Touch of Class: Ullmann’s Update of Classic Text Ultimately Lifeless
There are a scant few equals to the texts of playwright August Strindberg’s, his 1888...
Unlike say a micro-budgeted indie with enough coin in the backend for post-production, chances are slim that this modestly priced indie with A-list cast...
Shirley Clarke’s final feature film emulates the free form style of its subject, legendary jazz musician Ornette Coleman, playfully editing fragments of live performances,...
Dead Ringers: Ando’s Self-Adapted Switcheroo a Highlight for Servillo But Little Else
Politics and doppelgangers have hewn a surprisingly wide berth throughout decades of cinema,...
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.