lives in the wake of their economic insecurity.

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

This a much leaner film in terms of narrative incident than In the Family, though it paves the way for Patrick Wang to step into new artistic terrain.

All the President’s Men’s masterstroke is how it rejects mythologizing the pivotal history behind it, appropriately forgoing a climax by closing on a simple telex furiously relaying messages. The film doesn’t present two underdogs bringing down a president; it’s two reporters doing business as usual.

The film isn't so much about "the end of cinema" as it is about the people who abuse the medium and their subjects for their own political agenda.

Perhaps Sanjay Rawal's most fascinating excursion into agriculture's dark side is the vineyards of Napa Valley, where the practically Eden-like scenery masks a dreary labor model.

Throughout A Family Affair, time is continually collapsed to the point where events separated by many years bleed into one another.

The Nature of Love engages with the stylings and bubbly tonality of the classic rom-com in ironic fashion, along the way exploring complex aspects of human behavior.

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

The doc emerges not so much as a glimpse into the mind of a dying artist than as a factual drama on how loved ones are impacted by an individual's death.

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

Kelly Daniela Norris and T.W. Pittman's film immediately announces itself as a modest triumph of world-building.

In its visionary dream and flashback sequences, the film becomes a comment on the rapidly diminished state of traditional animation.

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

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.

The visible numbness and empty stares of the doc's three subjects painfully evoke years of being gripped by the war on drugs.

Rarely do the interviewees express their own thoughts on Beltracchi, as Birkenstock lets him speak for himself, for better and for worse.

The comically rich visual tapestry of Blake Edwards’s The Party still endures.

Jacques Perrin and Jacques Cluzaud's Seasons is a nature documentary that reveals itself as a story of tragic usurpation.

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

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

Jack Hazan’s portrait of David Hockney stands between documentary and fictional film, reality and fantasy.

The film's pale-hued, Flash-like animation is abundant in detailed backgrounds that make the characters stand out like placards, allowing for Jian's critique of modern China to land with maximum force.

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

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.

It effectively implies that the subjects' troublemaking is the stuff of transience, a phase before they're ushered into the realm of adult responsibility.

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.