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.
Jessica Hausner’s sci-fi yarn about plants that emit happy drugs doesn’t branch out as widely as one would like.
Céline Sciamma’s queer period romance is an intimate visual feast, filled with uncanny empathy and admirable aesthetics.
As self-reflective as it is starkly modernist, Pedro Almodóvar’s latest is navel gazing at its finest.
Noble Jones vies for the title of treacly Sundance-y auteur with his gimmicky romantic drama about a lovelorn doomsday prepper.
Lee Won-Tae piles on the cheese in this pulpy gangster thriller that rewards mightily, if you’re in the right mood.
Larisa Sadilova’s probing drama highlights small-town Russian culture through an opaque lens.
It takes some doing to make a movie about a talking fridge boring, but by gum, Benoît Forgeard’s messy comedy manages to pull it off.
Mati Diop’s expansion of her documentary short is a scifi-tinged genre experiment that admirably swings for the fences, even if it doesn’t land with complete success.
Following up I, Daniel Blake with another grim drama about English poverty, Ken Loach spits venom about the dark side of capitalism to mixed results.
Arnaud Desplechin shifts gears with an all-too-straightforward cop drama mired in cliche.
The off-kilter French-Canadian auteur returns with a resonant if overlong drama that ends just a bit too messily.
More than just its gimmicky 59-minute 3D long shot, Bi Gan’s dreamlike drama is a delightfully challenging, exhilarating work of cinema.
Ralph Fiennes’ tale of real-life Russian dancer and defector Rudolph Nureyev is stylish enough but fails to slip deeply into its’ characters ballet flats.
Werner Herzog’s look at the Soviet Union’s last leader is fascinatingly apolitical, but lacks insight as a result.