Malick reveals a saint for our time, and for all time.

Idiosyncratic and full of horror imagery, this is a film about the descent into madness of two men.

Gerwig couldn’t have asked for a better cast. Fresh and classic at the same time.

Martin does his work for the Art; Moore does his for the fans whose adulation he craves.

I didn’t expect to like it. However, Waititi’s film is very much an anti-hate satire.

The bizarre premise works so well.

Justice and mercy have met, proclaims the Psalm. Certainly not in Alabama in the late 1980s.

Hauser is outstanding as Jewell, compelling and moving.

While Emmerich gives a great deal of attention to the Yanks, he does the same for the Japanese

Good that rookie Brian Kirk admires Michael Mann more than Michael Bay.

This is not the typical feminist film Hollywood is used to.

Compared to other Scorsese mafia hits, its tone is quieter, even hushed.

Sharp diversions into emotion flirt with tonal whiplash, but the excellent cast help these soapier elements feel real and earned.

Tension aptly accumulates, but Wells’ subtle nuances await a different kind of movie.

Baumbach has created a masterful elegy for Nicole and Charlie's love story.

The real agenda of their slick movie is graphically portrayed gory mayhem.

Unsparing in its portrayal of misery, luminous in its affirmation of civilized values

It deftly avoids descending into a politically charged statement or a simplistic “us versus them”

For those wanting something interesting, something different, something involving

Clint Eastwood Plays It Straight With a Story of Injustice