Alex Harrison

When I reviewed Enys Men for ScreenRant in 2023, I was awed by the use of form on display, but wished for more of a narrative backbone to hold all that atmosphere together. Rose of Nevada, Jenkin's latest film, supplies it. The haunted, slippery feeling of his movies is very effective when applied to a supernatural mystery, and that sense of full understanding being just out of reach becomes something pulling you further in, rather than pushing you out. For something so deliberately paced, I found it completely gripping.

Burns is going for smooth entertainment here, and the light tone keeps Finnegan's Foursome from diving into some of the emotional territory it could have. He's also conceived this as a story about the brothers first and foremost, and the children function mostly as an extension of their drama, rather than a chance to explore a whole new set of relationships. One can only imagine what this script might've accomplished in the hands of a more ambitious dramatist. However, those frustrations are only really allowed to surface because Burns' film takes its time getting into a groove – once it does, it's easy to become swept up in its gentle current.

I have been more engaged trying to sift through my feelings about this movie after the fact than I was actually watching it. Sometimes, when it comes to art, that's just how it is, and I don't think I could convincingly say Jinsei is unsuccessful. But I don't think it's successful enough. Though it creates striking moments and leaves a lasting impact of some kind, Suzuki aims for a scope of storytelling that his film just doesn't achieve anywhere but on paper.

This movie is made for a world that has us spending most of our time looking down, whether metaphorically, heads buried in our own work and struggles, or literally, absorbed by the phones that have overtaken our lives. As if watching the skies is too big an ask in that context, Spielberg instead uses all his directorial power to encourage us to look at each other. The result is another great film in a career filled with them. Structured like a thriller with a propulsiveness worthy of Indiana Jones, Disclosure Day is an attempt to meet this cynical, divided moment and treat it with empathy, as well as with a healthy dose of good, ol' fashioned entertainment.

The filmmakers, and co-writer, producer, and star Brett Goldstein in particular, clearly have a sense of what it is that makes studio rom-coms so appealing, and they've built this one to actually deliver on it. It's a little shaggy, perhaps, and I inevitably found myself missing the shot-on-film glow that did so much for the movies of that bygone era. But I can't really complain. My default state watching Office Romance was a giddy smile.

The more standard it feels, the harder it becomes to be swept up in the narrative swells, and the film's reach eventually exceeds its grasp. But even if it isn't shattering, Miss You, Love You still entertains.

Though I won't be asking for my 60 minutes back, it's about as far from essential viewing as you can get.

Netflix's new movie is no shoddy disaster – it's a competently, if unexceptionally, mounted production by director Thea Sharrock, featuring an impressive British and Irish cast. It's not entirely without laughs, either. But this story of a chauvinist who bumps his head and wakes up in a world where women are in charge is so fundamentally misguided that I at times could not believe I was actually watching it. A comedy sketch premise stretched to feature length, the team behind Ladies First should have spent a little less time on thinking up gender-flipped jokes and more time wondering whether they actually had a coherent story worth telling.

This Australian horror film has many similarly striking images in it; writer-director Natalie Erika James clearly has a talent for crafting them. In this instance, however, that proves as much an asset as a drawback. Neither Saccharine's narrative nor editing have the same vitality, and James communicates her ideas so succinctly that too much of our time is spent waiting for the story to continue along the obvious road ahead of it. There are moments of vice-like terror that use the pacing to slowly surround us and squeeze, but the movie lacks the formal tightness to keep it up for very long. Just as often, Saccharine inspires impatience.

Almodóvar makes thrillingly clear that the moral cost of drawing on one's own life to make fiction is the true subject of this film. Everything else becomes richer through this meta lens.

Corrigan approaches his film's many user interfaces with a show-don't-tell philosophy. Every click, every keystroke, is treated like an opportunity to reveal personality. It not only keeps the screenlife conceit interesting, but makes it feel vital.

The central conceit is both interesting and clever, it's often touchingly performed, and it has some ideas that are, when dwelt on, quite profound. But the story is wrapped in a self-consciously "artistic" style that is only rarely additive. More often, it just gets in the way.

Cameron has said in interviews that sharing directorial credit was his idea, and he repeatedly shows us why. In one pre-show scene, the two of them map out where to place the cameras to best capture a particular part of the performance; in another, Eilish explains to camera what she's after with the show's song-specific color scheme. This concert is a work of art, and Eilish is its director – with this film, Cameron is less striving to create his own art than to capture Eilish's.

