Glenn Kenny

This is a harrowing movie that depends on our collective hindsight to underscore its manifold and particular ironies.

This documentary, directed by Jeffrey Wolf, is a plain, sincere, nourishing account of the artist.

If you’ve ever been curious as to how a cartoonist gets into The New Yorker and what happens then, Very Semi-Serious offers very satisfactory info.

The film belongs to Ms. Muñoz. She’s the kind of performer (like Setsuko Hara, the Japanese actress to whom the film is dedicated) you can’t take your eyes off, even when she doesn’t seem to be up to much of anything.

The film is as beautifully composed as Uzzle’s pictures. The director Jethro Waters also shot the movie, a subtle feast of light and color.

Beth B is not out to deliver a comprehensive biography. Instead, she achieves a vivid snapshot of a still-vital artist late in a still-purposeful life.

Mandela did not die before effecting a huge change in his still-traumatized country. This movie sheds a valuable light on his struggle.

When the writer opts to just let things be, the movie is at its most content.

The antics never out-and-out surprise, but they almost never fail to amuse.

The Endless rewards patience with mind-bending twists and turns.

Lunch’s entire aesthetic is centered around trauma: how abusers dispense it, how it is — and how she thinks it ought to be — received, and turned back on the world.

This intense documentary shows a driven creator walking the walk, so to speak, in the most perverse fashion possible. The story is both repellent and strangely inspiring.

Here and in the earlier picture it’s perhaps easy to apprehend Dumont’s approach with a “What’s this oddball up to now?” smirk. But if Dumont is joking at all, it’s a form of what used to be called “kidding on the square.”

This gangly picture isn’t a lost masterpiece, to be clear. But it’s a magnetic curio, a fascinating relic of a vanished strain of European cinema.

The Bob’s Burgers Movie, directed by Bouchard and Bernard Derriman, is such a breezy, engaging picture that it qualifies as a summer refreshment.

The reversals the characters suffer across the movie’s running time are epic, and the movie’s finale unfolds to genuinely startling effect.

In a film full of pleasant harmonies, a note of dread comes in.

The filmmakers’ bold pushback against the rigid formality of the genre they draw upon doesn’t always deliver. With the exception of Ms. Korine, the performers often seem to have a hard time shaking off the aura of the contemporary. Nevertheless, there’s much of value here.

A lively, fun one.

This affectionate, heartbreaking documentary about his life, directed by Garret Price, presents Yelchin as a soldier of cinema, and a lot more.

This is an essential film, but it is also a terribly dispiriting one.

This effervescent picture has an often infectious underground-movie aesthetic.

There’s a lot to like here, particularly Steinfeld’s performance.

The movie is a fast account that is sometimes a tad facile in its analysis of a cultural moment. But as Mr. Schrager’s personal too-much-too-soon story, it’s compelling.

This movie packs in plenty of cinema acrobatics and spectacle without ever feeling out of control, even as it morphs into a far-fetched whodunit.

In its sensitivity and attention to detail, Ocean Waves makes itself into something special, and kind of magical, and so proves very much a Ghibli gem.

The movie is replete with ingeniously constructed mini-narratives, including a turf war. The mesmerizing score by Kira Fontana, interspersed with well-chosen Turkish pop, is a real asset.

The movie’s intellectual provocations — mostly pertaining to the elasticity of cinematic form — remain as lively as they were many decades ago.