No Country for Black Men: Ross Reforms the Cinema with Distinctive Adaptation
In many ways, Nickel Boys, the narrative debut from director RaMell Ross,...
Begin Again: Edwards’ Satisfying Sophomore Film Utilizes Walken
Thanks to the overwhelming trend of quirk, cliché, or contrivance evident in most American indie offerings (whether...
Hocus Pocus: Allen’s Latest a Re-hash of All-Too-Familiar Themes
Returning once more to the world of psychics and magicians to inform his breezy comedic styling,...
Prognosis Negative: Robinson’s Return a Detached, Tepid Exercise
His first outing since the ill-fated 2002 film The Sum of All Fears, director Phil Alden Robinson’s...
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.