The latest film from Canadian treasure Guy Maddin is a handmade masterpiece.
Gorgeously filmed (with only the very faintest whiff of a Stella Artois advertisement), Found Memories is another spin on the “strong will of youth overcomes staid obsolescence of age” archetype.
This movie isn’t nearly as dark as it pretends to be.
The thing about crowd-pleasers at film festivals … after a few of them, they start to all seem as though they’re operating from the exact same playbook. You can anticipate the emotional beats with no […]
Minnesota and mumblecore. Like peanut butter and jelly (or, rather, like peanut butter and the roof of your cast’s mouth). Local writer-director Peter McLarnan keeps his cards awfully close throughout The Sound of Small Things.
Have you ever considered what the word organic means when you see it on fruit, vegetables or ice cream cones? Did its meaning, in your mind, seem to be a mash of words like fresh, nutritious, eco-friendly, expensive and hip? If so, In Organic We Trust might be something fresh for you.
If you’ve never heard of Twin Cities’ drummer Dave King, you may have heard of one of his five bands.
Made in Minnesota with the reported assistance of Minnesota military organizations, Memorial Day is indeed a reverent piece of filmmaking, one which uses the same vocabulary as any number of other, more skeptical war movies.
Do you hate American media and pop culture? I mean really hate it? Well so does comedian/director Bobcat Goldthwait.
Besides daggers, mirrors and labyrinths, the Argentinian poet Borges felt an intense connection to tigers, and while reading Kipling’s Jungle Book as a kid, he was upset that Shere Khan was a villain and not the protagonist’s friend.
Your average NYC socialite rarely travels further east than The Hamptons. But filmmaker Margaret Betts isn’t your average heiress.
Murder mysteries are almost always more fun when their titles seem unpronounceable.
I remember watching a documentary about the angst of middle-aged men. One guy in his late 50s laments the fact that he can’t get the attention of anyone at the bars or clubs he frequents, despite all the time he continues to put into maintaining his own visage.
Fred Schepisi isn’t particularly high on the list of most cinephile’s lists of great working auteurs, but for a small, fiercely devoted group. The small, devoted group have a solid case, though.
For a man whose work is as timeless as photographer Bert Stern’s, the title of his documentary kowtows almost disappointingly to current concerns … but for understandable reasons.