Still Learning New Tricks: Hall Heals Via Empathy & Remembrance
Much less cinematically invigorating than Akira Kurosawa's noir of the same name and miles away from Tsai...
Takashi Miike's The Happiness of the Katakuris begins with a woman probing a freshly delivered bowl of soup only to fish out a miniature angel/gargoyle/teletubby? whose...
In The Garden Of Garage: Hansen-Løve Recounts Brother's Coming of Age During the Rise of House Music
Thanks to her brother Sven’s involvement in the popularization...
Got Milk? Cowan & Shomali See The Glass Half Full, Celebrating Community Action In Beit Sahour With Stop-Motion
Paul Cowan and Amer Shomali’s partially animated docu-drama,...
The thrill of meeting Marjane Satrapi reminded me of being 6 years old at Disney Land when I met the living, breathing Cinderella. Except Cinderella was an actress with a blond wig and Marjane is the real woman behind her autobiographical graphic novel, turned movie, “Persepolis”. The distinctive mole on her nose and her dark sultry eyes rose off the page and appeared in front of me, smoking and speaking with a French accent.