This emotional documentary deftly combines foot-tapping concert footage with heartbreaking individual stories of living with—and searching for a cure for—a rare disease. It would be difficult not to be moved by the stories in Matter of Time of children and families living with a rare genetic condition that can shorten life spans and involve significant pain. We find out two of the profiled patients died before the film even premiered. Vedder is still himself on stage, cursing like a sailor, but he also chokes up and sings his heart out. Matter of Time deserves viewers' time. This review was originally published by Common Sense Media Images courtesy of Netflix

This review was originally published with The Alliance of Women Film Journalists Calle Málaga  is a warm and surprising tale about aging, family and sense of place. Veteran Carmen Maura stars as an elderly Spanish woman, raised as part of an immigrant community in Tangier, Morocco, who steadfastly refuses to spend her sunset years doing anything other than living the life she desires. She is a quiet yet determined 70-something heroine. Tangier-born director Maryam Touzani, who co-wrote the script with regular collaborator (and husband) Nabil Ayouch, has constructed a nuanced and sensitive film that infuses its story, star and setting with layers of meaning.  It’s a cliché that people often treat older women as invisible. In  Calle Málaga , Maura’s María Angeles makes invisibility an asset. It allows her to covertly move back into her empty apartment after her daughter, Clara (Marta Etura), forces her to put it on the market and sell off her things. It permits her to skirt the law and mount a makeshift speakeasy, earning enough money to slowly buy her furniture back. It lets her embark on a passionate affair in the privacy of her own space. In her refusal to leave Tangier and move to Madrid with Clara, María Angeles shows she knows her place and values her heritage there. In Moroccan society, as Touzani gently suggests, that also means knowing how to maneuver within male-dominant public spaces. María Angeles has friendly relations with all the local shopkeepers, police officers and young men on street corners, who happily extend her tabs, run her errands or even turn a blind eye on her legal evasions. Here she’s not invisible, but the strings she pulls are. She nods knowingly at the matronly lady on an adjacent balcony and relies on female neighbors for help with her affairs; the women control what goes on inside. Like her best childhood friend, nun Josefa (María Alfonso Rosso), who lives in a cloistered convent and keeps a vow of silence, and who may end up having enjoyed the most freedom of all – in full control of her environment and even her own thoughts. But men aren’t the bad guys in  Calle Málaga . When antiques dealer Abslam (Ahmed Boulane) finds himself drawn by María Angeles’ quiet determination, the two embark on a tender affair. He dotes on her needs, physical and emotional, in a way that surprises her after a lifetime of a comfortable but passionless marriage. Touzani captures the pair naked, slowly swaying to music, each savoring the touch of the other’s body. If there’s an antagonist in this story, it’s daughter Clara, whose inability to manage her own life leads her to nearly deflate her mother’s full one. But Touzani crafts Clara as a character to be pitied, not feared, a sad contrast to María Angeles’ vitality and sense of self. Dressed in drab colors, her straight hair tugging down her makeup-less features, Clara is a middle-aged mom reeling from a nasty divorce, denying herself dessert and scrambling as life passes her by. Lacking her mother’s pluck, she weeps at her plight but is seemingly incapable of changing it.  Clara's dourness colors the film’s grayer first act. It’s not until she leaves town, and María Angeles breaks out of the stifling senior residency where Clara has placed her, that the film – which won the Audience Award in the Spotlight section at last fall’s Venice Film Festival and was selected to represent Morocco in the International Oscar race (and will open the Málaga Film Festival in March) – really finds its rhythm. Maura’s charming performance is at the core. Through it all, María Angeles keeps her nails painted an impeccable red, one of several touches of symbolic coloring Touzani and DP Virginie Surdej keep coming back to. They convey her unyielding passion in scarlet nails and lips, clothing and décor. The ruby flowers she nurtures on her balcony and sprinkles as a romantic gesture for Abslam suggest her ability to blossom where planted. And when she leaves roses on family members’ tombstones, including one she pieces back together after it’s shattered, we understand her determination to stand her ground. If the damask rose is Morocco’s national flower, Touzani’s María Angeles may be the unofficial mascot of the Spaniards who have made Tangier their permanent home.   Images courtesy of Strand Releasing

This Paul McCartney-focused documentary is an informative and entertaining look at the period between the break-up of the Beatles and the death of John Lennon. Man on the Run starts in a frenzy, with an expected montage of footage, photos, and music amplified with quick-paced collages and animations edited together. It's all very Yellow Submarine, but in a subtle touch, the style gets progressively more mellow over the course of the movie. This ties in nicely with the film's theme of McCartney having to "grow up'" following the Beatles' dissolution. There's certainly enough material out there about the Beatles, but the limited time frame here is curious and leaves the viewer wanting more. It's also an interesting choice to have no talking heads in the film, just voiceovers. They're not missed visually, but it does freeze the image of McCartney in time in his late 20s and early 30s—even while he's narrating much of the action now, in his 80s. This is a creative and engaging entry to the surplus of materials about the Beatles and their former members. Read the full review at Common Sense Media Images courtesy of Amazon Prime

