In spite of its righteous indignation, Nightbitch heels instead of getting too messy.
The unoriginality of the story eventually calls out the POV conceit as a one-note gimmick.
The film is winningly defined by a peculiar admixture of national pride and self-deprecation.
In The End, Oppenheimer again probes the idea that history is written by the victors.
Baker’s portrayal of class, privilege, and more is nothing if not consistently clear-eyed.
The film ultimately exploits an urgent crisis in order to provide audiences with genre kicks.
Andra Day and Glenn Close bring the film to life in a way that the literal ghosts wish they could.
Compared to Jan de Bont’s beloved original, this long-gap sequel barely kicks up dust.
Triet’s film builds a strong case as one of the best courtroom dramas in recent memory.
This film’s approach to slasher film mayhem is liable to induce some serious déjà vu.
The film is less interested in its human specimens and more in slotting in genre trappings.
Antoine Bourges’s latest is his most quietly impactful effort to date.
Michel Franco’s film reveals itself as a prototypical yet surprisingly tender love story.
Alexander Payne’s film is subtly attuned to the way that class constricts people’s lives.
Korine has crafted an experience that’s worth tripping out to, cotton mouth be damned.
Throughout, Cage flexes his singular acting muscles in increasingly hilarious directions.
Justine Triet’s film has more on its mind than the simple question of innocence or guilt.
The film only pretends to rail against the scourge of unchecked capitalism.
The film embodies the alienating angst of millennial life in all its nakedly neurotic glory.
Love Again is nothing but a chintzy promotional tool for Celine Dion.