Deadpan has never crackled with such life as it does in this miraculous movie, a stunning synergy of story and style to which all films tackling sensitive social situations should aspire.

By the time that the sun is up and Peggy Lee is singing “Is That All There Is?”, Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets has proven to be an impressively affecting and even slightly tragic piece about the homes away from home that provide comfort, as well as just how fleeting that comfort can feel in the bright light of day.

It’s a ravishing ode, too, to gestures, touches, smiles, and pithy, pointless conversations; in Soul the tiny human interactions that we so often brush over come under the magnifying glass.

Though the structure of the vignettes can grow repetitive as the film moves along to a scene nearly identical to the one that came before, Terrestrial Verses never falters in challenging traditional notions while simultaneously providing a glimmer of hope.

The Salt of The Earth is a mesmeric and unforgettable look at the world and it sufferings through the eyes of a remarkably insightful and honorable artist.

Rat Film doesn’t really make an impassioned political statement. Instead, Anthony assembles striking, allusive pictures and sounds into a one-of-a-kind experience, meant to provoke thought.

Gandbhir could have arranged all of this like a book report with a foregone conclusion, yet she trusts in the truth of this story and the intelligence of her audience to pull apart the necessary history and sociopolitical context of it all.

Peete and Yapkowitz have created a tender portrait of the underappreciated singer, humanizing her experience within the recording industry and showcasing a one-of-a-kind musician who is only just beginning to get the recognition she deserved.

One of the most unique and unforgettable movies in Pixar’s grand pantheon.

For the acclaimed Chadian filmmaker, Lingui, his first foray into women-driven stories wobbles with underdevelopment but still manages to be a harrowing tale of bodily freedom.

‘71 is more than just a performance showcase, delivering a gripping, at times almost unbearably tense, incredibly involving anti-war statement, made the stronger for being set against the less cinematically familiar backdrop of Belfast in the year 1971.

It succeeds not just because of the gripping footage and troubling stories of the spectators and trainers close to the incidents, but also because it consults experts in the field who offer insights into killer whales’ biology and psychology.

Möller keeps a sense of immediacy and tension throughout, despite never actually showing the cause of Asger’s worry and dread – and our own.

Intimate, singular, and hallucinatory on all aesthetic levels, the film strips politics down to the bone, not always successful but never opportunistic.

"Prayers” stands as a continuation of [Huezo’s] brilliance and expands it to a storytelling format with distinct tools for engagement, yet the impact is just as searing. Huezo’s ardor for humanistic examination loses no fire in this metamorphosis.

The Only Living Pickpocket in New York might not be anything revolutionary, but it sure is revelatory. Segan laments a bygone bustling past, speaks to an uncertain present, and points to New York’s eternal beacon of hope to tease the promise of future renewal.

Molehills to the rich feel like mountains to the working class, and Gravel finds the stylistic tools that can translate such scale into riveting cinema — and confer the kind of importance that the Julies all over the world deserve.

It may seem like bias runs rampant, but that couldn’t be further from the truth, as Osit tries to answer his questions while looking behind the scenes in a manner that could if nothing else, showcase the obvious spin of mass media. In looking back at “To Catch a Predator,” Osit takes a look at much, much more.

If the immediate, textural pleasures of the film are such that you can almost miss the deftness of its construction, the skill with which Eggers balances out his ambivalent storytelling, while still ramping through ever-escalating climaxes, can’t be overstated.

Saint Frances is truly a stunning debut, both in its overt treatment of problems women face all the time, and its sheer unconventional approaches to, what on the surface looks like, a conventional narrative.

Through Cage, the film’s straightforward revenge plot becomes a King Crimson album played at half speed and twice normal volume; a bizarre and bloody outing with a strong heart beneath the surface.

It’s a journey deep into the psyche of the tormented genius, that is as all-encompassing and expressive of Cobain's spirit as a film could possibly be. It's a true achievement, both in documentary filmmaking, and in preserving the memory and legacy of Cobain.

Masterfully played by Annette Bening, Dorothea is a fascinating character of contradictions.

“La Camioneta” is at once an insightful documentary and a poignant allegory.

The Lego Movie is an absolute blast—a whip-smart, surprisingly emotional family film where the toy property is seen less as a concrete template than a tool for seemingly limitless potential.

Gloria is an endlessly watchable creation—a wonderful example of an actress melting into a role, and a co-writer/director with almost superhuman levels of sensitivity and empathy for his characters.

The Selfish Giant preaches compassion by showing us in its very closing moments, the fathomless goodness that can lie beneath even the spittingest, snarlingest exterior.

Steeped in a culture rarely observed on screen, Bustamante's film has the airs of a documentary. Its ensemble cast of local actors have zero trace of affectation in their performances.