Polterheist fails to succeed as a comedic or horrifying film, finding no progression of plot but rather further perpetuates racism, misogyny and homophobia.
Despite the attempt to be original with a subtly spooky fogginess, Slice is a sluggish creation, doling out little bits of plot information at an unhurried pace.
The Dawn Wall is a near-perfect documentary that tells the extraordinary story of free climbers Tommy Caldwell and Kevin Jorgeson exceptionally well.
In Viper Club a war correspondent gets taken hostage, prompting his mother, impatient with the government’s lack of concern, to take matters into her own hands.
It’s uncommon for a film to have scenes of vulgar comedy and yet be heart-wrenchingly emotional – but All About Nina is bold, and deserves your attention.
Unfortunately, 1992’s Sidekicks, which is a vehicle to show Chuck Norris as the greatest action star, is a sloppy project for his talents.
Though Nappily Ever After begins as encouragement that Black women embrace their natural beauty, it soon feels like a judgment of women who put effort into their appearance.
Matangi/Maya/M.I.A. beautifully captures the exasperation of an artist who wants to be heard, struggling to find people to listen.
Jane Fonda in Five Acts celebrates change and transformation, and is as inspirational as the iconic actress at its centre.
The House With A Clock In Its Walls has a sense of mischievous fun, with a hearty serving of chills and chuckles to overwhelm any shortcomings.
The brilliance of some movies just isn’t evident on a first viewing, whether it be due to our age or the film’s density; here are some that needed a second watch to fully appreciate.
Sometimes used to satirize social deviance or anxiety over women’s emergent political power, the Tiny Guy, Huge Girl trope can tell us a lot about the sexual politics of the era.
With an interesting premise not given the correct treatment, The Escort stands as a cinematic experiment that didn’t quite work out.
Patient Zero has many of the elements of a good movie, just put together in a janky and unfortunate manner.
The documentary Love, Gilda proves that the comedy legend Gilda Radner made laughter the ultimate form of self-defense.