Dan Mecca

American Doctor is hard to watch and it should be. It’s hard to live in a world like this, where things like this happen. Where we let things like this continue to happen.

This is a quiet, sad, lovely little film with wonderful, small character moments.

Harper does good work here, building on a sturdy portrait of these heroes over a 100-minute runtime.

There’s a lot in The Incomer to be admired. Unfortunately, it lasts a bit too long and makes the same joke too many times.

One of the more fascinating elements of the documentary WTO/99, directed by Ian Bell, is that while it visually suggests a relic, the political observations feel as predictive as they are reflexive.

Cutting Through Rocks, like its subject, is resilient. The film is ultimately the sum of small, powerful moments.

The most interesting thing about Gabe Polsky’s new documentary The Man Who Saves the World? is that it is unsure of its intentions.

Perhaps the saddest, most effective thing about Orwell: 2+2=5 is that it all seems so obvious. The evidence, the crimes, the lies––all of it. So many of these despots lack any nuance or fortitude. Raoul Peck remains a steadfast beacon of truth. In this time when fiction is fact, we need as many of him as we can get.

The majority of the film is driven by Riefenstahl’s own voice from various recordings. She often comes across as charming and intelligent. That is, of course, what makes her decades of denials and lies all the more disturbing.

Baumbach is making his Fellini film, and it’s a joy to watch. There are funny, recurring jokes involving cheesecake and a lonely man never being alone. There are heartfelt, regretful scenes that nearly always involve Sandler, this film’s co-MVP with Crudup. And Clooney is doing both sides of what he does best.

Ballad‘s third act is telegraphed within an inch of its life, and what a joy it is to watch it unfold. With Berger at the helm and Farrell as his lead, there is no semblance of subtlety. No chance of nuance. This is an alcohol-soaked opera, a morality tale dripping in bombast.

The film serves as a lovely reminder of why art is important, how watching something can make you feel, make you understand, make you consider.

Cooper makes the very smart decision to tap into the legend of Bruce while keeping things small and grounded. While viewers get some hits, focus remains on character.

This film is often funny and sometimes introspective about this land of screens we find ourselves trapped inside. A bit long in the tooth at times, it is undeniably engaging and reliably weird.

Amy Berg’s It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley is an impressive archival document as well as a celebration of the life of a tortured artist.

Harper’s source material is a hard-boiled tour de force, and while Rowland’s adaptation adjusts and simplifies the novel on which it’s based, it successfully bottles the energy and unleashes it onscreen.

Folktales captures a crucial moment in the lives of these young adults amidst a very particular setting with stark, unblinking honesty.

Fight or Flight‘s enjoyment will rest on where you stand with Hartnett, his character, and his comedy.

This documentary lays the facts at our feet and gives us a glimpse of the brave people trying to keep books in libraries and keep young minds open.

Beecroft has captured that bittersweet, specific feeling of place––she effectively conveys that it’s not about the where, but the who. Tabatha Zimiga is an extraordinary person, and East of Wall is smart to position her as such.

There is an unbridled honesty to André Is an Idiot that is admirable, even if all of it doesn’t really work.

Predators is a clear-eyed analysis of the cultural phenomenon, an earnest attempt at understanding why we enjoy watching these kinds of people get caught (apart from the obvious), and a reckoning with the morality of the whole enterprise.

Sunfish (& Other Stories on Green Lake) captures a bittersweet feeling. That feeling of endings and beginnings, happening at the same time.

Train Dreams is a quiet, resilient work that will most likely age gracefully.

It’s worth a warning for those that watch––some images in 2000 Meters to Andriivka you will not soon forget.

Indeed, the most engaging sections feature Liza, who may be a bit frail but retains her verve.

Sundwall is quite impressive in the lead, with much depending on her in solitary sequences. Not every supporting performer can hold their own next to her, but she’s a gracious screen partner. There is much empathy in every frame here. Dizzia and Cho do superb work, anchoring the emotion and responsibility of the entire picture.

The Line is hard to watch, and the banality of this kind of evil is incredibly off-putting. Horrible things happen while people are laughing. Even while The Line extends its welcome, it’s an undeniably unnerving experience.

As everything comes to a head, it becomes clear that it’s not Andy we’re rooting for––it’s Anna. The city has swallowed Andy whole, but he can still do right by his daughter. For such a small, simple film, this is quite powerful.

This is a film worth discovering, ideally after immersing yourself in the underrated novel.

What one will remember from The Falling Star are small things. The way characters get into cars or attempt to fall asleep. The way they pour beer or run from gunfire. For this writer, the small things do not add up to quite enough. Yet when it’s funny, it is really funny.

Its pandemic setting proves effective, the class commentary engaging, and performances top-notch.

This is a short, punchy bit of work. It’s hard to parse the fiction from the non-fiction, which is certainly the point. The people surviving through this war are keeping the cultural candle lit for future generations of Ukrainians. Both legend and fact must live on. Amidst the forlorn images and scorched earth, there is some sort of hope.

