wherein a sitcom family—tense mom, supercilious dad, two smirking teens, and an annoying little sister—gathers in the dining room to partake of a delivered pizza.

Antic without being funny, The Terminal’s attempts at humor are largely predicated on calculating how many pratfalls can be derived from a wet floor

As the media’s Klieg lights lit up California

As defeated Poppy chokes back tears, Dubya trumps even the bilious, class-fueled anti-Clinton rage expressed by mother Barbara

It’s been a century since the violent, fast-moving pulse-pounder The Great Train Robbery left the nickelodeon audience agog

A techno-pop score, the first unmotivated music in any Jia film, provides a sense of voluptuous anomie, while shots of an empty highway add to the sedated sci-fi quality.

Gordon calls this piece Between Darkness and Light (After William Blake), and it’s hard to imagine a more Manichaean bill. It’s a Hollywood vision of Catholic good and evil

In the early 1990s, I made the truculent, unprovable assertion that if Chinese grandmaster Hou Hsiao-hsien were French, he’ d be the darling of Manhattan’s Upper West Side

Having already lost his East European bases to perestroika