The True Story of a Racist Gang: Kurzel Explores Formative Chapter of American Domestic Terrorism
There’s a brooding, sinister quality to Justin Kurzel’s filmmaking, whose...
It’s the Journey, Not the Destination: Burger Hurtles into Space for Humanity’s Last Stand
Perhaps it’s not what Emerson envisioned, but the sentiment remains the...
Tell-Tale Hearts: Liman Conjures a Time Capsule in Curious Cinematic Exercise
As cinematic content continues to unspool through premiering projects completed prior to the start...
The Forgiveness of Blood: Rapace Shines in a Loose Regurgitation of Dorfman Play
The strangest aspect of The Secrets We Keep, the third feature from...
We've now arrived to our 75 prediction destination with this final item. A Sundance personality who over time, has developed his own cult following in...
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.