Things are revealed, loose ends are tied, and Kormákur keeps it all moving at brisk pace given the evolving intrigue. The word “lovely” feels old-fashioned, but it’s appropriate here. This is a lovely film.

While A Sacrifice‘s third act may be a bit too silly for its own good, the pervasive feeling of dread will linger on long after the credits roll.

Ezra is a flawed, earnest, often-unflinching look at a family doing their best.

Connolly continues to grow as a filmmaker, as evidenced in his last three pictures (The Dry, Blueback, and Force of Nature: The Dry 2), all starring Bana. While The Dry may hold greater dramatic weight, Force of Nature is a more complicated affair. More red herrings, more technical proficiency.

This film is blunt and direct to degrees that may disengage some viewers.

Glitter & Doom feels like a beautiful, energetic half-measure.

High & Low: John Galliano feels like half a movie––plenty of questions, no answers. It’s the beginning of an intriguing conversation and not much else.

The tone is snug and pleasant, the frames unobtrusive and patient. In the third act, Kulcsar’s ultimate ambition reveals itself and its fittingly adventurous for a film wherein adventure is simply a vacation worth taking. If only life were that easy!

Despite some devoted performances and interesting formal choices, its endgame is rather rote. That the film is quieter and more deliberate in getting there doesn’t make it any less cliche.

As the survivors of these schools grow older and pass on, this film should remind future generations on whose hands the blood rests. More must be done, but it’s a start.

There are few things better than when a good idea blossoms into a great movie. It’s What’s Inside, written and directed by Greg Jardin, achieves this rare feat.

That Porcelain War emerges as a taut, effective war documentary that also features compelling animated sequences within the beautiful artwork of its lead subjects makes it a stand-out piece of filmmaking. Its existence proves its own point: even in war, there must be life. Art sustains us and helps us survive.

Despite its straightforward, perhaps manipulative heart-tugging nature, this film is impossible not to like because of the goodwill of its subject and foundation he created.

Though there may be too much here, plenty of it’s compelling and important. The Outrun is undoubtedly a hard sit, but Ronan serves as a superb vessel through choppy waters.

That Culkin has both the charm and bite to carry it is superb, and there’s a bravery to the open-endedness Eisenberg permits. It’s clearly a personal endeavor and clear point of growth as a filmmaker.

Dewey is the highlight of the picture, offering both humor and pathos throughout while playing off Barrera nicely.

Carion is unabashed in his love for both the cabbie and his fare. That affection makes it easy for us to love them too.

This is a classical director, someone who clearly enjoys bringing the past to life. With The Boys in the Boat, he found the right book and the right actors in Turner and Edgerton.

Becoming a parent means living for another life as much as––if not more than––your own. There’s nothing straightforward about it. At times, this film is a bit too straightforward.

Merchant Ivory ultimately feels like a a devoted document of a group of artists who lived complicated, interesting lives. And while this film may not fully capture that complexity, there are forty films they made that get to the heart of the matter.

It feels like there could be a second film just as compelling thanks to Lady Bird’s essential observations.

Moss and McBaine do well to examine their subject from every angle. And yet, it’s not nearly enough.

A Still Small Voice captures good people doing their best to navigate constant crisis. The struggle will linger with you for some time.

In so many ways, A Haunting in Venice feels like some sort of culmination.

Dreamin’ Wild is a kind film about kindness. While comforting in some respects, it lacks a certain amount of punch. Pohlad’s intentions are noble, and the talent of the Emerson brothers is clear enough. One can be happy it exists without fully embracing the film itself.

Mutt isn’t perfect, but it is well-lived. The real-life experiences of the filmmakers bleed through the frames. One wishes for a fuller narrative (the third act peters out a bit) and a peppier pace while also acknowledging the many young people who will discover this coming-of-age narrative and relate to it in a deeply important way.

While Duplass, of course, adds plenty as the primary source of levity, Brown emerges as the standout. This is an actor who can apparently do anything.

32 Sounds is a meditation on life through sound. And though that sentence reads a bit lofty, it’s incredibly true. So often do we account for the images that shape who we are. All the while, the audio is right there, doing the same if not more.

Both Fiennes siblings are smart to never get in the way of Eliot’s words. By simply putting them in front of us and adding some air underneath, the film becomes a piece all its own, made for now.

For the most part, The Covenant is about the bond between brothers and sisters in arms, and the need to rely on each other when systems fail their pledges. Third-act qualms aside, Gyllenhaal and Ritchie emerge as a well-meshed Hollywood duo here. One hopes this is the first of a few collaborations.

Tonally, Moving On plays a bit unorganized. While the results are mixed, these performers make the journey worthwhile.

Featuring multiple lead characters, many points of view, and more twists than a Twizzler, this construct may feel convoluted in spots. Yet it is a concise, well-told piece of entertainment that’s smart enough to know being too clever can be a crutch.

On-the-nose dialogue and a less-than-effective opening in media res hamper the film a bit. Peren’s script gets in the way of her direction from time to time. The Forger‘s biggest success is its rendering of domestic life amongst wartime.

Ultimately, the mid-point twist begins a bridge too far for this viewer. So much of what is grounding and emotional in the first half falls away as the larger context grows more and more extreme. It all leads to a quite-exhausting third act.

