C.J. Prince

Two Pianos amounts to a glimpse into a brief, tumultuous time in these two people’s lives, where they take a short look at what could have been and nearly combust at the sight of it. Desplechin’s ability to find the raw, human qualities in that experience––and to respect them enough to understand that they can stand on their own rather than be weighed down by narrative contrivance––makes his movie an ideal example of what a prestige film should be.

It’s an adaptation that expands and contracts its source material in different ways––some successful, others less so––and a perfectly fine bit of psychological horror that understands the strengths of what it’s working from, even if it has little interest in trying to make them stronger.

Even if its airy, lighthearted tone may make the film too frivolous for some, at least The Paragon knows what it is, and more importantly knows how to have fun with it.

The biggest issue Ick faces is its ability to sustain momentum.

All technical prowess, from Flanagan to his strong ensemble cast, can only go so far when it’s in service of such shallow, offensive escapism. This is a childish take on a universal experience and everyone, from the people involved in the production to the viewers, deserve better.

It’s a rich subject that Heller dives into without hesitation, including some of the thornier aspects, until a disappointing final act where she settles on basic end points for her ideas.

Timpson, along with co-writer Toby Harvard, prefer to take the easy way for achieving their goals, the film leaning into dated comedy and a relentless charm offensive that makes its efforts too strained to fully embrace.

For a good stretch of time, though, The Count of Monte Cristo is a prime example of popcorn fun, even if its filmmakers might have not intended for it to be laughed at as much as I did. But whether it’s for the right or wrong reasons, a good time is still a good time.

At the very least, Stuckmann’s earnestness as a horror fan is apparent throughout Shelby Oaks, even though his admiration doesn’t translate effectively to his filmmaking.

Onlookers lacks specificity in its execution, making for a plodding experience across a short runtime.

There’s fertile ground in our current hypersensitive, extremely online culture that’s been used to create good satire in recent years. Borgli is happy to let that potential go to waste, taking broad swings and misses against a changing societal landscape without understanding his targets.

There’s so much dead space and so little insight in Fingernails as it trudges toward a conclusion that can be figured out in the first five minutes.

Arcel doesn’t shy away from the harshness of the time period, in both people and environment, which gives his film an edge that keeps its story engaging.

Jacobs’ understanding of these emotional truths––family ties finding ways to continually adapt, evolve, and mend in the most difficult circumstances––gives Daughters its power.

The Royal Hotel doesn’t provide much background or context to its characters, which gives the film an unpredictability that feeds into its slow-boiling tension.

Some viewers will probably find the film’s inertness with story and scale frustrating, but Tatum and Thomas’ commitment and chemistry won me over. The fact that both leads are real-life friends goes a long way, given the baggy pacing and some of the more uneven comedic moments, and Tatum’s usage of long takes helps increase the awkward tension of both characters’ forced arrangement.

Rather than aim high, Sick is happy to make the most of what it has to work with, and shows how sticking to the basics can still provide a hell of a fun time.

Raymond and Ray, while far from terrible, is more damning for how content it is with mediocrity. We know Garcia and his cast are capable of much better—they’ve done it.

There’s enjoyment to be had with The Menu, even if it amounts to echoes from the belly of the beast it’s targeting.

Empire of Light would like to remind us of the power of movies when it does a far stronger job recalling better ones.

Pugh’s performance is more adequate than impressive, a result of her character having background and motivations laid out so there’s little else to take from what’s onscreen.

It’s lucky that Neugebauer has such strong talent to elevate what she’s working with, as it helps rescue Causeway from a forgettable collection of indie-drama cliches into something more respectable.

However easy it is to admire Polley’s efforts to provide an example of the solidarity and courage it takes to build a better world, that alone doesn’t equate to good filmmaking. Women Talking doesn’t meet the moment so much as show up for it.

When it’s not falling into the traps of prestige horror with arbitrary vagueness, Earwig has power to pull viewers into its strange, menacing universe—enough to make this experience worthwhile.

The Humans spends its time inside its own head when it should have been putting more effort getting into ours.

Some might balk at the film’s light, non-judgmental tone towards incest, abuse, sexuality, and religion, but LaBruce is smart in how he lets that tension rest on the audience and whatever baggage they may bring to the film instead of trying to acknowledge or appease to it. If anything, Saint-Narcisse is a welcome piece of provocative entertainment, existing as its own weird and sincere comedy for those willing to take the ride.

A mixed bag, part entertaining and part annoying with a whole lot of gusto behind it.

The comedy in Benediction is like a spoonful of sugar before Davies brings in the medicine.

We’re ultimately left with a sense of formal stillness and relief brought about by the conservative spiritualism that feels strangely vague and unearned.