… the final farewell left me both devastated and comforted.

If the beauty of the classic Western at least partially lies in its dependably simplistic morality  —  a villain doing wrong; and a hero stopping them cold  — the modern “neo-western” as Ari Aster’s satirically topical film has often been classified, becomes almost the literal opposite: A film where morality shifts and scuttles about, before getting bludgeoned, shot, blown up, and, eventually paved over and turned into a high-tech office building. 

F1: The Movie is nearly a lap-by-lap redux of 1990’s Days of Thunder.

Ryan Coogler’s horror/comedy/musical/race drama treatise presents more ideas to chew on in its 137 minute run time than some entire summers worth of Hollywood ‘tentpoles.’ 

The dialogue is witty, snitty, and sharp—the kind of thing Soderbergh can craft in his sleep.

Last Breath’s confining tendrils creep into nearly every scene, pulling you deeper into its suffocating grip.

As a filmmaker, octogenarian Sir Ridley Scott has opted toward the bombastic: spectacle-laced CGI effect showcases, attempting epic sweep with a fulcrum of bombardment.

Sean Baker’s pronounced humanism is one of his strongest superpowers as a director. Whether they are trans sex workers (Tangerine), young children living in a motel (The Florida Project), or con artists new to town (Red Rocket), his generosity with his characters always shines.

Instead of an organic sense of nostalgia, Here lands more like a sappy greeting card: visually appealing but hollow.

Conclave is a brilliant example of slow-burn, understated storytelling that works.

The title refers to a singular fluid, but there are actually a great many other substances at play.

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