The title refers to a singular fluid, but there are actually a great many other substances at play in Coralie Fargeat‘s feminist body-horror freak-out, almost all of them visceral to the point of discomfort. There’s the opening image of the film, a single uncooked egg, freed from its shell, and lying in a pool of […]

Tuesday manages to poke and prod at the fragile tendrils of a topic laden with countless taboos and cultural beliefs.

Dune: Part Two seems intent on convincing us that explosions are the same thing as plot.

A masterwork that stands head and shoulders above Nolan’s already-impressive past catalogue.

Asteroid City is as flat and unremarkable as its surrounding landscape.

Like a detailed treatise on the Holocaust, summarizing it as a great example in character building.

Time and again, Aftersun teases a large reveal only to end up in the most boring of all possible endings.

Triangle of Sadness pulls you into its world with the ease of a master hypnotist.

Amsterdam is a plethora of pomp, but little requisite circumstance.

Blonde’s platinum sheen is nothing more than a dime-store dye job.

Elvis collapses under the weight of its director’s ambitions and style instead of letting its standout lead re-create more key moments in the icon’s life.

Luhrmann’s technique had my toes tapping, but left my intrigue lacking.