Janice Engel’s sprightly doc is more appreciation for the acclaimed journalist than activism, and that’s a good thing.
Author: Matt Cipolla
Max Lewkowicz directs a heartfelt but thin documentary about the creation of a timeless Broadway classic.
Jacob Estes’ time-travel caper feels like an uncredited remake, which makes its flaws stand out even more starkly. […]
Chanya Button’s tale of the romance between Vita Sackville-West and Virginia Woolf is a little too slapdash to address its myriad concerns.
Kevin Costner growls out philosophical homilies in this treacly melodrama about a dog teaching his master how to love.
Gurinder Chadha’s heartwarming tale of a boy and The Boss fumbles some chords, but charms nonetheless.
Netflix brings back the classic Nick cartoon twenty years later for a one-off special filled with heart and surprisingly complicated musings on the passage of time.
Sameh Zoabi’s politically-charged satire of Palestinian soap operas works better as farce than social polemic.
The David Crosby-centric doc proves most effective when it embraces the rock-infused messiness of the man’s life and career.
The one and only Leonard Cohen turns flat in Nick Broomfield’s latest, and it brings down his better half as a result.
Jesse Eisenberg is a twerp falling down the toxic-masculinity rabbit hole in Riley Stearns’ insightful black comedy.
In Ari Aster’s latest, sharing each other’s emotions is scarier than being alone.
Jessie Buckley rocks the stage in a country-fied music drama that treads too-familiar territory outside its Scottish stage.
Jake Scott’s dreamlike ode to several generations of women in an American family is let down by an overly meandering script.
The vulgar auteur commits to a 13-hour crime drama that traffics in his most minimalist, nihilistic sensibilities.
This indie doc about modern slave labor in the East Asian fishing industry is well-intentioned but pulls its punches when they’re most needed.
Denys Arcand’s droll French caper comedy leans a little too hard on cliche and creaky anti-capitalist screeds.
Michael Dougherty’s entry in the Americanized kaiju franchise is frightfully brain-dead, even for a summer blockbuster.
