In Roma, Alfonso Cuaron’s masterful and beautiful film about the Mexico of his youth, particularly the household servant who helped raised him, Cuaron brilliantly connects (as he notes in an Empire magazine interview) “the personal scars with the socials scars”. This intersection where personal history and public history collide with memory gives Roma its sweep,…
Critics love Alice Rohrwacher’s Happy As Lazzaro because it's a magic realist tale enshrouded in neo-realist garb, a wolf in sheep’s clothing of symbolism and allegory. I have no patience for movies or symbols that refuse to define themselves or get lost in intelligent constructs without an emotional base. I am a film fan first…
Zama is about waiting— not the Waiting for Godot or Guffman kind— but the Colonial kind, which is historical, eloquently long and wonderfully filmed, cryptically acted and so broadly elliptical that it could mean anything while seemingly meaning everything. The kind that is either literary fraud or masterwork.
Summer 1993 feels lived in, breathed, authentic but never nostalgic. There is not a lot of drama but plenty of life on display.
Revenge is a hallucinogenic yellow neon female empowerment tale perfect for the #metoo era.
Brij Mohan tries to give its audience something more substantial than the usual light Bollywood fare. It ends up to squalid for that audience to watch.
It’s a Memento meets A Beautiful Mind thriller about a Basque man who discovers that there is a mathematical correlation between a convenience store shooting tragedy and the same spot’s past, present and future.
There is no explanation, no backstory just observation enshrouded in mythic layers of beautiful cinematography. Everything is left to interpretation, which is both besides the point and probably is the point.
It is all so emotionally and nakedly obvious. And that not only makes Sunday’s Illness good but near great.