Not Much Middle GroundBy David N. Meyer
2007 offered arty seriousness or genre kicks and little in between. Deep or stupid, the best films vested passionately in formal concerns (well, except for Superbad).
Ebony and IvoryBy Tessa DeCarlo
The RBF is a familiar figure to anyone whos flipped channels or visited a multiplex in the last half-century, and witnessed Americas long-running fascination with the spectacle of white stars reclaiming their better selves thanks to the friendship of a black counterpart.
Dawn of Japanese AnimationBy David Wilentz
Japan Societys Dawn of Japanese Animation series offers an illuminating look at the innovative early days of animation from the land of Astro Boy. These are not the direct antecedents of anime or prototypes of Speed Racer. The series features films from the late 20s through the 40s that are more parallel to the early cartoons of the west.
Close Your Eyes and Think of EnglandBy Sarahjane Blum
Teeth might have been a barren intellectual exercise.
Depilatory as MetaphorBy Sarah Kessler
Those of us dying for a decent womans film may nowat least temporarilycurtail our pining. Lebanese director Nadine Labakis Caramel unlaces the proverbial corset, breathing new life into what has become a disturbingly constricted genre.
This "Dream" is a NightmareBy Sophie Gilbert
In an interview with the London Guardian in 2004, while filming in the city, Woody Allen said of his recent spate of films, If I keep working, I think its possible that I could do a great film by accident.
Juno: A City in AlaskaBy John Oursler
It isnt entirely director Jason Reitmans fault that Juno is the most overrated film of 2007.
Radio OnBy Rudy Wurlitzer
Radio On represents a melancholy requiem from another time, another place.
Everybody Gets ScrewedBy Jesi Khadivi
This good old-fashioned melodrama explores political corruption, sexual coercion, poverty, religious fundamentalism and the deep-rooted melancholia at the core of contemporary Egyptian life.
Painter at WorkBy Josh Morgenthau
Cajoris camera takes us into Closes work station where, to his right are brushes, cans of paint-thinner, and rows of oil paint all neatly laid out; to his left is suspended a large Polaroid of his own bearded face, ponderously emerging from the dark.