Caste of the Unjust: DuVernay’s Scholarly Drama Traces the Universal Social Ills of Hierarchy
For her fifth narrative feature, Origin, Ava DuVernay takes an inventive...
Satan’s Cheerleaders: Chaves Dowses Shallow Waters in Spiritless Witch Hunt
As we continue to plunder the mixed-up files of Ed and Lorraine Warren, the infamous...
The Front Runner
With Tully dropping on April 20th, we look towards Jason Reitman's eight feature film as salient, dramatical potent possible second 2018 offering...
You Gotta Have Faith: Wan Advances another Franchise with Familiar Jolts
After leaving behind his Insidious franchise and lending his name to the Fast...
I Never Served Time For My Father: Dobkins’ Middling Melodrama
Groaning beneath the weight of its desperate grandstanding for awards consideration, David Dobkins’ The Judge...
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.