Alex Saveliev

While maybe not top-tier Jarmusch, the film certainly marks his most mature effort to date.

A modern-day Apocalypse Now, a visual and aural trip that’s as abstract and surreal as it is stark and realistic, Sirat urges us to embrace each other, as the world swells and throbs around us.

It strives as hard for authenticity as its protagonist does to remain relevant; the strain shows.

Featuring fascinating archival footage, timeless music, and a plethora of compelling subjects, Viva Verdi may have a rather narrow target audience. But boy, will it please them.

The stark contrast between the way-too-confident-for-his-age Jake and the introverted, insecure Ben underscores how identity at that age calcifies in opposition: one boy armoring himself with swagger, the other shrinking under its weight.

You’ll never look at life—through a camera lens, that is—the same way again.

Dispenses with all the flourishes and focuses purely on the story and the characters, the gentle humor and the heartrending moments. It all leads up to a wonderful final scene, a knockout punch that cements MacLachlan as one of cinema’s indie greats.

Woo and Benson don’t underestimate their young audience’s intelligence, subtly layering in complexity, which comes off as a mini-miracle.

Nuremberg is a competently made, overlong, corny, entertaining, poignant epic made by the filmmaker responsible for writing classics like Zodiac and duds like Independence Day: Resurgence — a jumble of the man’s best and worst tendencies. Scattershot? Yes. Way too long? Sure. Predictable? Yes. Cheesy? Yes. Did I secretly kinda love it? No comment, your honor.

Boasting impressive production values — especially given its budget limitations — it harks back to a more innocent era: a cozy, stylish, and mildly thrilling feature from a promising filmmaker.

It’s Plemons, who’s always stellar, that proves to be the real revelation.

There’s something missing in this concoction: self-aware humor, a courage of its convictions, a driving force that propels the plot forward . . . Perhaps it was all just too steep a hill to climb.

Audiences have grown so accustomed to nonstop thrills that the film does feel like a relic of sorts; they don’t make ’em like this anymore.

The personal and the political intertwine, until lines blur and dissipate. Anderson punches your gut while warming your heart, and he leaves enough room for you to draw your own conclusions. What remains inarguable is that One Battle After Another represents the pinnacle of the man’s astounding career.

This is pure cinematic meditation, requiring a surrender to its languid tempo and hallucinatory vibes.

Less discerning kids may enjoy Robin and the Hoods… when they’re not deep into their PlayStations and Switches.

Kudos to Max for conjuring genuinely unsettling, Boschian images with a limited budget.

Those seeking visceral thrills may be somewhat underwhelmed by Descendent, but the filmmaker firmly establishes himself as a descendant of the Benson/Moorhead cinematic lineage.

Stripped away off all privileges, a shell of a human remains, a carcass, and that glimmer of hope that keeps one going is the driving nucleus of the lyrical and timely To a Land Unknown.

A mostly-smooth, sometimes-uneasy blend of pitch-black drama and absurdist comedy, Sunlight may follow the age-old “road-trip movie” structure, but it fully commits to an offbeat, non-sequitur style/logic that will either compel or repel audiences.

The film effortlessly examines hefty themes like freedom, toxic masculinity, privilege, familial bonds (and the need to escape them).

An indictment of a regime but also a look at the strength that perseveres despite the most dire circumstances, this film, and its lead star, deserve all the upcoming love at the award circuit… if there’s any justice left in Hollywood, that is.

Barron was the only light in my life,” a character yells at one point. “What am I now – just another dog in your army?” Barron’s Cove could have been a light in the current cinematic landscape, but instead, it’s just another dog in an army of duplicates.

Basir doesn’t shy away from glaring into the gaping maw of despair. But he skillfully counterbalances it with an energy that propels the film forward; how refreshing: this filmmaker has something to say.

Salvable fully embraces its bleakness, its title almost mocking; there’s no salvation here. If it had a bit more originality or verve, it could potentially have pulled it off.

Shabbily structured, with barely any tension, characterization, scares, or thematic depth, Consecration, due to its utter lack of inspiration, loses the audience’s concentration within minutes, and may even lead to constipation (okay, maybe not the last part, but you get my drift).

