Like so many other filmmakers from around the world, the Buenos Aires born writer/director Matías Piñeiro has found himself straddling borders with his latest...
A Place on Earth: Silver’s Period Commune Channels Cinema-Verite
While his 2014 title Uncertain Terms still awaits theatrical release as it makes the rounds of...
Earth Below Us: Perry’s Esoteric Puzzle of Women and Madness
What a delight to see director Alex Ross Perry continuing his delightful examinations of unlikeable...
Hemogobble: Turkel’s Latest Assay into Misanthropy
Indie filmmaker Onor Turkel seems determined to remain hilariously unlikeable as his self-effacing, self-directed on-screen alter ego with his...
Satirize This: Bilandic’s Scruffy Send-up of NYC Art Scene
Though starting off on a stronger note than where it eventually ends up, Michael M. Bilandic’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.