Peter Goldberg

It’s apparent that Veiroj disdains no one so much as Humberto, but the film makes vanishingly little of the man’s undoubtedly twisted psyche.

The film is refreshing for its lack of pearl-clutching, its ambivalence in assessing what it’s like to be a commodity with a will and a nervous system.

Playfully biting as it can be, Tel Aviv on Fire tends to falter when it loses sight of the target of its satire.

The film finds Dónal Foreman exploring the suggestive gaps that exist between his own biography and that of his father.

At its best, the film is a testament to how Ruth Westheimer’s practiced decency was literally a saving grace during the Reagan era.

With the film, Harmony Korine solidifies his position as the premier cartographer of the Sunshine State as a place of unhurried pursuits.

Its drawn-out descriptions of culinary traditions and practices are enticing enough, but the same can’t be said about the characterizations.

Single-minded and direct in its execution, the film is a hard look at the extremes of masculine guilt and healing.

While it pays lip service to the fascinating theatrical norms of pro wrestling, the film ends up expending most of its energy on its search for barriers that Paige can break through.

This gender-swapped update of What Women Want doesn’t pass up the opportunity to undercut itself whenever it gets the chance.