Reverse Shot A different angle on moving images—past, present, and future

The Witness, directed by James Solomon, delves beneath the case study to engage with the once living, breathing person, through the eyes of Kitty’s younger brother, Bill Genovese.

What is important about Minervini’s film politically is that he links this brand of American revanchism not to a particular candidate but to a geographically predicated and economically defined ideology of isolation simmering unto paranoia.

You get the feeling Kaili is at a crossroads of not only modernity and custom but also industry and nature, with cement caverns and tenements sculpted into the sides and innards of lush, green hills and talk of old rituals and local lore, however mournful or unsettling, striking life into the film’s dark interiors.

Ben Wheatley’s filmbowdlerizes a queasily mesmerizing piece of fiction into dystopian nostalgia; apparently even the apocalypses were sexier in the 1970s.

The exteriors were shot on 65mm film, the interiors were captured digitally, and they offer different kinds of rapture, the former taking in the vastness of the land with hushed, God-like awe, the latter almost unbearably human, hunkering down in the burnished shadows of rooms sometimes lit by a single candle.

The fleet-footed, amiably wicked Love & Friendship taps into the brisk comedies of Lubitsch, LaCava, McCarey, and Leisen, produced during an age when the best sophisticated drawing room comedy came from barbaric Hollywood.

Synopsized, The Lobster might sound like high-concept science-fiction: a bit of Logan’s Run, a touch of Fahrenheit 451. And after a fashion it is, though there are no jumpsuits, moon boots, retinal scans, plasma cannons, or any other such trappings.

Audiard aspires to the operatic charge of Taxi Driver, but ends up with something more like Death Wish with a gloss of exoticism, forecasting his social prediction for a future in which the refugee exacts righteous revenge upon his aggressors.

This low comedy, then, touches on a few highfalutin ideas: masculinity as performance for one, racial identity as a social construction for another. To one degree or another these things have been a part of Key and Peele’s comedy since their MADtv days.

Incident and emotion play less of a role in determining the frame than pictorial grandstanding, and all of the shallow depth-of-field and moody haze feels like the work of a DP padding his reel.

The Polish director strikes a dramatic balance between subjective introspection and engagement with the outside world, stability and vertigo, the art of getting by and that of getting through. Skolimowski prefers the athletic directness of the physical act to intellectual manipulation.

As with any good filmmaker, Mascaro uses the camera to help us see the world a little differently, a little more clearly. There’s something casually virtuosic about his new film, a work of strange realism that immerses the viewer in a natural yet defamiliarized environment of everyday ritual.

Linklater, ever the good-natured observer of human connection and sensitive American masculinity, creates something strangely beautiful. He sculpts decency from what might have otherwise seemed an undifferentiated mass of testosterone.

The force of the film’s spare simplicity here reminds of the similarly devastating No Home Movie—artists of the caliber of Tsai or Chantal Akerman need no tricks to move an audience, only honesty and fearlessness.