The film amounts to a truthful portrait of family supporting each other in a time of crisis and a painfully real depiction of the hell that was the pandemic.

The entirety of Give Me Pity! is more of an artistic treatise, a museum piece, a series of single-woman monologues, than a coherent, you know, film, and that’s clearly the intention. One can do a lot worse than take a look inside Kramer’s head, and this one makes her other explorations of humanity, Please Baby Please and Ladyworld, seem positively conventional. Quite the feat.

It’s all very granola and sentimental, a path well-trodden.

At 90 minutes or so, with the needless pseudo-artistic embellishments and tautology tossed out, Armand would have been an intense and cerebral little psychological nail-biter.

Too much thought has been put into this one to write it off as a mere, well, write-off. But it’s also too slap-dash to be labeled a classic, nowhere near on par with Peter Jackson’s original trilogy. A curiosity then, worth checking out, especially for the devoted.

Sometimes, the seemingly smallest fracture that separates the sublime from the maudlin is actually, well, a great divide.

Here’s something you haven’t seen before, masquerading as something you have 1,000 times. It may be a one-trick pony, but it’s well worth the ride when the pony is this unhinged.

It would be blasphemous to produce another “Neeson-as-old-but-badass-motherfuck*r flick” after this one.

While The Shade does a decent job examining grief and the complexities of a brotherly bond, it never digs too deeply, relying heavily on its central actor to reveal more depth than it contains.

The Sylvester Stallone-produced film categorically lacks any surprises and frequently devolves into mushy melodrama. Still, as a family-friendly story of survival in the wilderness, it gets the job done… just.

The laughs in Anora come in so fast and frequently that they almost eclipse the underlying tension; things are constantly on the edge of exploding, amusement on the verge of anxiety.

Sirocco’s world resembles a phantasmagoric dream by Antoni Gaudí.

The filmmaker, doing a lot with an extremely limited cast and location, has a concrete vision and sticks with it, and whether you get it or not is up to you. A character in the film, when confronted, states: “Big question. Too long to answer.” That pretty much summarizes this cinematic endeavor.

There’s nothing spectacular about any of this, but it’s heartfelt and well done.

As effortless as Clooney and Pitt’s screen charisma is, one can’t help but wish for a more polished scenario to complement it.

For a low-budget, contained flick, Day’s film does a remarkable job of keeping audiences riveted with a minimum of pyrotechnics. It doesn’t aspire to greatness, knowing perfectly well what it is: a lean, mean, bloody little machine with a few subliminal – and not-so-subliminal – messages thrown in. Dive right into this tub.

The dialogue is biting, crisp, smart, and frequently heartbreaking. It’s disappointing, then, that the narrative drags in places, particularly in the middle stretch. Brevity is key here; it all just becomes too much.

One thing remains certain: Satterlund and his crew know how to drop jaws. The plot may have been told before, but certainly never quite like this.

As it stands, it should keep survival fans satiated, mystery fans somewhat aggravated, and those expecting dry stuff, well, utterly baffled.

It’s stale, a relic from another time that’s strenuously updated and forced into 2024.

This ballad falls right into the singular category of “so bad, it’s good,” a low-budget, highfalutin, bold, wildly overacted, and at times oddly lyrical gem that ought not to be overlooked.

A Gen-Z Bonnie and Clyde, Marmalade takes big, admirable swings, and while it misses some, it avoids the cardinal sin of being boring.

Disco Boy is not your average war drama, or sociopolitical study, or character dissection, or psychedelic trip. It’s all of those things, and Giacomo Abbruzzese wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s artistic without being pretentious, thoughtful, and elegiac without treading into monotony, beautifully acted without drawing too much attention to its stars.

Who wants to be subjected to water torture for 2 hours?

The result, while flawed, is glorious: majestic, atmospheric, visually stunning, led by two charismatic leads. Scott, at 86, shows the young ‘uns how it’s done.

If you liked Children of Men, chances are you will enjoy this film. It has the same blend of despondency and lyricism, hope and despair, beauty and violence.