What enjoyment there is to draw from the action, which has its ups and downs, is tainted by the skepticism of this whole endeavor that's baked into the filmmaking. Even knowing better which direction they should go in, McQuoid & Co. remain frustratingly unwilling to commit to it. What they've made is tellingly at its best when making fun of itself.

In the moment, I thought it was very successful, and quite moving. In retrospect, however, the lens that we're forced to view the film through cheapens what we actually spent most of our time watching. Omaha can't really be seen the same way twice, but it's well worth it for that first viewing experience – and for John Magaro's performance, which will surely be some of the most quietly powerful work of the year.

Though it's an often beautiful showcase for the Arabian desert landscape, Desert Warrior is a slow, awkward jumble, trying so hard to be cool and lacking any of the style or charisma to pull it off. The climactic battle has some redeeming qualities, but after waiting 90 minutes to see it and finding it so choppily edited as to be distracting, the prevailing feeling I carried with me after it ended was still disappointment.

Blue Heron is the kind of movie that begs to be written about at length. For now, I'll have to be content with assuring you that this is one of the year's best movies. If it comes to a theater near you, don't miss it.

Writer-director Lee Cronin holds onto the essential mythology while bringing in elements from a host of other influences, including the Evil Dead series, The Exorcist, and Hereditary, to try and shake up what mummies can be on screen. Discovering the true nature of this film's mummy, and what it's capable of, is part of the fun. The result isn't quite a 28 Days Later moment – one way to understand the film's full title is that this feels like one filmmaker's interpretation of a classic monster, rather than a new template for others to follow – but it's definitely the scariest a mummy movie has been in years.

Despite having a decent budget and some recognizable actors to work with, writer-director Tommy Wirkola, known for Nazi zombie film Dead Snow and his Santa action film Violent Night, ensured what ended up on screen was a pretty fun B picture. It doesn't have the stylistic touch that can sometimes bring a little something extra to playful genre films, nor does it have a true standout sequence that could give it a chance at a longer cultural life. But it does have just the tone you'd hope it would, especially as it nears its climax, and that's all it really needs to deliver the goods.

Hill is willing to look critically at some of his industry's darkness, but he's also far too inclined to let his lead off the hook, and his film is weaker for it. As dark comedy, Outcome feels underbaked; as drama, it lacks sufficient introspection to have earned its emotional catharsis. Part of that is length: At under 90 minutes, the film is sometimes choppy and out of breath, and more time to flesh out its ideas might have helped it feel more tonally balanced. But no one change could fix a problem that's rooted in the vision for this material.

As it tells a thrilling story, engineered with expert precision to keep you hanging on every turn, it embarks on a truly fascinating thought experiment about the nature of identity in relationships: who we are to other people, how easily that can change, and how disruptive it can be when it does. This film is rooted (to steal one of its laugh lines) in "double empathy," exploring when and why we condemn others without itself condemning any of its characters. It may be an entertaining conversation piece, but make no mistake, The Drama is also one of the best movies you'll see this year.

It sits somewhere at the intersection of Quentin Tarantino and Sam Raimi, though without the former's control of form and the latter's splatstick comedic timing, it can't quite live up to the potential of that mashup. Still, it's plenty of fun. Zazie Beetz is the ideal badass heroine to carry this movie, and there are more than enough moments of stylish violence (and violent style) to get the whole theater cackling.

Sam somewhat shrinks into the periphery of the story to make way for Amanda Peet's Dianne, whose tonal world is welcome, but certainly different. Rather than hold things together, Shear the filmmaker seems to step back, too. The result is a film that only exists in moments: sometimes funny, sometimes interesting, always lacking the cohesion necessary to add up to anything.

The film may not always conquer its genre's tendency toward oversimplification, but what complexity makes it to the screen is enough to come away from it with something to chew on.

It doesn't quite have the courage to be the best version of itself. Still, it works. War Machine is an action movie you feel in your body, and it mixes in the right dose of sci-fi VFX without losing sight of the character that keeps you caring.

It's possible to watch this movie thinking mostly of what could have been – if the script was as deft as it sometimes pretends to be, this had the makings of a truly great thriller. But The Rip is a good time when experienced on its wavelength, and worthy material for a relaxed night in.

Ignore the publicity bluster, and you'll find at the core of Song Sung Blue the same modest dream to entertain that drives the Sardinas. Is it one of the best films of the year? Certainly not. But a good time at the movies? You betcha.

It would be unfair to assign blame to any one performance, or even to Winslet's direction, when the script is the obvious culprit. Story or character hurdles are thrown up and surmounted with the same neatness, sapping them of their impact. The movie becomes so certain of its footing that the two-hour runtime starts to feel like a chore.