Gotham Awards Revue: "Blue Sun Palace"

by Nick Taylor

The variations of melancholy on display in Blue Sun Palace, ranging from everyday stressors to self-recriminating shame, to the profoundly dull ache of existing in the shadow of life-shattering upheavals, are an exquisite feat. Director Constance Tsang’s penchant for choreographing scenes in one shot allows her to parse the emotional gradations and inflections with a fine-toothed comb. Sometimes, she distills her character’s moods in a single static shot. At others, she has her camera pan back and forth across a conversation, as if it’s a silent but active participant. Her directorial choices always feel deliberate without being show-offy, even when teeing up another self-consciously beautiful image or logistically challenging camera movement...

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In defense of "A House of Dynamite"

by Lynn Lee

A House of Dynamite is…dynamite!  Why do I feel like the only one who still thinks this, and is still excited about a movie that’s fallen completely off the awards buzz radar? 

I saw a screening of Kathryn Bigelow’s nuclear doomsday procedural – really, that’s what it is – at this year’s Middleburg Film Festival, right around the time it was getting its bare-minimum Netflix theatrical release.  As the credits rolled, I had two simultaneous reactions:

Wow, that was some damn good filmmaking.

Wow, we are so utterly fucked...

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Review: Reichardt takes on the heist movie in "The Mastermind"

by Cláudio Alves

Many of contemporary cinema's most celebrated auteurs have recently chosen to exercise their comedic muscles. Park Chan-wook leans on farcicalness and cartoon-like mugging as he's never done before in No Other Choice, while even something as palpably angry as Jafar Panahi's It Was Just An Accident often moves in the way of screwball escalation. One Battle After Another is as harrowing as it is hilarious, and the same could be said of The Secret Agent. Down in the arthouse weeds, we can find Guiraudie and Kurosawa probing the limits of absurdity. Marco Berger lovingly contemplates the romcom while, in the mainstream, Celine Song tries to subvert it. Pálmason is off in his own world, somehow turning child maiming into comedy gold in The Love That Remains. 

Which leads us to The Mastermind, Kelly Reichardt's take on a heist movie, starring the ever-fumbling and disheveled Josh O'Connor performing another rendition of the pathetic loser blues he's been perfecting for the best part of the last decade. Hardly a laugh riot in the traditional sense, I'd still call it one of 2025's funniest flicks…

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NYFF 63: Rose Byrne sinks her teeth into Mary Bronstein's "If I Had Legs I'd Kick You"

by Cláudio Alves

No mother is ever good enough. Not according to her children, nor to extended family, friends, nosy neighbors, presumptuous strangers. Not in the collective imagination of society at large and, above all else, herself. It might not seem like it, considering all the dubious looks and insulting concerns thrown her way, but she is her own worst critic. Others try their best, but there will never be a harshest judge than mother. Hell, she's prosecutor, accused and accuser, key witness and vengeful jury all wrapped into one in a trial that might sound like a pity party but is closer to a circus of fire and fury and self-loathing. 

Just ask Linda, the ever-aggrieved lead of Mary Bronstein's If I Had Legs I'd Kick You, played by Rose Byrne as a woman under the influence and on the verge of a nervous breakdown. And who can blame her for being such a mess? There's a hole in her daughter's stomach and a hole in her ceiling…

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Review: A mesmerizing Marion Cotillard reigns over Lucile Hadžihalilovic's "The Ice Tower"

by Cláudio Alves

The Ice Tower starts in the fashion of a trance-like fairytale, pulling you in through visions of refracted light, a snow globe landscape deconstructed by optical illusion. In the background, music twinkles, practically glistens as if singing the song one imagines a bauble would if it had a voice. And speaking of voices, a mellifluous woman sounds off, narrating and enchanting, beckoning closer in tones that feel like freshly fallen snow on a flushed cheek. It's Marion Cotillard, yet unseen but already magnetic as the Snow Queen and the actress who breathes life into her, a double role in a backstage melodrama with a Freudian spin.

Lucile Hadžihalilovic, one of contemporary cinema's most underrated masters, reunites with Cotillard, 21 years after Innocence, for a film that's both a free adaptation of Hans Christian Andersen's classic story and its echo...

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