The Story of O: Schoenbrun Approaches the Horrific Desire Inside Us All
The inextricable union of victim, victimizer, and witness becomes a metatextual balancing act...
Under the Sun of Satan: Mitchell’s Messy Neo Noir Revels in Elitist Superficiality
Look no further than David Robert Mitchell’s third feature, the labored neo...
Premiering stateside just prior to opening the 2016 Berlin International Film Festival,Hail, Caesar! the Coen Bros. parody of studio era Hollywood, took home around...
Murky Contract Part Deux: Hallam & Horvath Continue to Stir a Slushy Cauldron
A vaguely administered narrative continues to plague the concept of what comprises...
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.