Greta Gerwig’s Little Women is, in many ways, an extension of the novel rather than a self-contained text; it seeks to inflect what we already know about the girlhood story with new meaning for adults seeking to hold our communities together.
Rather than shrinking from the hall of mirrors that inevitably unfolds when creating a literary adaptation, Carol embraces reflections and distortions, folding them into the film’s core aesthetic.
Burning hinges on the disappearance of a young woman, which suggests that the film should be classified as a mystery, the genre that most actively encourages viewers to interpret the evidence placed in front of them. But the ambiguity of human relationships—of what we see, of what we don’t see, and of what we choose to ignore—is the film’s biggest mystery.
Maggie Smith won the first of her two Academy Awards for her titular role in The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, and it’s easy to see why the girls in the film worship her—I worship her, too.
On Fantastic Mr. Fox and the contradictory, complementary visions of Wes Anderson and Roald Dahl.
What the film version of The Dead sacrifices in character subjectivity, it makes up for in a kind of living, overhanging sense of the passage of time, its inevitability, and our inability to control it.
Michelangelo Antonioni committed to a faithful adaptation of Julio Cortázar’s Las Babas del Diablo, but specifically to his version of the story.
Louis Malle's Zazie dans le Métro is a full-color, live-action cartoon—an hour-and-a-half blast of Dadaist lunacy that feels like it’s being transmitted from an entirely different universe.
The beauty of Greta Gerwig’s Little Women lies in the imperfection, the gap between a writer’s life and her story, old and new, girlhood and womanhood and the messy road between.
