Chase Hutchinson

For a film about a supposedly historic and harrowing journey to the moon, it never manages to charter any new territory of its own.

Even as the film pulls out all the stops, the character work remains subtle in a way that gets under your skin. The magnificent performances of Reyes and Ireland align perfectly, peeling back the humanity their two characters had only tenuously been clinging to.

Playing out almost like a spoof of various genres with both macabre horror and mumblecore misdirects, it's an odd film that's often as lost as the charming characters themselves before settling into a strange groove that starts to cast a spell of its own.

As Finley manages a last unassuming gut punch, it strikes painfully true. It provides one final drop of mundane dread that reveals how the most comprehensively exploitative of systems can become terrifyingly normal. Good thing that’s only science fiction.

All the clear love the film has for the references it is throwing out is never molded into anything memorable of its own.

For all the ways Botet and company put their hearts into giving it some life, the film is persistently defined by death of not just its characters, but of creativity itself.

It is a film that sets out to sink its teeth into something a bit deeper and more inventive only to merely serve up an experience with little to actually chew on.

For all the ways the film holds us at a bit at a distance, the performances do wonders in closing this gap.

It is the worst thing an action film can possibly be: forgettable.

After the Bite could initially be mistaken for just another part of a trajectory of movies that has become defined by this trend-chasing rather than something more. However, if you begin to look closer, you’ll discover a measured reflection on our relationship to both the predator of the deep and the habitat that has come under threat.

Even in the moments where it can feel a little rough around the edges, the portrait being painted is a breathtaking and unrestrained one. It all comes together to ensure that, in the long cinematic history of American road movies, The Unknown Country carves out an indelible legacy of its own all the way to its final series of shattering shots.

What makes this latest documentary from director Peter Nicks different is how it takes time to sit with the failures and go just a bit deeper.

The texture that gives vibrancy to these types of understated stories just isn’t there, ensuring that what little there is to grasp onto soon slips away as well.

That we remain invested is a testament to Boyega as he proves once more he is capable of making good films that are greater than the sum of their parts. It cements his status as one of those actors who makes any project he is attached to one worth seeking out with They Cloned Tyrone being on the better end of a career with so much promise ahead

Even as there are some moments where it can fall into feeling like a greatest hits recap of the group that dances along the surface of the story, the more complicated reflections it offers on their lives and music cuts quite a bit deeper when it counts.

All you need to do is open your mind to its wonders and you may too discover something about yourself along the way.

That it holds together is a testament to the cast who it feels like are battling against clumsy escalations that go bigger and louder when the quieter moments carry with them a far more tactful deployment of emotion.

The characters are consistently charming, the humor sufficiently silly, and the animation often beautiful, though the standard path it takes holds it back from fully exploring the potential lurking just beneath the surface. When it all bursts free towards the end is when the film is at its best.

There are layers of complexity in both Wright’s performance and that of the late Williams which elevate the experience, making for a sturdy enough riff on the Western that still could have been so much more.

Whatever one takes away from it, the final moment of melancholy it taps into is crossed with the joy of seeing a film free itself by eschewing our expectations to just be. It may leave some feeling adrift as a result, but the truth of its emotional experience would demand nothing less.

Even as not all the jokes land, the rare experience of getting to take in a spoof comedy like this makes it worthwhile all the same.

Despite how transgressive and inventive Dalí was as an acclaimed artist, Dalíland is content to create a story that plays it all too safe.

Even without the questions about the veracity of the story, its rah-rah style makes it feel superficial rather than sweeping. In the end, Flamin’ Hot comes across as a selling of a story and a brand rather than a genuine retelling of one.

The grim absurdity of it goes hand in hand with the horror, making the escalations and chaos properly fun.

The Boogeyman is at its best when it strips away all the excess to draw us deeper into darkness.

None of the action scenes have any passion to them and, even worse, they can feel downright contrived. That it then pretends to have something more to say strains credulity.

The problem just keeps coming back to Harlow. Not only is he just out of his depth in hitting the necessary comedic notes, but the hollowness of his performance also becomes impossible to overlook when his character goes through a rough patch and must find redemption.

When all the pieces come together, it is a work that proves to be one of the more well-rounded experiences from Rodriguez in quite some time.