Fans of Roth will gobble, gobble this up.

The Universal Theory works in fits and starts but is bound to leave the audience not entirely convinced by its logic.

Nichols carefully avoids either demonizing or overly romanticizing his protagonists’ lifestyles. He portrays events just the way he imagines they would unfold.

When it comes to survival tales, Society of the Snow sets a standard that will be difficult to top.

While it’s solidly produced from a technical standpoint, and the lead does her best to sell the most outrageous scenarios, the end result feels undercooked.

It’s a feast for the eye and for the mind, done in a nonchalant way that would make the most seasoned filmmakers jealous.

The Creator marks the first time, it seems, that the filmmaker stepped out from the shadows of franchises and dipped back into what made him stand out in the first place. He's proven to have a flair for mesmerizing visuals, a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor, and plenty of pathos.

It’s charming in its own modest way (it ain’t Laika), but the simplistic character design is made up for with energy and creativity. Whether all the cadavers, complex inventions, existential musings, themes of progress and censorship, and politics will alienate the wee ones remains to be seen – but, again, at least it’s not pandering. The Inventor is charming and modest but also honest and true – a rarity these days. Hurry up and check it out before Gen Z cancels Leonardo for being a misogynist.

A Haunting in Venice marks the best, most succinct, and humorous adaptation of an Agatha Christie story by Kenneth Branagh yet.

The fact that it purports to function as a not-so-thinly-veiled parable about the limitlessness of sexuality, gender fluidity, and the marginalized makes it that much more unbearable.

It doesn’t talk down to audiences, instead inviting them to experience something relatable, something that both challenges and provides answers. How refreshing.

Streaks of sadism emphasize the prevailing humanity, as do the borderline-psychedelic brushstrokes: the intentionally murky nightmarish visuals, Ariel Marx’s nervous score, the bleak set design, the impassivity with which cinematographer Chananun Chotrunngroj’s camera observes the two women’s descent into madness.

Underdog may seem like a story with niche appeal, but the result will surely resonate with all the underdogs out there.

Those individual, deeply felt, beautiful moments sadly fail to add up to a deeply felt, beautiful whole. As such, Revoir Paris gets a B- for effort.

Klondike plunges you into the midst of a nightmarish life, on the brink of utter and complete collapse, leaving you wrung and dry. Not a light weekend watch, then, nor a particularly original or subtle one – but artfully produced, deeply affecting cinema nevertheless.

No stranger to eliciting powerful performances from his entire cast, Ozon does it again here, with nary a foot stepped wrong.

It is, first and foremost, a blistering character study, raw in its power and realism, its beats as unpredictable as its protagonist. I’d say buckle up, but dirt bikes don’t have seat belts.

Part of the reason Condor’s Nest works as well as it does is that none of it feels forced or showy. Blattenberger truly set out to make a kick-ass WWII flick, albeit with his tongue planted firmly in cheek.

Exploring universal themes of seeking familial connection and kindness, Adopting Audrey verges dangerously close to becoming as aimless as its heroine. But because of Malone’s sublime performance, it manages to stay on course. Maybe in the future Cahill could benefit from adopting a different approach.

Look at Therapy Dogs as a cautionary tale, one bound to horrify unaware parents. Eng doesn’t seem to give a f**k whether you respond to it or not. Good for him.

Andrew Commis and Rick Rifici’s jaw-dropping camerawork is worth the ticket price by itself: Abby’s fingers brushing against the grouper, whales scaling the surface of a deep-blue ocean, the skeleton of a blue whale resting among rocks. These visuals make the abundant preaching throughout Blueback palatable but make you long for a tighter focus and a subtler approach.

Banks ends up with a glossy Hollywood flick disguised as a straight-to-VOD grindhouse title. It feels dishonest, forced, and overstuffed.

Prepare for a threadbare, hole-ridden plot with cardboard characters, whose ludicrous dialogue is matched by the stupidest twists in recent memory. After a feature like this, the only thing that’s on the line is Gibson’s career.

Warren’s film may leave you bruised, but don’t let that stop you from seeking it out.

