Martin Scorsese

Of his latest ventures, though, it is “Killers of the Flower Moon” that best captures the interstices between silence and splendor, complicity and culpability. It’s as much a grand meditative set piece on the terrors of the American settler project as it is a self-reflexive castigation of one’s own filmography, of the inadequacy and immateriality of narratives themselves.

Reading “difficult” novels trained me to exist in the moment, devoting every ounce of my attention to understanding the words in front of me. I no longer find my eyes flitting to dialogue, skimming past action lines to get to the end of the book.

At the same time, though, “auteur theory” leads to a lot of films getting excluded from their respective director’s canon.

In my mind, it’s fair to say there are two general interpretations of art’s purpose, and your views on “The Wolf of Wall Street” are likely to be defined by how you prioritize these interpretations.

It’s time for the Oscars to dispense with the waiting, and instead award the year’s brightest performances the first time around.

In a night seemingly meant to be ruled by Netflix, Netflix came up short at the 77th Golden Globe Awards.

For awards season fanatics, Monday’s nominations provided an early glimpse of what to expect in the upcoming months.

But ultimately, whether or not audiences will find the film favorable comes down to how they can handle its length.

Such politically charged material shouldn’t produce run-of-the-mill mediocrity. “Gringo” is as clueless as its protagonist.

“Baby Driver” is an infectious joyride because of its stellar performances and standout soundtrack, but ultimately, the film is a triumph for what it represents.