It painstakingly fenceposts its plot developments to an almost embarrassingly obvious degree, it wants your heart to swell as the protagonists overcome their adversities (and adversaries) and get where they want to be, and it doesn’t scream highbrow cinema at all—and is almost proud not to.
Trying to explicate all the resonances, nuances, brushstrokes and calibres that make up this staggering (yes, staggering) masterwork would take a long time, and it’s time I, sadly, don’t have.
I wasn’t alive during the 1970s, so I can’t speak as to the “accuracy” of this film getting the period and its anxieties right (although I take it for granted that it does). So I had to find my own entry point into this deeply personal, reflective film.
I could have done without the blatant allegorizing, which is dialed 1-800-TOO-MUCH to the point of self-parody at times.
This slice-of-life documentary from Gianfranco Rosi is an important watch at a time when Muslim migrants and refugees are being vilified under the Trump presidency. It’s easy to forget that many of them don’t use planes to seek asylum—most have to do so by boat, and the route from Africa to the Sicilian island of Lampedusa is particularly deadly.
To tell the truth, Allied would have been infinitely more interesting if the roles were reversed, and it was Cotillard who was investigating Pitt as the potential spy.
An interesting one. I really admired the visual effects, which made the second half suitably cinematic. There’s a good amount of buildup to the disaster, so that it rains down on you as it did on that fateful day.
I think 2016 was a good year for animated films, but if I had to pick just one to take with me to a desert island (sorry for the cliché), then I think Moana would be my choice.
Shockingly, I may have underestimated The Florida Project when I saw it two months ago. I praised it highly then… and yet, after seeing it again tonight, I think I didn’t praise it enough. Because there’s virtually nothing wrong with it.
The Little Hours is one of those films that can be enjoyed in the moment, but afterwards leaves you wondering why it exists.
Paterson cycles through a week in the life of its titular protagonist, a bus driver in Paterson, New Jersey (and yes, his real name is actually Paterson) who writes poetry inspired by his fellow-Patersonite idol William Carlos Williams in his spare time.
Kirsten Johnson’s collage memoir, Cameraperson, is a gorgeous, restrained look at a woman’s mission to capture the world at all angles.
Tanna has an elemental beauty that is difficult to resist, and the lives and rituals of the Vanuatuan tribes are captured with a superb degree of fidelity and sensitivity.
Just imagine these men—some just boys—crouched on the sand, poking for explosives, nervously deactivating them, knowing that one wrong move will be their end… imagine that, and you will also accurately represent this incredibly tense film.
A Man Called Ove is exactly as advertised: a funny, feel-good piece that is safe and agreeable (and nothing more).
