Cody Dericks

Alcock’s work as an actress comes across as similar to how her character must feel: all alone in a world working against her.

Ultimately, the success of Stop! That! Train! comes down to one simple question: Is it funny? And the answer is, mostly, yes. With the high ratio of jokes per minute, not all of them are destined to land, and some gags linger too long, slowing down what should be a breakneck pace. But the bits that do work are genuinely hilarious.

Such is the ultimate effect of Disclosure Day, a great film from our greatest director that feels guaranteed to only get better the more people discuss it and mull over its intentions.

Ben’Imana is a stunning, gorgeously assembled film about a people faced with a level of emotional labor that no one should ideally be forced to surmount.

It’s the kind of silly, campy time its intended audience is sure to love, with plenty of moments that evoke joyful applause to accompany the many, many laughs. No matter one’s place in the queer community, and whether or not you’ve set foot in a gym, it’s a guaranteed delight.

Much as its main character tries to untangle seemingly impossible conundrums, viewers of The Samurai and the Prisoner will find themselves leaning in and working hard to discern the film’s intriguing details. It’s not a task for those who look to cinema as an escape, requiring aggressive attention from its audience, as all worthwhile art should.

It’s a brilliant concept for an historical film, but the way Marre tells his relatives’ unheroic story would’ve been better served by a more discerning eye on the film’s runtime.

It’s an honest, melancholy tale that pushes against the typical idea of the saintlike sufferer, instead portraying the central character as a credibly flawed individual. And just as he always does, Ira Sachs rejects stereotypes and expectations to deliver something that feels candidly close to life.

The film seems disinterested in carrying on any discussion itself, even in an obtuse way. Perhaps that’s the idea: that we’re meant to completely project our assessment onto the film rather than follow nonexistent leads from Harari as to his intention. But ultimately, the film is too vacant, too aimless, and worst of all, too dull to inspire much worthwhile discussion.

It’s a mean, nasty neo-giallo, filled with the genre’s standards: gorgeously odd visuals, colorful lighting, disparate performance qualities, questionable morals, and brutal moments of sudden violence. To those who are prepared for it and willing to go hand in hand with Refn on his colorful, nonsensical journey, it’s an adventure to be remembered, like a nightmare that leaves an indelible mark on the psyche.

It’s not an easy watch, intentionally so, but Herry delivers a shockingly buoyant, propulsive film about the perils and pitfalls of addiction.

Sorogoyen’s film meanders, and some of his visual flourishes are more puzzling than profound. Still, the two lead performances and one superb scene later in the film elevate the entire affair.

All of a Sudden is a two-pronged attack on the head and the heart, rewarding viewers for their patience and attention by leaving them emotionally and intellectually affected in a way that will last long after the credits end.

Parallel Tales unspools away from sense and a compelling drive and instead turns out to be a monotonous, limp misfire.

It’s easy to feel left behind by the film’s intentions. But no matter viewers’ specific level of interpretation, what Schoenbrun does with the slasher genre, using it as a springboard to explore ideas that clearly resonate with them, is compellingly intelligent and consistently fascinating.

Koji Fukada’s lovely film offers up unobtrusive but valuable lessons on the importance of accepting one’s reality while not shying away from reaching for what’s desired.

Balagov is a fearless filmmaker, unafraid of showing what many directors would avoid. And while that uncompromising spirit has served him well in the past, here it seems that some self-imposed guidelines would’ve spared him from crafting something so purposelessly unpleasant.

On A String is a gentle film; even its more satirical elements aren’t particularly prickly. That softness, combined with extremely low dramatic energy, unfortunately, means that it’s not always the most enthralling film, and its abrupt ending (and super short runtime) gives it the impression of inconsequentiality.

Ultimately, Pizza Movie’s title not only reveals a major plot point but also captures the film’s overall energy and weight. It’s generally enjoyable while being consumed, but afterward, it may not feel like a fully satisfying or nourishing cinematic meal.

Despite being well shot and slickly constructed, “Faces of Death” doesn’t successfully bring the decidedly not-good but undeniably captivating spirit of the original film into the 21st century.

With a movie like The Serpent’s Skin, the accomplishments of the whole outweigh the nitpicks of its parts. The vibe is so, so right. Anyone looking for an empowering, forward-thinking, and trippy watch will feel right at home slipping into this movie’s, well, skin. It’s quite literally spellbinding.

Although the story only gets more and more unsatisfyingly perplexing as it goes on, the filmmaking tools used to tell it are exceptional.

Bodycam is an efficient little scary movie that has its share of scares, even if they’re nothing that horror fans haven’t seen before.

Amazingly, Coppola’s intimate portrait manages to have mass appeal, thanks to both her entertaining approach and Jacobs’ down-to-earth, relatable personality. It turns out the pair work well together, leading to a film that both label chasers and thrift store fanatics will love.

Yellow Letters is shockingly low-energy, despite the urgency of the situation the characters find themselves in.

Alex Gibney’s documentary stands as a testament to the power of art in any form to push back against both abstract and real forms of oppression.

Wicker is a sweet, gently moving love story at its core that reminds its audience that the most effective and necessary traits for a successful relationship of any kind are simple honesty and respect.

Led by a terrifically tender performance by John Turturro, it’s a classy, enjoyable, lovely film about a man out of time, coming to terms with the fact that the world he occupies is no longer the world he knows.

Like the titular woman herself, the film from co-directors Judd Apatow and Neil Berkeley is equally hilarious and unafraid to be very, very real, beckoning viewers in like a close friend and rewarding them with laughs and profound insight.

