Cholodenko’s ambivalent relationship to the conventions of narrative has been a feature of her work, a constant push and pull that she explores, rages against, and is captured by.
Paul Verhoeven's movies talk to each other through time. In other words, all of his movies are the same.
Into every generation, an “it girl” is born.
Isabelle Huppert is foremost an actress of maturity.
An entire world exists below the Mason-Dixon Line, almost untouched by time, waiting to have her stories told. Nichols, it seems, has taken on that job.
This is perhaps the part of the essay where I admit, fully, that I love him. I love Bill Nighy.
Ben Mendelsohn's most striking when he's allowed to return to the kind of work he was getting nearer to at the beginning of his career: unapologetically tender.
Chantal Akerman’s films make their great humanist case simply by existing. Her characters do not wax poetic about their plight, or launch into monologues about the tragedy that defines them. Instead, they live.
In Kusama's hands, women’s pain can be destructive, motivating, toxic, or cathartic—but it is always taken seriously.
“All images are questions. if you look at everything, a painting, an image, you can question… The way you look at it, what it brings to your mind, if it reminds you of something. My god."
It may seem strange to say it, but Brie Larson is not Brie Larson.