A delightful first feature with a lot to admire and characters that are a bit more complex than they first appear, there’s a consistent charm to this type of relaxed indie made without much interference.

I can’t pretend I’m a scholar on Maria Schneider’s life and work, but even I can sense this is sorely lacking.

There’s a defiant, rebellious energy thrumming through The Fishbowl, if only intermittently.

Like the Church potluck to which Amziah King introduces his one-time foster daughter Kateri, The Rivals of Amziah King is a gleeful mashup of genres and tones blending bluegrass music, comedy, revenge, and heist-thriller elements into a tasty homestyle buffet full of eccentric characters and thick Southern accents.

The movie looks amazing, it’s often intriguing, the style is evocative, and it should be distinct from Kaufman’s work. But in the ways that it’s similar, there’s less to be discovered––the ghost of revelation where it feels revelation could be.

The joy is all in its inspired, sensuous imagery, fantastical and dreamlike. The action scene as poetry, endless poetry in and for a hopeless world.

Seeing how Soderbergh and Koepp can expertly stack the deck to always be one step before the viewer is an exhilarating thrill to behold.

By the end, everything that was once smooth has become textured––the sleek TV-style aesthetic morphing into a sweaty mix of shadow, light, and flickers––as Hannah Holland’s pumping techno soundtrack has fully taken over. A sexy new world emerges from the rubble of torn-down bourgeois morale.

If I have virtually nothing positive to say about Seven Veils other than Seyfried’s compelling presence, I can’t quite bring myself to hate it. Frankly, I was never bored, and to some extent––even when dealing with such tricky subject matter––the fact that Egoyan was willing to be the dozenth piece of content I’ve seen in the past year to make a swipe at intimacy coordinators articulates the level of seriousness he’s dealing with here.

Ulman’s voice and perspective are what stick with you after the credits roll. It’s encouraging to see a young director experiment, venturing into new narrative and stylistic territory.

What begins as a fun weekend loses its appeal; unfortunately the film follows suit.

James gives a career-best performance as Ricky, a scared kid in a man’s muscled body.

Despite the jumps from reality to fantasy and back again, Kiss of the Spider Woman has one clear, loud emotional heartbeat. Every musical and dance number is well-performed and bursting with thematic meaning; the music is fun, the jokes land, and the overlapping characters are compelling to watch in both the real and fantasy world.

This documentary lays the facts at our feet and gives us a glimpse of the brave people trying to keep books in libraries and keep young minds open.

Though a bit shaky and mysterious at times, this story lands beautifully.

Beecroft has captured that bittersweet, specific feeling of place––she effectively conveys that it’s not about the where, but the who. Tabatha Zimiga is an extraordinary person, and East of Wall is smart to position her as such.

There is an unbridled honesty to André Is an Idiot that is admirable, even if all of it doesn’t really work.

Quiet and heartbreaking, if not slightly conventional, Omaha unfolds like a slow-burning mystery.

Lau’s ambition to strive toward similar aims is worthy of commendation, creating a tapestry of moods of detachment alongside a city symphony of isolation, yet it’s hard to shake the sense that not much new or complex about our modern way of life is conveyed.

A darker take on coming out, Plainclothes has a few familiar twists but ultimately succeeds through its performances and take on the material.

Inspired by objectification, By Design, by design, tests the patience of viewers via Kramer’s precise direction and controlled mise-en-scène, designed by Grace Surnow and photographed by Patrick Meade Jones––unfortunately, the challenge never feels rewarding. Perhaps that’s the point: aspirational luxury sells the sizzle, not the steak.

Seeds is a film that lives and breathes as we absorb the wisdom of these elders.

As the movie’s romantic arc unfolds, everything just feels a little too goofy and distracted, considering the earnest monologue that Fayruz gives near the end that questions why so many young men and women are dying for causes they don’t understand.

Zhu brings a great deal of sympathy to her performance, yet her directorial debut somehow feels a bit hollow, disconnected by design.

Joseph’s mesmerizing debut feels like a living, breathing dispatch from a time beyond ours, ushering in new possibilities for the form.

When Together kicks into full body-horror gear, Shanks lets loose, delivering a gleefully nasty third act that takes impressive visual and narrative risks.

Sweeney––who, in addition to acting and directing, wrote the script––has no trouble with lubrication, layering genres atop each other in a way that’s plausible and cohesive. He’s got an acute feel for how to deploy humor and grief into the same space, especially as more backstory unwinds and the movie’s heightened stakes infiltrate the perception of his characters.

With its cohesive black-and-white cinematography from Pete Ohs, a dedicated performance from Birney, and a plethora of crafty homespun special effects, OBEX is an inherently likable journey that should appeal to more than just those whose childhood was similarly, inextricably linked to this early era of computing.