The jokes are plentiful in quantity but certainly not in quality, and the shiny, cheap-looking filmmaking itself doesn’t make it any easier on the eyes than it is on the ears. And while it certainly has a heart, thanks in huge part to the talented ensemble of funny performers, it doesn’t have the brains or the nerve to be clever or daring in its comedy.

Those who yearn for a return to Brat Summer will find themselves happily bumpin’ that, but any viewers who feel nothing at the sight of the color tennis ball green would do well to pass.

Even with relatively minor quibbles, it’s hard not feel appreciation that a contemporary movie made in an uncompromised fashion about such a cinematically unpopular topic as sex exists at all. Hopefully, Araki doesn’t take another 12 years off and continues to probe into other areas of modern human interaction.

Zak Hilditch has crafted a harrowing, unsettling zombie movie that totally enmeshes the audience in its collapsing world.

Despite the constant threat of censorship (or worse), the reporters still manage to find joy and even humor in their daily lives. That comedic energy grows increasingly dark and even apocalyptic as the situation becomes more perilous, but “My Undesirable Friends” shows that the power of human connection and the fight for justice and freedom endure even in the most oppressive settings.

This quietly moving documentary takes a hands-off approach, which allows audiences to organically meet the film on its level. This method lets the farmers subtly present the central conflict that’s most affecting their lives and livelihoods. The gorgeous black-and-white photography gives the film an appropriate sense of timelessness.

Silent Night, Deadly Night is no great piece of art, but in the same way that candy stuffed in a stocking is far from a five-star meal, it doesn’t matter to those seeking it out, and it’s enjoyable all the same.

There’s simply nothing of value here, not even the thrill of an adrenaline rush from a cheap jump scare. Any attempts at shock are hollow and laughable. The viewer is likely to leave the theater feeling similar to how Josh Hutcherson appears in this film, understandably checked out, vacant, and simply worn down.

A pair of excellent performances from Rosamund Pike and Matthew Rhys, led by clever direction from Babak Anvari, make this a tense, captivating thriller, even while set in only one location.

Rather than feeling like the kind of culture-shifting moment the original film became, this remake is more of a shrug, destined to be sadly scrolled past by disinterested streaming audiences.

It’s hard to argue with Martel’s mission, or the existence of the film at all; however, unfortunately, the director’s wide-ranging approach has the effect of muddling the story rather than elevating it.

For fans of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, this is essential viewing. Whether you’ve seen the iconic musical one time or one thousand times, be sure to take a “Strange Journey.”

With The Librarians, Kim A. Snyder has crafted a moving, invigorating call for tolerant thinking and freedom to prevail. Thankfully, it provides a path forward for those who will watch it with concern, showing that the best way to combat ignorance and hate is with the further dissemination of knowledge. Evil prefers a closed mind, and like a good book, these librarians seek to open them.

Jennifer Lopez and Tonatiuh give exceptional, electric performances. The musical sequences are stunning, thanks to thrilling dancing and gorgeously old-fashioned designs.

Charming and truthful, this excellent film about the perils of the gig economy serves as a metaphor for the ruthlessness of the free market at large. Bastien Bouillon gives a terrific, grounded lead performance.

With Below the Clouds, Rosi performs an act of preemptive time travel by putting images and voices of a specific time, place, and people onto film. It’s a taxing watch that intentionally tries modern viewers’ patience, which is sure to repel most, but the nobility of Rosi’s intentions is inarguable.

Cover-Up is an overall captivating, invigorating watch. Without editorializing too obviously, Poitras and Obenhaus have created an incredibly impactful and, at times, infuriating look at America’s history of violent imperfection, showing that when it comes to holding our nation accountable, journalists like Seymour Hersh are an absolute necessity.

while there are certainly entertaining moments throughout, Van Sant’s interpretation of this forgotten true crime story is simply not as exciting as it should be – and clearly wants to be.

The Stranger is a distancing, cold watch that’s sure to leave many viewers feeling completely stranded, which just may be what Ozon is going for.

Johnson, giving the performance of his career, along with excellent work from Blunt and Bader, makes an inconsistent screenplay not only watchable but entertaining and deeply moving.

Regardless of one’s beliefs—or lack thereof—”The Testament of Ann Lee“ is an undeniably moving and inspirational story of holding true to one’s convictions and finding strength in a like-minded community, effectively brought into the 21st century through powerful, stirring music.

The film deliberately avoids sweeping statements and proclamations, instead choosing to smartly focus on one ordinary person, brought to life by one of our most extraordinary performers.

Despite being overwritten in places, the screenplay is the real star of the show in The Wizard of the Kremlin. Full of astute observations and dryly humorous quips, it’s gratifying to listen to. Assayas’ film is catnip for followers of political machinations, even if more casual viewers may find it as unconquerable as Russia has proved to be over the centuries.

Father Mother Sister Brother is a cinematic series of variations on a theme, proving to be a gentle yet humorous look at how we interact with the people we have no choice but to know and, hopefully, love.

Bugonia makes the disappointing choice to favor ridiculousness over meaning.

After the Hunt struggles to decide precisely how it wants to approach its examination of the (to reference one of Alma’s teaching topics) panopticon-like method of dealing with allegations of amorality in today’s society. But thanks to Guadagnino’s strong filmic choices, Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’ unnerving musical score, and striking performances, it still manages to draw audiences into its chilling, unsteady world effectively.