Chris Nashawaty

LEGO Batman revs so fast and moves so frenetically that 
it becomes a little exhausting by the end. It flirts with being too much of a good thing. But rarely has corporate brainwashing been so much fun and gone down with such a delightful aftertaste.

It’s utterly demented, slightly terrifying, and most of all hilarious. It’s also one of the giddiest and most stinging political satires since Thomas Nast took on Tammany Hall.

Beneath all of his bad-boy shtick, Apatow’s always been a pretty conventional moralist. But Schumer gives their raunchy rom-com enough of her signature spikiness to prevent it from ever feeling predictable.

Okja in it. It’s the antithesis of cookie-cutter, made-by-committee filmmaking. Prepare to be amazed, grossed out, provoked, punchdrunk, and tickled.

With the exception of Waleed F. Zuaiter, who does a remarkable good-cop act as an Israeli agent, the cast is composed of first-time actors who bring realism to a tragic story. It manages to punch you in the gut and break your heart at the same time.

Rogue Nation may not be the best, the tightest, or even the most logically coherent M:I flick, but there should be more movies like it: relentlessly thrilling, smart entertainments for folks who can’t tell the difference between Quicksilver and The Flash—and aren’t particularly interested in trying to learn the difference either.

It's a shockingly vulnerable performance (Hader), one of the best I've seen all year.

In 1960 this was a shocking, sexually charged symphony of taboo-smashing terror. And thanks to the artistry of Alfred Hitchcock, it remains one today.

A clever filmmaking experiment? Without a doubt. A satisfying one? Not so much.

Kusama ratchets the story’s tension masterfully, building to a final shot that’s as chilling as it is perfect.

It's a fascinating film that points the finger at a charismatic master of deception — as well as our willingness to buy his deceit.

Rush hits a few potholes, but in the end it reveals the psyches of two men who only feel alive when they're cheating death.

Love, Gilda is penetrating, painful, and personal.

The reason why the movie works at all is Hanks.

Loaded with atmosphere, bared flesh, and a haunting turn by the Dietrich-esque Delphine Seyrig as an ageless countess who hungers for a pair of newlyweds (and their necks).

It taps into every parent's worst nightmare — the horror of being unable to protect an out-of-control child.

Pearce takes his time laying out his sleeping-with-the-enemy tale, but his stinginess with plot lends the film an vice-tightening air of mystery that suits it.

Both Cage and Sheridan (who shined opposite Matthew McConaughey in Mud) give true and at times tender performances. It's a shame the film lacks the same subtlety and force.

Ragnarok is basically a Joke Delivery System — and on that score, it works. The movie is fun.

It’s basically a Murderer’s Row of indie pros who play off one another like they’ve been performing this particular toxic soiree on a West End stage for years.

Every one in the film, down to the smallest characters on the fringes, is keeping secrets and spinning lies. And those lies beget more lies and more until the truth is a distant memory. It’s what can happen when life feels too overwhelming and unbearable to face.

Nominated for five Oscars, Pillow Talk led to two more Day/Hudson collaborations, but this is by far the best.

Now, in Johanna Hamilton’s fiery truth-to-power documentary, those gray-haired agitators finally step out of the shadows to explain what they did and why they did it (with the help of some slightly hokey dramatic reenactments). Their message—namely, Who will watch the watchmen? — remains as important today as it was 44 years ago.

Farrell delivers his lines with the same replicant monotone he used in The Lobster. And Kidman, the only cast member who expresses recognizably human emotions, extends her recent hot streak. But even she’s not enough to give this head-scratcher any real life.

I don’t mean to give the impression that John Wick 3 is anything grander than a gorgeously choreographed, gratuitously violent action movie. But as gorgeously choreographed, gratuitously violent action movies go, it’s high art.

Tonally, the movie can’t decide whether it’s a comedy, a romance, or a wistful wartime madeleine. What it’s missing is the sense of joy and wonder of its predecessor.

Transpecos is a lean-and-mean atmospheric thriller that starts off tautly but ultimately slackens as it goes along.

Death Race 2000 isn’t the sharp satire Corman thinks it is, but it’s fun.