Strong Island

This potent film gives equal weight to complex emotions as well as bare facts. In the same way, it's not just the story of a man's death, but also a study of the aftermath.

Courageous, intimate, heart-rending ...

What's valuable here, in addition to Ford's visual mastery, is the wealth of context that he provides.

Ford is more than a witness-he is a crucial participant in the events of the film, and its elements of pain and guilt are reflected in his grief-stricken, self-interrogating aesthetic.

Ford's intent as a filmmaker isn't just to expose and protest the injustice of his brother's murder. It's to say: Behold what was lost. A life. A human being. A complex soul. A family's equilibrium. Feel what was lost.

Truly special, especially as it moves towards its final act, in which Yance begins to wonder about his own actions before William Jr.'s death, and how they might have contributed to the situation.

If the excerpts from the diary leading up to his death don't break your heart, you probably haven't got one.

This is cinematic intimacy in the best manner for the worst of all reasons.

It's clear that the filmmaker wants you to feel the same kind of hurt and anger he feels as more information unfolds about William Ford Jr.'s death.

The pain of Will's death is very much present, still, and Strong Island-one of the best films of the year-is an attempt to harness it.

Slyly edited in a way that plays with timelines and repetitions, while also allowing her interview subjects to occasionally veer on tangents, Ford's film is something much more intimate than just mere memoir of cinematic vigil.

The film builds, out of an outlet for discussing the tragedy of one family, into an emotionally, intellectually, and aesthetically complex work of essay and memoir.