A well-crafted mainstream effort with accessible emotions and that whiff of Kawase-que zen.

One could say I’m more appreciative of its narrative economy than economic narrative, yet the numerous betrayals, bevy of sleazy characters, corporate intrigue, and sexual cat-and-mouse games — all things that could strike one as appreciably light if taken merely as genre tenets played in a soft key — are underwhelming in light of the fact that Verhoeven made all of these iconic decades ago.

The great theme of Dickinson’s life, Davies argues, is finding solace — not in religion, but in art, and A Quiet Passion itself can boast such moments of quiet catharsis.

By focusing on his freshest, earliest, and perhaps most exciting work, we learn an awful lot about what is to come, making this an engaging study for both the unfamiliar and devoted students of Nichols’ work.

While the story doesn’t always hold together, it remains moving.

Only Yesterday is unabashedly modest, but in its twin dialogues between the past and the present, and the undying lure of the country and the city, it’s a singularly specific story whose message echoes decades later.

Even at its most transparently manipulative, Risen doesn’t feel punishing. It’s universally good-natured without feeling too conniving.

Race is the rare biopic that needs more of its own main character.

One of Penny Lane’s best pictures, Nuts! is quite a brilliant way to tell a peculiar story. Condensing a lot of material into a brief running time, this format allows certain liberties to be taken, particularly when imagined conversations appear.

I admire the tenacity and fearlessness of Wood to take on these issues head-on. In a playground of stripped-down indies of rough edges, encouraging sparse narratives, understatement and minimalism, Elizabeth Wood has made a film that feels fresh even if it offers little introspection and commentary on the fire that it plays with. And thus is the flaw of White Girl.

While the cast masterfully shoulders the sad affair, their efforts are undermined by Barrett’s unfortunate tendency to tell when showing has already done the job.

While Hansen-Løve certainly deserves credit for writing such a compelling character, it’s difficult to imagine anyone realizing Nathalie as consummately as Huppert, who, even by her exceptionally high standards, pulls off a superlative performance.

Eggers, whose production and costume design background is on full display in the austerely crafted setting, effectively builds the tension of this divine battle, one which isn’t scary, but surely memorable.

The movie is more about how outsiders – whether consciously or unconsciously – exert control. The repercussions of colonialism hover over the text even as these characters have “noble” intentions.

The details in Midnight Special, Nichols’ homage-heavy sci-fi thriller set in his signature Deep South locale, are sometimes so scant as to be jarring. Yes, less is often more in Hollywood, but it can also be just plain less.

It feels longer than 90 minute because, despite changing locations frequently enough, Ilya Naishuller‘s debut feature never really has a strong sense of structure nor escalation to make it as truly kinetic as it wants. Yet, at least to some degree, the right spirit is there to lift it through some of the deadening stretches.

The Lobster, takes on the rigid preconceptions surrounding relationships.

The material is simply too thin to support a 106-minute-long version of this story without veering into boredom as the path to the confession is a tediously predictable one.

From start to finish, Christian Ditter‘s How To Be Single struggles to be both a forward-thinking comedy about women dating in the modern world and a reliably generic romantic comedy that will satisfy those looking for cinematic comfort food.

Kelly’s earnest, reportedly auto-biographical film has a lot of laughs and is best when it’s most deeply personal.

Hits a decent count of guffaws and chortles, enough to make for a solid rental or something you settle on while channel surfing on an idle afternoon.

Lindholm excels at a sort of controlled naturalism – malleable enough to let the scene develop autonomously, and so precise and inquisitive that there’s not even a hint of padding in sight.

Though profoundly upsetting, The Club’s assault on institutionalized hypocrisy never risks feeling unjustified.

Kemble takes great care to construct a tough Staten Island-raised, Irish-American history so each personal struggle depicted can be traced back and rendered authentic.

Eddie isn’t groundbreaking by any means, but effortlessly fun, packed with irony, and ready to woo even the most unathletic children through countless TV reruns.

If A Touch of Sin expressed Jia’s rage at the contemporary impact of capitalist progress on Chinese society, Mountains May Depart is his lament over the direction in which it is headed.

As a study of grief, it’s moving, featuring authentic performances and a keen understanding of the receding hibernation that comes with losing a cornerstone person in one’s life. As a romance, it’s slow-going but believable. And as a look at the unfair mythos attributed to the dead, it’s nuanced and incisive. But in attempting to balance these complementary parts, Tumbledown is buried by its own ambitions.

For all the half-hearted assumptions, eyebrow-cocking suggestions, and holes that one could / should poke in its logic...it’s, in Moore’s fashion, made with enough non-superficial craft and sense of aesthetic pleasure to coast for a bit.