Throughout Chan’s film, comic irreverence intermingles with cosmic coincidences.
Paul B. Preciado’s documentary quite aptly languishes in an undefinable interstitial space.
The film deploys genre cues only to sidestep their expected payoffs and moral resolutions.
Bas Devos’s trademark placidity and restraint constitutes a challenge to narrative convention.
The series displays some of the inevitable wear of a concept that has already gotten more mileage than anticipated.
The first season of gets an image/sound presentation that’s practically beyond reproach.
The show’s second season is structured less around storylines than around feelings.
The show’s second season exudes even more of the breezy freshness of a back-to-basics TV series than the first.
The film interrogates both the state of our world and the lines between fiction and document.
The film captures the textures of a life that’s not defined solely by anti-trans oppression.
Like Petite Maman itself, Criterion’s Blu-ray is deceptively simple but packed with riches.
The film invites us to read between the lines, to infer story from indirect signifiers.
Afire captures complex human interactions with a clear-minded sobriety.
The film carries the almost exotic interest of its milieu as well as deeply personal overtones.
The film affectingly captures the uniquely American ennui provoked by the lost utopia of youth.
The film counters the comic absurdity of its premise with a discomfiting sense of atmosphere.
The film establishes how connections forged in our past take new forms as we change with time.
The Survival of Kindness makes up in visual power and moral clarity what it lacks in subtext.
The fatal flaw of the film is that it genuinely believes in the discreet charm of the bourgeoisie.
Melting Ink’s abstract image of the past is in the present, where the currents of history converge.