Robert Eggers’ witchy, weird, and pitilessly violent Viking revenge saga, The Northman, features operatic scope and magical imagery that will burn into your retinas.
Fintan O’Toole’s lucid history of Ireland, We Don’t Know Ourselves, is a vivid telling of how his country’s culture of silence and repression was broken open.
The subtle microaggressions in Mariama Diallo’s Master say far more about the sorry-not-sorry state of racial consciousness in America than the witch does.
The same forces that tore apart societies from Yugoslavia to Iraq, Columbia, Northern Ireland, and the West Bank are fully present in the US, warns How Civil Wars Start.
Fellini’s fable about an innocent clown roaming postwar Italy with an abusive strongman, La Strada, has the romance of his later epics but a more potent sense of tragedy.
John McWhorter’s pushback against the antiracist orthodoxy of Robin DiAngelo and Ibram X. Kendi lands palpable hits but is too scattered to win the match.
Lynne Ramsay’s gutting, eerily beautiful first film, Ratcatcher, shows a director refusing to let the impoverished circumstances of her characters define them.
Todd Haynes’ audiovisual blast delves into the creative combat that birthed America’s first great avant-garde rock ‘n’ roll band, the Velvet Underground.
In the inside-out drama Bergman Island, a filmmaker couple vacationing in Ingmar Bergman’s old home find the lines between their work and their lives blurring.
Pablo Larraín’s Ema conveys his usual hypnotic and sinuous flow of sight and sound, but it’s delivered here with a more modernistic, punchy antagonism