Truth and tall tales collide in Guy Maddin’s whimsical reminiscence about his hometown, which mythologizes a place and a people who chose not to make a big deal about themselves.
This mild, wandering documentary offers a loose, sweet fly-on-the-wall look at Japan’s Studio Ghibli as co-founder Hayao Miyazaki works on his probable swan song, 2013’s The Wind Rises.
Before making Selma, Ava DuVernay won a directing prize at Sundance for her second feature, a perceptive drama about a woman (Emayatzy Corinealdi) determined to wait out her husband’s eight-year prison sentence.
On paper, Dustin Hoffman’s comedy about an actor who finds fame and love by cross-dressing looks like a wacky comedy. On the screen, it plays entirely differently.
As the New Hollywood movement started taking shape in the late 1960s, some veteran directors had trouble updating their style for the changing times. A trio of late-period Otto Preminger films are a fascinating example.
Before graduating to more acclaimed films like Gods And Monsters, Kinsey, and Dreamgirls, director Bill Condon cut his teeth on this horror sequel, which takes its villain from Chicago’s Cabrini Green to New Orleans at its most overwrought.
Before Inherent Vice, there was Robert Altman’s definitive SoCal noir, which adapts a Raymond Chandler novel into a shaggy private-eye picture that’s full of hazy atmosphere and irreverent attitude.
Terry Gilliam’s early feature, made for kids from a kid’s perspective, has all his usual obsessions and plenty of entertaining performance, but critically lacks focus.
Liliana Cavani’s film about the sadomasochistic relationship between a well-to-do woman in 1950s Vienna and a former Nazi who tortured her during the war is poised uncomfortably between art and exploitation.
Plagued by a mysterious allergy to everything, a woman seeks a cure in Todd Haynes’ 1995 masterpiece.
Criterion collects nearly 10 hours of Blank’s docs about food, music, and life in this set, showcasing films Werner Herzog say teach more about America than 500 books.
The shock has worn off Michelangelo Antonioni’s 1960 breakthrough, but that hasn’t made it any less powerful.
Before shifting focus to Mad magazine, EC Comics had phenomenal success with lurid horror and suspense comics. In the early 1970s, those stories were translated into two stylish, perverse anthologies.
Bernardo Bertolucci’s landmark film about the making of an Italian fascist (Jean-Louis Trintignant) has a gorgeous, Expressionist grandeur, courtesy of cinematographer Vittorio Storaro.
Frank Capra’s 1934 film captured a spirit of abandon that defined the romantic-comedy genre, and set a model for all the ones that followed.
In 1965, Roger Corman gave director Monte Hellman and actor Jack Nicholson $150,000 to shoot back-to-back Westerns in the Utah desert. They returned with two spare, elliptical films that helped redefine the genre.
A sharp new Blu-ray brings out the long-lost detail in 1920’s German Expressionist touchstone The Cabinet Of Dr. Caligari, in ways that make a nearly century-old film feel modern again.
Director Shirley Clarke shocked the squares with her 1962 underground hit The Connection. A pair of reissued Clarke documentaries took a similarly frank approach to profiling radical artists.
Released in 1978, Billy Wilder’s penultimate film finds him half-invested in a Hollywood mystery, but it comments distinctively on the state of his career and proves a fascinating companion to his Sunset Blvd.