Conor O'Donnell

Cameron wrings the most from his environment and its inhabitants, not just for the sake of going-for-broke, but to deliver something thematically resonant, folding the first two films on top of each other.

McQuarrie has proven himself such a keen purveyor of large-scale cinema that not only solidifies Fallout as a benchmark for the franchise, but a bona fide manifesto for breathtaking, high-stakes action–a mission that the genre as a whole would do well to accept.

The go-for-broke attitude with which Top Gun: Maverick asserts itself is key to its success. Evident in the visceral whiplash of the aerial extravaganza, and the tender earnestness of its more honest moments, Top Gun: Maverick is the kind of rare, all-encompassing, and finely-tuned blockbuster that––if you let it––will take your breath away.

Entertainment of the highest order, Allied, like a large portion of Robert Zemeckis’ work, feels like a grand ode to filmmaking of an era past.

If not the pure adrenaline rush that much of Fallout was, this latest Mission continuously finds new ways to surprise, subvert, entertain.

Rian Johnson’s main feat is being savvy enough to know that sometimes the best thing to do is cherishing the past before burning it to the ground.

An original property, with a veteran marquee idol, in the hands of an accomplished auteur whose name isn’t Nolan, utilizing technological breakthroughs, Gemini Man isn’t just a novelty, it’s a miracle. It’s a Big Bang–a confluence of the right elements and conditions perfectly situated to create something that can flourish, but may never happen again.

While Ryan Coogler’s deep dive into the titular character’s Wakandan homeworld keeps the assembly line working, it heralds not only an improvement on the MCU, but a striking and grandiose fantasy in its own right.

If it threatens too much of a good thing, Chapter 4 benefits from a seemingly infinite well of creative ferocity that’s impeccably paced. And while one could belabor the ludicrous pratfalls and convoluted inner workings of the universe at large, the film acquits itself just fine with an Ian McShane proclamation: “Just have fun out there.”

The cracked joints and blunt force trauma are where Atomic Blonde excels.

Like a good snoop, All the Old Knives works its assets to maximum effect. It knows what it’s doing with Chris Pine in a turtleneck or Thandiwe Newton smirking through a glass of rosé. What’s left is a sturdy version of something maybe too familiar but welcome all the same.

The Final Reckoning‘s sum is not necessarily equal to its parts, but where the film stumbles technically, it soars viscerally, bolstered by the simple comfort that it’s just nice to hang with our friends in the IMF (even if they are stressed beyond measure).

There is nary a moment of death that isn’t drawn out for laughs, or a moment of comedy drawn out for sorrow. Among the ice and the wind, Cold Pursuit paints an unsuspecting, desolate place, where death doesn’t care about you, so you might as well laugh.

Nope’s disparate eccentricities are enough of a foundation, however stitched-together, for Peele to exercise the cosmic cinematic ambitions at which he clearly excels.

Handily crafted and only occasionally stilted, Creed III is a remarkably limber piece of entertainment.

The easy-breeziness of it all anchors this whole film’s appeal. There’s no brand to gravitate to or dopamine reward for recognizing things you grew up with––just charisma, comedy, and star power in spades. In that respect, the most wondrous thing about The Lost City is that it even exists.

Kogonada delightfully exploits the simple joy of beautiful people falling in love on screen. He deploys his trademark empathy as a means of encouragement: Go with it, be open, and maybe this will make you feel something lovely if you let it.

Aside from the sparse bit of wincing fan service (such as odd prominence for what would usually be a mere easter egg), Prey is a nimble bit of carnage via perfect late-summer blockbuster. That such a worthy successor gets relegated not to the cinema but the streaming wars is a brutal slaughter in its own right.

Sometimes dead is better, but it turns out a twisted bit of reanimation is just what Pet Sematary needed.

In this landscape, it’s rare to get the kind of unabashed silliness Taika Waititi delivers with Thor: Ragnarok.

The film admirably attempts a level of emotional resonance Bay has proven largely incapable of. Even if it can’t quite wrangle those beats into one cohesive mood, it gives its leads the most they’ve had to work across this trilogy.

The macro result of Free Guy is an innocuous, not-totally-unpleasant time-killer. It doesn’t warrant strong castigation, frankly because of the energy that would require.

Lacking thematic subtlety or dimensionality outside of Rain and Andy, Alien: Romulus compensates with a killer instinct deployed with squirming glee.

Spider-Man: Far From Home, riding the highs of its charismatic players, and intermittently teasing compelling notions, is–like its hero–somewhat out of its depth.

For all his competent and confident staging, perhaps a steadier hand than Sollima’s could have steered the script to a place where some emotional payoff feels rightly earned, or coalesced Sheridan’s takes on the immigration crisis into a more cohesive, singular point.

In spite of its slightly excessive runtime and a handful of millennial-pandering beats, Bridget Jones’s Baby is brought to term by the buckets of undeniable charm and charisma present in its performances.

All told, Fast X is an improvement on its recent predecessors and perfectly welcome as distracting summer fare, but whether or not it will stall before the end of the road remains to be seen.

While The Fate of the Furious is an unquestionably enjoyable outing, it’s beginning to feel a lot like fatigue on a long-enduring franchise.