Candice Frederick

Blue Story doesn’t reinvent the wheel when it comes to films about turf wars, but its personal, humanizing themes about friendship, love, youth, and black masculinity keeps you riveted, Onwubolu’s lyrical respites aside.

Fanning and Bardem deliver two utterly devastating performances that show the power of despair met with unyielding love.

There are really two contending films inside Swallow that, if given the opportunity and the space to do so, could have been fascinating as separate entities.

Lost in America isn’t exactly a cinematic masterpiece, and sometimes its prosaic filmmaking does it no favors, but the film’s ability to move the conversation forward merits attention.

Premature captures that unexpected, earth-shattering moment in life when you realize adulthood, real adulthood, is not so simple and cute. It’s difficult, it’s scary, and it’s heartbreaking at times. That’s what Howard’s beautiful performance conveys.

Come As You Are is best when it’s not trying so hard to be the next great sex comedy and actually focuses on building the relationships among the male friends and their own existential crises, which gives the film so much pathos as it explores their vulnerabilities and frustrations.

Though it’s an intoxicating blend of modern and vintage romance, The Photograph, while flawed, is most intriguing when it peels back the layers between a mother and daughter who never really knew each other in life, but whose stories eventually intertwine in ways they could have never imagined.

It does what so little of the dialogue has managed to do: implore audiences to embrace black female survivors and to understand the cultural and painful dilemmas they continue to endure along their avid fight to heal the wounds of the entire black race. Though it’s at times a gutting watch, it’s ultimately about hope and sisterhood.

It’s understandable that The 40-Year-Old Version is intentionally scattered, because it is about a woman grasping at straws in order to find her place in this very rigid space, both professionally and personally. But the film lacks the finesse to tell that story more cinematically, even running way longer than it should, as it roams towards a satisfying conclusion.

While the filmmaker rightly understands that shock value isn’t the only way to tell a visceral story, its central performance by Julia Garner is what makes the film most interesting to watch.

At its core, The Last Full Measure is a poignant reevaluation of gallantry and of how survivor’s guilt impacts those veterans whose lives were spared. It’s not without its flaws, and Robinson’s wobbly narrative bears much of the blame, but its emotional resonance will stay with you long afterward.

Like a Boss is vibrant and sometimes funny, but rarely heartfelt and entirely stale. While it hits a few sentimental notes, the film’s failure to delve into the friendship it celebrates, or to say anything significant about women’s relationships in business, ultimately hampers it.

Clemency is a film that is just almost great. The level of restraint Chukwu has in her writing and execution, while admirable, is the very thing that prevents it from truly soaring.

Perhaps if 21 Bridges just settled on being a mildly entertaining single-night cop thriller, it could have gotten by on its well-shot action scenes and A-list cast. But once it introduces concepts it’s unable to fulfill, it becomes a massive disappointment.

Waves isn’t an easy film to digest, and it’s not without its flaws — Emily’s narrative at the end makes it a bit disjointed, and Tyler’s story never feels resolved — but it stays with you mostly because of its shattering performances that bolster Shults’ story.

Though it’s bolstered primarily by the charisma of Bale and Damon’s performances, the soulless yet thrilling Ford v Ferrari doesn’t provide much more than huffy banter, corporate rivalry, and an adrenaline rush. The real-life characters deserve more than that.

Norton earns praise for taking on the gargantuan task of bringing this story to the screen, and pulling quadruple duty as actor-director-writer-producer, but Motherless Brooklyn seems more like a blueprint of a great film that lacks the nuance it needs to be truly impactful.

Youmans ultimately grapples with several tough themes that center the black Baptist South in a way that is rarely seen on screen. Even so, the inept editing and screenplay ultimately bring down Burning Cane.

#Female Pleasure smoothly glides from one country segment to another and engages audiences with the personal stories of the five women, told through voiceover and solo interviews, as well as a broader look at the cultures in which they live.

Marked by evolving degrees of miraculous vivacity, dread, despair, and ultimately hope, Tell Me Who I Am reflects a fraternal relationship equally encumbered by truth and lies but strengthened by love and an unflinching revelation in real time. It is utterly staggering.

It’s absolutely grating to watch. Even worse, there’s not one humorous moment throughout its nearly 90-minute runtime.

Lucy in the Sky becomes a strange experience that tries to force too many themes together at the detriment of its otherwise fascinating heroine.

