I’ll admit upfront that I’m not a fan of the films of Robert Eggers. I didn’t mind The Witch, although I found the ending laughable which was a shame as it had a great mood, but I really hated The Northman and The Lighthouse and so when I heard that he had remade Nosferatu, I had mixed feelings.
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I have a patchy relationship with Pedro Almodóvar. From loving his early films, I lost my way with some of his more recent dry melodramas, like Julieta. He won me back though with Pain and Glory and so I was tentatively excited to see his latest.
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It’s a swing and a miss from Ethan Coen‘s first solo film without his brother Joel.
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I expected a kaleidoscope of kick-ass Michelle Yeoh martial arts awesomeness and got that and much more.
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It has been about a week since I saw this latest film from Sean Baker (The Florida Project) and I still feel suffused with its sad beauty.
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I didn’t expect to feel quite so gutted by what seemed to be an ‘odd couple in Poland’ navel-gazing by Jesse Eisenberg.
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Okay, full disclosure; I had very low expectations of this sequel to the much loved Russell Crowe sword and sandals epic that came out almost a quarter of a century ago.
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I am grieving a little bit for my 24-year-old self. Paris, Texas was the movie for me in the 80s. I was living in London with a lot of time on my hands and not that big a social circle. I discovered arthouse cinemas in Soho and Brixton and would go on my own to see these weird and wonderful films.
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I think it says a lot that a film like this can be made about someone who is now the sitting president of the United States of America.
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What is it with horror movies in 2024? It feels like a golden age of clever, intellectual, and suspenseful horrors that trade on our understanding of the genre without ever feeling like they are relying on cheap thrills.
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