The horror that is white people.
The Birth of a Nation is the sort of film one — politically — feels he or she should support but which, well, one doesn’t due to its unignorable flaws. In that way, it is a lot like Nate Parker himself.
In which we note the breathtaking cinematography of Sergey Urusevsky in two damn fine films.
John Wick returns to ask if, at long last, you would please be so kind as to hold on to these bullets with your face.
Today, even though it doesn’t seem like it, there is hope.
Mumble, mumble forgiveness pass the nori.
A movie I long ago misjudged to be kinda dull is in fact all kinds of fun.
This is Farhadi’s special genius. He invites you into lives unfamiliar only to spin around the mirror in the last moments so you can see your own surprised face.
In which I wander seemingly at random through the year’s movies, the good, the bad, and the in between.
Come inside and share my doubt.
Jim Jarmusch has another poem to read you.
In this, its 15th iteration, Noir City shifts from showing obscure and long-lost noirs in order to focus on all sorts of heist films — many of them more modern but no less obscure.
Lovers of lists, rejoice! Once again, I list every movie I saw this year, all the while secretly wondering just what it is I think I’m doing with my life.
Know both the electric excitement of what might have been and the solemn beauty of what is.