
The Retrieval review: the emotional legacy of American slavery
Deceptively simple and deeply cutting. A remarkable little film, a marvel of American indie filmmaking and of stories typically overlooked.

Deceptively simple and deeply cutting. A remarkable little film, a marvel of American indie filmmaking and of stories typically overlooked.

This too gentle mockumentary barely even takes aim at its easiest potential targets, but the appealing cast is game and manages a few cogent hits.

Studios quoting random people on Twitter needed a takedown, and this is it.

The terror at change that characterizes what passes for American entertainment has finally overstayed the welcome it never had.

Oh what a lovely film! As romance and history, this is by turns funny and tragic, suspenseful and celebratory, and never less than solidly entertaining.

A teeth-grindingly, blood-boilingly infuriating cinematic trial that’s like an art school film project gone horribly awry.

Looking up through the glass-sidewalked entryway of the Channel 4 HQ, from the lobby of its subterranean screening room.

The few outright scares are curiously circumspect, but the old-fashioned Hammer Horror atmosphere is appealingly spooky.

Shipping containers get a new life as support for stairs at Southbank.

Scarlett Johansson is an alien serial killer who sexes men to death in a misogynist fanboy wet dream that also fails to satisfy as science fiction.