Another film about the process of filmmaking, Their Finest takes us to bomb-riddled London in 1940, where a young secretary is hired by the government to help script morale-boosting propaganda films.
The Lure is part-fairy tale, part-Bildungsroman, part-trippy rock opera, and a whole lotta ‘80s glitz and glam wrapped into one twisted, salacious treat. Except, it’s an incredibly messy one, so the experience is not as exceptional as I’ve made it sound.
Prevenge isn’t very original if we’re being honest here, nor does it reach levels of sheer insanity and bloodcurdling horror.
For the most part, Maudie succeeds in shedding light on Lewis’ tenacity, artistic vision, luminosity and endurance. Who would have known that behind the gentle, smiling face and diminutive frame lay years of pain and struggle?
Like many franchises, Pirates of the Caribbean should have walked the plank after its third entry—and even then, it had already overstayed its welcome.
The Brontës meet Gillian Flynn in Lady Macbeth, a tasty period noir that slithers with menace at each turn.
Jordan Peele has crafted a fantastic send-up of some of pop culture’s most famous horror stories (Ira Levin’s, in particular), mixing it together with a screamingly good social satire that skewers those fluffy white, bourgeois liberals who, gosh darn, try so hard to prove they’re not racist, and in the process show that, yeah, they really are (even if unintentionally).
Matt Spicer’s Ingrid Goes West juggles a boatload of contemporary issues, whether it be the influx of social media influencers who take pictures of trendy foods, furniture and art as their primary source of income, or people living “auxiliary” lives who crave the world’s approval.
Awww, this was magical. I have a soft spot for adorable fantasy critters, and Okja the superpig takes the cake. The way Mija, our pint-sized heroine, bonds with her pet is so beautiful, and as an animal lover myself, my heart was swelling at their interactions.
I would say I’m more of a dog person than a cat person (even though, in another life, my current personality would be more catlike than doglike), but Kedi is very hard to resist either way.
Ben Wheatley is—and always has been—an imperfect filmmaker. And I don’t think he gives a flying shit about it, to be honest. His filmography speaks for itself: frequently bold and daring confections that blow carefree raspberries to sparkly prestige pics and big-budgeted blockbusters.
Edgar Wright’s innate savviness is on full display here, especially during the first half: the diegetic sound squarely in Baby’s ears being grafted into the minutiae of the real world, the songs seamlessly orchestrating the sheer joie de vivre of adrenaline rushes and high octane pedal-to-the-metalling.
In a sense, I’m glad I haven’t seen the 1971 film prior to watching Sofia Coppola’s version—the inevitable comparisons would have clouded my judgment and prevented me from seeing this work on its own terms. Because truly this is a fabulous and multifaceted splendour, so richly evocative of the bygone past as it is of amorphous gender constructions and motivations.
I think this 40-minute mockumentary format is quite effective in making some truly funny jabs at the doping culture of sports like cycling (and getting Lance Armstrong to play a shamefaced talking head version of himself was a stroke of genius).
On paper, A Ghost Story sounds like a goofy joke. A dead man haunting his wife… in a bedsheet with eyeholes? Really?