Worthwhile for those who’re seeking that extra push to jump on the Buster train, but for die-hard fans like me, this biographical doc will be preaching to the converted. Bogdanovich sits back and lets Keaton’s films play out, not bothering much to add anything in the way of his own flourish. Nothing fills me with more joy than excerpts of Keaton’s best work, and yet, there could be a lot more information on the table here. Nevertheless, anything that opens…

Sleazy burlesque brilliance, buoyed by an audacious standoff between the old and the new. While Emil Jannings’ performance is entrancingly loud, teeming with the vivid hand gestures of silent film, Marlene Dietrich offers a contrary in style, every word delivered with total conviction. Add to that the jagged shadows and atmospheric set designs of German Expressionism, and what’s left is a true artefact of evolution; a prime example of the respective era’s underlying desire to root itself in more modernist…

Beyond words. Anything that starts and ends this flawlessly is deserving of full marks, but to be honest, it’s films like this which make rating systems seem totally meaningless. Going out on an undeniable bang, Red couldn’t be a more perfect end-note to a trilogy, transcending its predecessors through its microcosmic depiction of existential coincidence, baffling camerawork and an ending for the history books setting it well apart from the rest. It’s like Kieślowski suddenly woke up to something on…

I’m a failure. I never even finished school. I think about death too much. My brain is a prison. I’m getting fatter. My hair is too ginger in the sun. The 9-5 job I work is mindless. I’m estranged from my family. I’ve had addiction issues for ten years. They’re becoming a part of me. Just when I start to get clean, something sends me into relapse. I’m twenty-four but fifty seems imminent. I have spells of manic depression. Sometimes…