When I was actively watching Kaouther Ben Hania’s devastating The Voice of Hind Rajab (read review), it reminded me Alejandro González Iñárritu's short film...
In a Child’s Name: Ben Hania’s Grueling Portrait of Genocide
It’s the responsibility of artists to use their platforms as a mechanism to speak truth...
A Vindicated Woman: Kulumbegashvili Constructs Potent, Profound Study in Body Horror
I do not wish them to have power over men; but over themselves,”...
Pleasure to Burn: Petzold Stokes the Flames in Diffident Drama
A fragile male ego finds itself dismantled in Afire (Roter Himmel), the second chapter...
Dance the Dance of Another: Guadagnino Goes Deeper & Weirder in Ambitious Argento Remake.
Luca Guadagnino has always been a supremely divisive filmmaker, capable of...
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.