Conor O'Donnell

This whole concoction plays like a battle of wills between its makers, a closet full of monsters being Trojan-horsed into brand synergy. The morbid joy Sam Raimi manages to induce here is undeniable. The madness, perhaps, is that he must manifest his violent delights through a content delivery system for babies.

Any eye-rolling quips or comic-book acidity is generally outweighed by this fundamental understanding: the best special effect your action film can deploy is Jason Statham kicking people.

There’s nothing monumental at play in The Whole Truth, but it’s not entirely without merit, satisfying on the same level one would digest a grocery store paperback.

With Egerton’s performance as its fuel, Rocketman’s efforts in delivering something that a least attempts an outside the box music biopic are worth commendation. It may not deliver on the truly cosmic fantasia it swings for, but the swing itself is something, to be sure.

The Hollywood-infused epic fantasy plays like Warcraft meets The Last Samurai by way of Zack Snyder — but shockingly better than all that sounds.

Gunn maintains the unenviable job of giving each piece of his ensemble their due screen time to avoid making it the Peter Quill show, but the proceedings often feel manic, disjointed, and overstuffed.

It’s a Marvel entry surprisingly free of any ties to broader property outside of the first two volumes, but mired in the same bag of tricks with a bit more slime on it.

The Marksman could be compelling if it at all dared to be. It flirts with a few trains of thought that perhaps could have rescued it from its own indifference, but it commits to more mundane aspirations.

Though not an entirely colossal failure, Eternals has a Sisyphean problem with authenticity: the greater its attempts at specific, deeply felt connection, the more it feels like a broad, insecure, corporate pander. It becomes increasingly tough to appreciate the handiwork of Zhao or her cast when you can imagine Kevin Feige singing “It’s the real thing!” under every ersatz Terrence Malick tableau.

Jurassic World: Dominion is at best distracted, at worst boring. Playing on the nostalgic return of key heroes and frantically attempting Spielbergian wonder, it wants you to believe it’s got a back-to-basics understanding of Jurassic Park. Instead it’s convoluted notions of big entertainment ignore what Spielberg understood: dinosaurs have always had a natural hold on our collective imagination. Making them fun doesn’t have to be this hard.

It takes a very specific kind of brain trust to craft something as uniquely baffling as Argylle.