On the surface, the plot is simple, but the nuances, keen observations, silences between words, the humanity of it all, and the ease with which the filmmaker effortlessly navigates turbulent currents subtly transform the feature into a complex drama. There are no heroes or villains, no good or bad people, just folks trying to figure themselves and each other out.

What remains undeniable is Englert’s directorial chops. Bad Behaviour is exactly the story she wanted to tell. She couldn’t care less if you hate it or love it, refusing to pander to anyone’s expectations. Good for her. That sort of bad behavior is what makes her stand out as a filmmaker.

It is an intimate, somber, uncompromising cinematic portrait of a desperate soul in the vein of Darren Aronofsky’s The Wrestler, if it were cross-bred with Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver. The film will haunt you long after the lights fade.

In his inevitable next feature, Cronenberg could use more, dare I say, logic and warmth, to counterbalance all the madness and viscera. Otherwise, gorehounds and cineastes: dive right into this viscous pool.

Bolstered by Mark Bradshaw and Marcus Whale’s electronic drone soundtrack and Bonnie Elliott’s atmospheric cinematography, Run Rabbit Run could’ve used some more forward momentum. It lacks outright scares and novelty but makes up for it in some psychological depth. Reid’s film may not reach the profundity it strives for, but how many horror titles even strive for anything these days?

The narrative may prove a bit indeterminate and slow-moving to jaded audiences. Yet it remains an incisive and unusual little tale, which we could certainly use more of these days. That is something I personally think about all the time.

Brad Bischoff’s subdued drama Grasshoppers leaves a lasting impression, certain images glowing like embers somewhere in the depths of the viewer’s mind long after the credits roll.

With Babylon, Chazelle laments and condemns; he documents and romanticizes. There’s truth beneath the embellishments. The filmmaker gives this project his all. Luckily, it all works. Bravo.

Mendes finishes things on a graceful, open-ended note. He adeptly handles unabashed romanticism and raw grief, optimism and hopelessness, significantly aided by Atticus Ross and Trent Reznor’s soft piano score. The music peaks during the film’s most fervent moments, both violent (a protest during the climax) and tender (our heroes climaxing in each other’s embrace).

The writer and the director rub our faces in muck until all we see is darkness, providing the faintest ray of light at the end. You will be infuriated – not so much at the witnessed injustices as at the filmmaking team for subjecting you to over two hours of grief and misery.

An elegiac, minimalist fable, Utama is about many things: global warming, survival, our connections to each other, our priorities. It’s the silences that propel the narrative forward, the wide-open spaces that sear themselves into the mind. But hope prevails.

Dermer maintains a bittersweet tone, a gentle mix of levity and pathos. He studies the complexities of friendships, dealing with loss, looking at life as if for the first time, living each day as if it were your last, letting go, and trusting people more. He poses some intriguing questions.

I can go on and on about the multiple tiny lightning bolts Hansen-Løve catches in her bottle. Arguably the biggest lightning she caught was hiring Seydoux.

As it progresses – and Smith cunningly makes it feel like the film attains a life of its own, guided not by directorial hands but by fate itself – Sr. becomes a touching ode to a formidable individual whose countercultural comedies influenced generations of filmmakers.

Polley attempts to tackle the issue from multiple angles – how male toxicity is passed down to helpless youth by their elders, for example – but ends up running in circles.

The writer-director’s perverse, continuous, and purposeful avoidance of any semblance of genuine emotion or coherence results in an aggressively unpleasant experience.

Those seeking more adventurous, cerebral, inspired stuff will get a helluva kick.

What We Leave Behind is about generations passing on their hard-earned wisdom. It offers an insider’s glimpse into our neighbor’s culture. Some may find its lack of emotional peaks – save for, perhaps, the ending – exasperating, while others may regard it as a well-edited and shot home movie. But look a little deeper. There’s real poetry here.

Syms’ debut is anything but desperate; au contraire, this is the mark of a relaxed, confident filmmaker with a long, bright future.

This shameless excuse for children’s entertainment would be a blemish on any hack’s resume.

Loving Highsmith is about loving Highsmith and all that implies. As such, it gets the job done perfectly.