Long-time indie actress Grace Glowicki, Sundance alumni in Meera Menon (2016's Equity) and Bryn Chainey are among the seven film projects selected for the...
Father of Mine: Timpson Paints Pastiche with Peculiar Debut
While he assembles all the requisite elements for what promises to be a throwback to the...
Suffer the First Vision: Goddard’s Debut Anchored in Episode of Literary Distress
Doomed Welsh poet Dylan Thomas gets a contemporary biopic treatment in Set Fire...
Peeping Tom: Vigalondo’s Virtual Voyeurism Thriller Too Wrapped Up in Tech
In the barest possible sense, Nacho Vigalondo’s latest film, Open Windows, can perhaps be...
Player Piano: Interesting Ideas Churn Into Nonsensical Slog in Mira’s Third Outing
Back with his first film since the 2010 potboiler, Agnosia, Spanish director Eugenio...
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.