Alex Saveliev

Carion, along with his co-screenwriter Laure Irrman, leave things annoyingly unexplained – which would be fine in a poetic meditation on loss and grief that purposefully raises more questions than answers, but is indefensible in a neither-here-nor-there pseudo-intellectual thriller.

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

It’s all been-there, done-that stuff, diluted further by forgettable characters, plot holes, and a desire by the studio to “get back on track” that transcends earnestness and becomes borderline-insufferable.

The movie is a heart-on-the-sleeve, old-fashioned action-adventure thriller. This Balloon may not exactly soar, but it’ll give you a satisfyingly stirring ride.

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 eccentric local priest spouts nonsense, blood gushes out of the shower, bodies twist and contort at impossible angles, and creatures from hell crawl towards the camera. By the time the convoluted, shrieky finale arrives, it all blends together into nothing more than dull background noise. Your investment in the story will be indirectly proportional to its running time.

While Castle in the Ground may not quite hold together from a narrative perspective, it’s so atmospheric, so acute in the small, tender moments it captures and is propelled by performances of such power, that it hardly matters.

Whether you’ll have a blast with this beat has nothing to do with your affinity for metal music and everything to do with your tolerance for “heart-on-the-sleeve” independent filmmaking.

Panek doesn’t sugarcoat anything in his beautifully-shot, grim tale, but ultimately, it’s his belief in human kindness that prevails. There may not be any lycanthropes in Werewolf, but they’d most likely seem like puppies next to the true evil he depicts.

David Perrault’s Savage State opts for Jacques Audiard’s contemplative mood but fails to balance it out with fleshed-out heroes, a sense of humor, or even a coherent point. What we’re left with is the novelty of a well-worn genre seen through a very French, existential prism; it’s all jaw-droppingly beautiful and sleep-inducingly dull.

It’s well-structured, handsomely shot, and features some impressive acting. The thing is there’s just not that much to make it stand out from the crowd either.

Good-looking but predictable and schlocky, Mia and the White Lion is ultimately saved from slaughter by its two plucky heroes.

An unnecessary addition to the middling pantheon of pot flicks, Breaking Habits, like mid-grade schwag, is unlikely to get you buzzed.

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

Ben Whishaw’s raw central performance keeps one glued to the screen, but the cold and distancing result doesn’t quite do it justice. Shame, as Karia, displays a knack for building tension and maintaining an almost nauseatingly melancholic atmosphere. If only he dug a little deeper.

Nightride promises to take you on a ride, which it does; a bumpy one, filled with detours and ennui-inducing stretches.

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

Wan has style to spare, his direction brimming with confidence and his by-now-familiar trademarks.

Yes, it’s that kind of movie: ludicrous but seemingly unaware of its own pretensions, never quite so-bad-it’s-good, but rarely good enough to rise above bad. The filmmaker seems confident that he’s assembled an “elevated horror,” minimalist masterpiece. Unfortunately, the result is just minimal.

Fatima has excellent production design. A lot of care went into getting the period details right. There’s some beautiful cinematography and decent performances all around. It’s just all so mushy and predictable. Faith vs. science, tragedy testing one’s faith – those themes have been explored before, more enticingly. Pontecorvo turns a fascinating bit of history into a by-the-numbers affair, and that may be Fatima’s greatest sin.

Paradise Hills has pacing issues, and a made-for-TV feel it can’t quite escape. A firmer grasp of tone would’ve benefited the narrative. Yet its creators’ boundless imagination carries it through the rougher patches.

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.

Into the Darkness serves as a keen portrait of a deeply divided country, unsure of where its allegiance lies. Heavy-handed and slow-moving at times, further bogged down by extended speeches about the future of Denmark’s economy/industry, this behemoth nevertheless impresses, simply due to the sophistication of it all.

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

Stewart commands the screen in a fierce performance, effortlessly elevating the material with a few poignant glances and teeth-clenched determination.

Gripping and mercifully short, it doesn’t quite achieve the status of cinematic gold. Perhaps it’s for the best, or Hayes may have fallen prey to his ambitions.

A commendable subject matter does not a good movie make. Tape is inherently misguided, a queasily voyeuristic project, rendered nearly-unwatchable by its pseudo-artistic tendencies and patronizing tone.

This is a low-key, indie take on a well-worn genre; one that frequently resorts to scatological humor and easy targets, making for an odd mix of the sophisticated and crass.