“Scott Walker: 30 Century Man,” is the story of and oracular singer, experimental composer, British-based American expatriate and reclusive cult figure.
When Sissy Spacek speaks her clichéd lines in the mediocre screenplay of “Lake City,” her delivery lends them a resonance that is not in the written words.
A tablespoon of blues and two teaspoons each of soft-rock, jazz and traditional pop: that recipe only begins to describe the stylistic ingredients in the music of Boz Scaggs, who opened at the Blue Note on Monday.
In “My Name Is Bruce,” a silly horror comedy that only a cultist could love, Bruce Campbell, the star of countless B-movie thrillers, mercilessly spoofs himself.
Onstage, Lynda Carter, who opened a one-week engagement at Feinstein’s at Loews Regency on Tuesday, blends the confidence of a beauty queen with the attitude of a blues singer.
“Passengers” is a supernatural thriller so mechanically inept and lacking in suspense that it doesn’t even pass muster as lowbrow Halloween-ready entertainment.
What does it say about our culture that “The Wrestler” and “Changeling,” the most prominent American films in the New York Film Festival, are shameless Oscar bait?
John Pizzarelli and Jessica Molaskey, the wittiest, most musically savvy husband-and-wife team in pop-jazz, transformed Café Carlyle into a silk-covered magic carpet that floated up and away to screwball heaven.
There is hardly a moment in this film in which you are not aware that its absurdist view of the human condition was shaped by traumatic 20th-century events.
Guillaume Canet’s delicious contemporary thriller “Tell No One” is “Vertigo” meets “The Fugitive” by way of “The Big Sleep.” That is meant as high praise.
The moody, surreal “XXY” explores the world of Alex, an intersex teenager navigating the treacherous emotional and hormonal rapids of uncertain gender.
At the Cafe Carlyle on Tuesday, it was almost possible to imagine that time had stood still since Christopher Cross's fleeting golden moment 28 years ago.
To observe a fluctuating group of about two dozen singers whose average age is 80 perform in the documentary “Young@Heart” is to be uplifted, if slightly unsettled.