Major spoiler at the end of this, FWIW. Moronic, phony Call of Duty knockoff suffused with neoliberal guilt. Insofar as it is successful at anything, it is as a corny allegory for the insufficiency of media to capture the zeitgeist or to animate positive action. Which, okay, are we making
Past Lives is last year's anointed Sundance Darling, and it's a category to which I am not entirely allergic. Beasts of the Southern Wild, Whiplash, and Minari are all films I love. But for every victory there's a maudlin and sycophantic movie that inexplicably
David Ayer initially caught my attention at the age of 12 upon a screening of Street Kings with my grandpa. I was really into violence at the time, but Ayer mostly dropped off the map for me until Suicide Squad, which continues to hold the distinction of worst hatchet job
I had the one in a million good fortune to be able to see this on a 35mm print at Shibuya Crossing in Tokyo. I traveled to Japan because a dear friend invited me along on his pilgrimage to Wrestle Kingdom, the most important event for the largest Japan-based wrestling
American Fiction is delicate—sensitive—in a way few satires are. I expected to write something along the lines of, “it’s fine, but Bamboozled already exists, yada yada yada,” and yes, there are clear parallels between the two. Yet director/adapter Cord Jefferson wisely dodges the jagged edges of
A bunt from Wiseman, which is any other filmmaker’s homer so I still come away fairly satisfied. When it’s focused on the goings-on of the Troisgrois restaurant in Ouches, France, it’s got that same Frederick Wiseman magic I’ve come to love: deep dives into the processes,