In some ways, the title of this film is misleading—it sounds like we are looking at another Nat Geo nature documentary, but this is something very different. First of all, Elephant Ghosts seems more focused on the humans than the animals, which makes sense considering how elusive the elephants are. Legendary filmmaker Werner Herzog narrates the tale, reminding himself not to "romanticize" the native bushmen but still finding them endlessly fascinating—the cradle of humanity, the ancestors of all humans, the site of the "awakening of the human soul." These are people who still hand-start fires and can mimic animal sounds in the wild but are also speedy on a cell phone. Herzog explains some of the traditions we see, but leaves a lot unexplored as well (and no female Africans speak in the film). But Herzog also infuses the film with his usual touch of magic, from the dreamy musings of protagonist Boyes to the transcendent African landscapes set to mystical intonations. He keeps his camera just a moment longer than you'd expect on the mapped faces of elderly tribesmen and a local leopard-print-clad king. He follows a dung beetle home and admits he's weirded out by (but can't seem to look away from) a poisonous spider with a vibrating backpack of baby spiders—also poisonous. He somehow captures an elephant from under water, double rainbows gracing the plains, and trackers falling into trances where they may be possessed by elephant spirits. Originally published 3/6 by Common Sense Media Images courtesy of Disney+/Hulu.

This 3.5-hour extravaganza, released simultaneously with a companion documentary series, might feel like self-aggrandizing overkill—but only to non-Swifties. Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour – The Final Show captures Swift's joyous, clear-eyed, flirtatious, youthful energy and her connection with her fans, even from a stadium stage. She makes a point of telling them they're the ones who created the community feel of her historic tour, and the "glorious" feeling of singing together in a stadium (especially post-pandemic). As the camera pans around the packed Vancouver stadium (60,000 people!), we see audience members—mostly women, but some men, and lots of little girls—crying, screaming, laughing, singing, filming, and all around having a moment. Swift puts on a real show, and you get the sense her fans would be just as wowed if she were alone on the stage instead of surrounded by the multitude of screens and dancers. If you weren't one of the 10 million who could afford a ticket to the actual tour, the filmed version offers an enjoyable substitute. Read the full review on Common Sense Media. Images courtesy of Disney+

Like the magazine itself, this documentary will speak mainly to a core and loyal audience of sophisticated readers, and it provides insights and historical narratives they will appreciate. The New Yorker at 100 moves at a brisk pace and flips engagingly through decades. With chief editor Remnick as guide, the film puts faces to names on some of the highest profile reporters as well as the unknown fact-checkers, designers, and office manager-slash-archivist who maintain this institution's reputation for meticulous, thoughtful, culture-capturing work and keep its storied history alive. It shows how the magic is made. It's not clear why Julianne Moore was selected as narrator, and the star interviewees weren't entirely necessary, but that connection to celebrity is undoubtedly also part of the magazine's mystique. Read the full review on Common Sense Media Images courtesy of Netflix.

This lyrical meditation on life in a specific time and place relies on a subtle and expressive lead performance by Edgerton and majestic cinematography to craft a melancholy yet mystical tale. Train Dreams is reminiscent of an artful piece of historical fiction like Roma . There's no grand action to hook viewers, no predictable formula to follow. Instead, the film feels very much a literary adaptation, especially with its somewhat superfluous voice-over filling in narrative gaps. This sweeping epic captures not just one man's tough, tragic life, and not just the human exploitation and development of the still-wild Pacific Northwest, but rather the deep and unbreakable connection between the two. Read the full review on Common Sense Media Images courtesy of Netflix

In an age when any millionaire can go to space, women can vie for any career, and being gay shouldn't result in public ridicule or hate, Sally Ride's story reminds us of a different time. Sally tells that story, using those closest to her to fill in the pieces that Ride intentionally left blank on her own life tale. As one interviewee puts it, how sad that a person admired so broadly felt she had to hide such an important part of herself from the public eye. What is disclosed here provides interesting insights into Ride's personality as well as the rarified life experience of an astronaut. She is described as competitive, cocky, rough around the edges, and intensely private about her emotions—characteristics that, it's said, made her exceptional at work and difficult at home. She "lived on her own terms," even despite intense media scrutiny. Footage of press conferences singling her out among her colleagues for overtly sexist questions is downright embarrassing by today's standards. The film makes its point and is engaging and informative. What could potentially have been weeded out are gratuitous dramatizations of past events. Read the full review at Common Sense Media . Images courtesy of Disney+.

