Blake Goble

The Warriors is a gangland fantasia, cut tighter than a snare drum, made for maximum impact.

Patton tells a tighter, less well-heard, and necessary tale of being gay in an era where that could still destroy a career (which to be frank, is still an issue that should be better addressed…), nestled carefully within a re-read of an oft-maligned horror sequel. He’s a deeply appealing subject.

Skin certainly has its blemishes, but it’s occasionally excited and secure in its willingness to build an off-the-cuff alt history for an under-discussed facet of filmmaking.

This is a comic book movie that feels adapted from a bunch of Bazooka Joe strips rubber-banded together. It’s a big ball of candy, mushed together and flung at the wall, and we’re all invited to happily take a bite out of crime.

Paul Feig’s Ghostbusters is sturdy summer entertainment, at once a freaky comedy and an unexpectedly effective action film.

Misdirection, tight spots, intimacy as danger. Allied is a paperback thriller’s greatest hits compilation. But the film’s plotting is lively and sincere, gussying up the staid tropes of intrigue into immediate pleasures and perils.

The pleasure of good company is Robin’s occasionally winning quality.

Hughes has seen his fair share of dramatizations on film (The Aviator, Melvin & Howard, The Hoax, even The Rocketeer), but Beatty delivers a fresh, idiosyncratic take, about the figure and the people in his orbit of oddity.

Outlaw King is like watching prog versus metal. When it’s prog rock – folksy and wooden ­– it’s at its worst. Muted, draggy, earnest, with wee traces of carefully placed humor or commentary on a bygone era? It’s Moody Blues, and even a little Jethro Tull? Hardly worth putting on, unless you like your history slim and bone-dry. But at its best, it’s heavy metal, with swinging axes and church slayings and all sorts of grim goodies.

Galifianakis delivers a reminder of just what makes his brand of comedy so unique, special, and even a little daring.

The presentation and little tweaks along the way make Sing far less grating than you’d expect. There are dozens of great moments, beats, and tunes.

The Mule is a functional take on capitalism, work-life balance, and the creeping, overlong process that is aging. The tense moments click.

Sisters is made of pure, frenzied comic momentum.

What Skin lacks in history, context, or behavioral psychology, it compensates for with pure angst, dread, and guilt. It’s the human element, the bare skin as it were, that makes this film stand out. It’s a melodrama with characters that inspire interest, if not fondness.

The Finest Hours is exactly that. Fine, while embracing its studio aesthetic and morally true heroism.

Fey delivers the performance like the super-capable talent she is, with range and authenticity. She’s a character with a fully expressed arc, foibles and all. She’s the dramedy’s best weapon.

Race is a film best enjoyed for its mild ambitions and accomplishments, which easily beat out its missteps.

The humor and the indictment of the warrior mentality win out. Michôd’s better instincts take over, many of the crude jokes land with force, and Pitt is hilarious in this mode.

Here’s a film with all the right ingredients and a few too many wrong moves, yet one that’s admirable for trying as hard as it does.

Yesterday is too trusting, too confident in its silly dream, and not fun or passionate enough.

Life is like a box of mediocrity. You more-or-less know exactly what you’re gonna get. But for what it’s worth, Daniel Espinosa’s space shocker, while totally born from the same stars as many other films, still lands about half the time.

Fuqua isn’t interested in pushing the genre forward so much as respecting and updating the model accordingly. The director focuses on establishing his gang of gunslingers sturdily enough that the action becomes easy to engage with, and even get excited about.

While the film’s final thesis is a Facebook post with typos at best (delete your accounts, and so on), Niccol is still terrific when he’s breaking down rules, questioning protocol, and testing new ideas.

Another Evil may be a cheap thrill, but it has a unique take on the haunted house genre. Here’s a curious horror comedy that gets richer with every unexpected minute.

The 15:17 to Paris is too unfocused, too hard to take seriously, and too short to really get invested in it. It’s an Eastwood misfire.

For a 33 years-late follow up to a fan favorite? This isn’t terrible, not even close. Will it split the royal underlings that vaunt Landis’s ’88 effort? Maybe. For now, Coming 2 America deserves to be enjoyed as one of Murphy’s better follow-ups.

Handsomely staged, exceptionally well-cast, and reasonably faithful, Branagh has revived Murder on the Orient Express in a highly pleasing fashion. Sure, some of its modern amenities may leave something to be desired, but this train is quite sturdy and Branagh respects the ride.

It’s got twists without being tawdry. Attitude, with sincerity. And Banks offers a reasonable rebuke to past ickiness, playing up the best elements of an old TV show’s original idea. Charlie’s Angels 2019 flies in the face of its tricky franchise past, and makes for a solid evening’s entertainment.