Aesthetically and dramatically, Tantura is a fairly straightforward piece of work, and this is appreciated. We are being presented with the facts as the filmmakers see them. Schwarz and his collaborators acknowledge Katz and the complications of his word, while also letting us hear the admissions from the soldiers themselves.

Crowe is searching for something as a filmmaker. His first two features may not work as constructed, but it’s clear the themes and emotions within are important to him. There is ambition at the edges, here’s hoping the third time is the charm.

Kramer and Riseborough are clearly on the same wavelength, both understanding that though the representation in Please, Baby, Please is important, it is most vital the film be entertaining. In both respects they find success.

The tone throughout Confess, Fletch is refreshingly casual and the dialogue is usually clever. The silliest bits are some of the accents and a twisty plot. Hamm anchors all of it, as funny as he’s teased at being for the last decade or so in supporting roles.

Ayouch’s aesthetic is natural, the performances he gets from his actors true. It’s no small feat to get kids acting like kids onscreen. The musical breaks and classroom discussions are both engaging and provocative.

It is, above all else, a fascinating window into the personal and creative life of a queer woman constantly rebelling against the restrictive social norms of her time while trying to decipher what kind of person she is herself.

There is something admirable about the sheer hopelessness of this narrative. It’s not altogether surprising given Schrader’s imprint, but it lacks the nuances of something like First Reformed or The Card Counter.

McGehee and Siegel are at the top of their game, building to an emotional and memorable climax. Nothing is too shocking, but nothing happens exactly as expected either. One could look at the premise of this film and convince themselves they’ve seen it before. They’d be wrong.

While Memory does not fully succeed in its goals, it’s yet another reminder of Neeson’s sheer presence––a movie star if ever there were one. Watching him act against Pearce is also a brief delight.

Hello, Bookstore is ultimately a profile of a man as much as it is a document of a place; Zax knows that the man is the place. And vice versa. What a thrill to root for an everyday hero.

This is ultimately a picture that offers no answers. No clean resolutions. No overtly happy endings. This is a strength. Bialik is more interested in the journey to an ending, rather than the ending itself.

Simultaneously, Cyrano feels like something new and something old. The best of both worlds.

Do not let the brief runtime or spartan setting dissuade you. This is nuanced drama, well-felt and well-told.

Any pain is endured and ultimately enjoyed (save the insane gags Knoxville pulls), allowing audiences a guilt-free good time at the movies. It may not be smart, but the feeling of joy sure as hell ain’t stupid.

Too often do we take for granted the miraculousness of the moving image. Stigter’s creative extension and exploration of Kurtz’s film reminds us. What can we glean from three minutes of film shot in 1938? Plenty.

Brody is great here, his long face and animated eyes doing a lot of work. It’s a quiet performance, an arena where the actor has always excelled. Without doing much, we know Clean: who he is and who he’s trying to be.

Master is ultimately undone by its overreaching scope.

Credit to all involved: here’s a story about real humans and real subjects with real emotional stakes.

Formally, Living is unimpeachable. . . . That said, Living begins and ends with Nighy.

Despite some narrative and aesthetic reservations, there is an edge and an engagement throughout that make 892 worth a recommendation. Abi Damaris Corbin and John Boyega have done solid work in bringing Brian Brown-Easley’s tragic end to the masses.

While the structure is fairly standard and its overall aesthetic sometimes appears limited by scope, The Laureate is a solid, heady account of a particularly tumultuous time in the life of poet Robert Graves.

The pace is never stagnant and the final moments are pointedly effective. Ultimately, The Real Charlie Chaplin is an imperfect film about an imperfect filmmaker.

Joy Ride is the perfect example of “less is more.” One imagines there could be a three-hour cut of these adventures, but who needs that? This feels like the best bits from the bunch, and Goldthwait is economical in his pacing.

Minyan is at its best when it is observing its characters. Often the narrative turns feel a bit abrupt, even forced. The slower bits work the best.

If not necessarily the Craig era’s resounding victory lap some might wish, it’s still an exceptional time in a cinema, begging for the largest screen possible. More importantly, a bold, exciting gesture of good faith in 007’s path forward.

What starts as a documentary about film reels discovered near the Mid-Atlantic Ridge becomes a chronicle of the Soviet Union through the lens of a popular actor’s successes and failures.

There’s more than a few moments where saccharine is the easy option. And while some will say the film is perhaps too understated, it meets its star at the right level. A little goes a long way here.

Huda’s Salon recalls Hollywood mysteries from the 1940s in both its brisk pace and disarmingly simple style, resulting in a sparse, intelligent thriller.

Though the overall quality of the picture may leave a bit to be desired, this documentary serves as a necessary monument to a legend who never got enough credit.

Who You Think I Am works as both an actor’s showcase and a thriller with some meat on its bones.

The fourth-wall breaks grow a bit tiresome and its final scene fails to build on the intensity of what comes just before, but leading turns and the topical setting prove memorable. How much you would like to be reminded of our current state of affairs is, of course, up to each and every viewer.