Tense and well-acted, this thriller weaves a captivating story of fatally flawed characters getting lost in their own bad decisions. Echo Valley lags a little bit in the third act but comes to a satisfying twist ending. Moore carries the film with a nuanced performance as the manipulatable mom, lonely, still grieving her wife's death, and yearning for any connection with the daughter she once knew. Sweeney is also powerful in a disturbing role that wavers between loving daughter, fearful tears, stoned detachment, and violent outbursts. This film is as much about the toll addiction takes on relationships as it is the plot points of the action, and both will replay in your mind well after the film ends. Read the full review at Common Sense Media Images courtesy of AppleTV+

Honest, affecting, tender, and inspirational, this documentary is a wholly unique piece of work. Perhaps it shouldn't, but it does still feel unexpected to see a male rocker open up so freely about his emotions, as Bono does quite dramatically in Bono: Stories of Surrender . He calls it "navel-gazing," but the revelations and reenactments carry real value—not just in getting to know the innermost thoughts and feelings of this public figure, but also in normalizing the public sharing and exploration of a man's sentiments. The theatrically stark black-and-white staging of the stories and songs, including some gorgeous a cappella belting, adds to the drama. Bono describes his father's standard life question whenever they would meet at the pub: Anything strange or startling? The answer is yes—this documentary. Read the full review at Common Sense Media Images courtesy of AppleTV+

Miles Teller and Anya Taylor-Joy do their best to keep this implausible action film (and equally improbable romance) from sinking into absurdity, and they sort of succeed. The stars of AppleTV+'s  The Gorge  take their roles seriously, despite some wild shifts in tone between romance and horror. (When their flirting is interrupted by crazy-looking creatures attacking them, they snap right back to their dalliance as if without further thought. What?!) They also carry off the action sequences with aplomb. Their efforts compensate for an ambitious script that isn't totally sure of the tone it's going for, and a farfetched storyline forced to explain itself too simplistically through a found video. Sigourney Weaver is also disappointingly underused. Read the full review at Common Sense Media Images courtesy of AppleTV+

When film industry magazine Screen International broke a story at the Cannes Film Festival on Tuesday about a group of middle-aged women who were turned away from a film screening for wearing flats rather than heels, the web-fueled backlash was resounding. Some were calling it “Flatgate.” It brought back a lot of memories for me as I used to cover the Cannes festival every year as a correspondent for Screen. In flats. What’s interesting is that this year’s 68th edition of Cannes, running May 13 to May 24, was shaping up to be remembered as “the year of the woman.” It may still be remembered as such, just not in the way organizers might have hoped. Cannes made a statement by opening this year with a French film, “Standing Tall” (“La Tete Haute”), by director Emanuelle Bercot, only the second woman ever to receive the honor. The choice appeared to have been a response to past years’ criticism of a lack of female directors at the festival. And it struck a clear chord: the lack of opportunities and stories for women in the film industry has been a theme across the festival this year, from press conferences, interviews and industry announcements to a notable number of female-focused films and casts.​​ And now, the poor ladies in the rhinestone flats. ​​ Under the red carpet​​ It seems there’s always something to divert the attention away from the actual films at Cannes. Earlier this spring, Festival Director Thierry Fremaux made headlines when he announced plans to crack down on people taking selfies on the red carpet, a practice he bigheartedly labelled “extremely ridiculous and grotesque.”​​ It’s a sentiment that encapsulates Cannes’ not always comfortable fusion of the commercial and the creative, industry and art, high and low culture, market and festival. Cannes is glamorous, there’s no doubt about it. There are bashes on the beach, interviews in limousines and parties at hilltop estates. There are receptions on yachts and cocktails on hotel patios. There are multi-course meals, bucketloads of wine and that sapphire Mediterranean eternally twinkling on the horizon. And of course, there is constant talk of movies. For journalists covering the event, there are also mandatory crack-of-dawn editorial meetings, merciless daily deadlines, bandaged feet from perpetual pavement pounding, and a lack of sleep that can shorten the fuse of even the gentlest reporter. This is (apologies, former colleagues) the indisputably less glamorous side of Cannes. Where flat shoes reign supreme. Underneath the Palais theater, where the official film screenings take place, downstairs from the packed press conference halls, deep below the much-photographed red carpet, lies a basement labyrinth of makeshift cubicles plastered with movie posters and teeming with sweaty sales agents, bleary-eyed buyers and amped-up journalists searching for a story. Because, as “Flatgate” and “Selfiegate” make clear, the story out of Cannes isn’t only what’s happening in the theaters. This column originally ran in The Daily Record .