The gendered themes at play here do little to boost the quality of Buck and Schlingmann’s storytelling, which is too tangled to follow at times.

Black and Blue is chock-full of heart-pounding car chases and suspenseful moments that are certain to entertain mainstream audiences, but the film falters when it attempts, beyond its tittle to reflect a necessary and under-discussed conversation about societal issues.

When these artists get to the point where they are completely unconstrained, it conveys a freedom and strength that surprises not only the audience but the performers as well.

It’s the most unproductive type of sociopolitical film, especially in today’s climate, in that it aims to incite but not to motivate.

This Changes Everything may not actually change anything (especially considering that it, too, is directed by a man), but there’s hope that it will at least galvanize more allies, so that there will be more of them in Hollywood than not. That’s a start.

Perhaps the worst thing a film can be, even more so than the binary of good or bad, is forgettable.

You’ve got to appreciate a movie that doesn’t take itself seriously. And, man, Fast & Furious Presents: Hobbs & Shaw is definitely about as ridiculous as a movie can be, for better or worse.

There is intriguing subtext buried within Armstrong about who we designate as our heroes at a time of great divide, but Fairhead succeeds at paying tribute to a man who, were he still alive today, probably would have balked at this kind of memorial.

There’s no thrill, no visceral heartbreak, no fist-pumping revelation. This is just a guy telling you about himself, growing up, growing old, and navigating the Stones’ massive celebrity.

None of its core characters, including the female protagonist (played by Florence Pugh, “Fighting With My Family”), make any rational decisions (while being too distant to care about anyway).

Though Toni Morrison: The Pieces that I Am comes from a white storyteller, it distinctly and profoundly reflects the point of view of the subject herself. What we see is a woman who has always been in charge of her own narrative, no matter who wants to share it.

Though there is a comforting nostalgia from seeing the Shaft men stick it to the man while simultaneously holding on to their old-school alpha-male swagger, Junior’s presence adds a much needed reproach — and smartly comedic element — that ultimately doesn’t blame them but instead makes them take a hard look at the error of their ways in the face of justice.

Because Graham fills This One’s for the Ladies with so many different dialogues that don’t always connect, he prevents it from offering concise, sociopolitical insight about race, class, and sexuality. As a result, the film comes off as pedestrian and ultimately has nothing really essential to say.

From the glossiness of the art direction from Cheryl Marion (“The Predator”) to the magnetic chemistry of the cast (which also includes the always reliable Michelle Buteau as Sasha’s assistant) and the mouth-watering cuisine, Always Be My Maybe is a delightful, funny, and wonderfully layered romp that’s smart enough to break traditional rom-com rules.

After Maria is an affective, personal film that humanizes a persistent national tragedy.

The new film is ripe for big laughs with Anne Hathaway and Rebel Wilson as, respectively, the snobby British bombshell with sticky fingers and the rough-around-the-edges though equally cunning con artist, but neither actress is given rich enough material to bring the film’s most interesting ideas to the finish line.

The Intruder rings incredibly hollow.

The film’s constant waltz between moods is aggravating at best. It becomes unclear whether we are even supposed to root for Rudolf, or if it matters that we do.

At its core, Little Woods is a film that is grounded in reality, highlighting a complicated sisterhood and the perseverance of two flawed women facing life-or-death circumstances.

Little is a funny, surprisingly heartfelt film, embedded in traditional themes and amplified by the talented Martin, who reminds us that she and other youth like her aren’t just adorable — they’ve got boss mentalities that cannot and should not be ignored.

The Best of Enemies tries to remind us that simple solutions might exist if we could open our minds, but it undercuts itself by shortchanging its black female lead and ending on a very maudlin note that lacks punch.

Marshall-Green’s directorial debut is an intriguing story centered on a flawed protagonist, and with more polishing in the second half of the film it could have really sailed.

The lead performances are so genuine and the dialogue, with tones ranging from unbridled glee to utter hatred, is so pure that you think at times that you’re watching a documentary. Babylon is a vivid, though flawed, story that offers no clear villains or angels. Instead, it gives you the truth.

As well intentioned as its flurry of feelings and sentimental performances are, “Berlin, I Love You” isn’t given the space or the format to truly sail. It fails to build on political landscape or culture and instead tries to pull on the heartstrings of its audience with half-baked concepts.