The Children’s Hour: Kreutzer Poses Provocative Dilemmas
The complex trappings of denial are at the heart of Gentle Monster, the latest from Austrian director Marie...
Allegory of the Tree: Enyedi’s Masterful Meditation on Human Progress
The metaphorical subtexts germinating to fruition through Ildikó Enyedi’s Silent Friend are formidable, even as,...
Premiering its first two episodes at the 2015 Berlin Film Festival, the eight episode Cold War television mini-series “Deutschland 83” went on to become...
Say Uncle: Ritchie Continues String of Studio Pastiche
In a continuation of our culture’s insistence on plumbing the depths of past artifacts from the annals...
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.