Gregory Ellwood

Beyond its subject matter one of the reasons Scoop is genuinely compelling is Philip Martin’s direction. The pacing is brisk, but not rushed. And time and again, “The Crown” veteran smartly lets his actors play to their strengths.

There is a kernel of an idea in Cano and Craig’s screenplay that’s worth exploring. The movie feels like it could or should be great, but it took a wrong turn somewhere on that dark road.

For kids, the film is watchable because Black still finds ways to boost the movie with genuine charisma through his vocal talents alone (so much so you wonder why he isn’t working more in live action) and, for adults, something is reassuring in the glorious exasperation that accompanies everyone of Hoffman’s line readings. Still, it all feels a little too by the book.

Not only is Madame Web a mess of a movie it doesn’t even qualify as a “it’s so bad it’s good” moment of escapist entertainment. It suffers from a much worse fate: it’s utterly forgettable.

It turns out this endeavor is a manic mix of two different movies in one and the second barely redeems it enough to make you stick around for the end credits.

Lacorazza Samudio has pulled off a splendid feature directorial debut. Inspired by events in her own life and a sparse 90 minutes, the screenplay is layered but tight. The emotional beats are purposeful and not forced. There is a nuance and authenticity to the entire endeavor that is genuinely refreshing.

Hammel has talent and something to say that’s worth paying attention to. There’s a spark of something there, eventually. It’s a little messy, but it’s definitely there. It also just might take a while before you want to hear it.

The Outrun begins and ends with Ronan. There are very few moments in the movie where she isn’t on screen, and to say she’s up for the challenge is an understatement. It’s a very strong performance and, somewhat impressively, not as showy as you might expect given the material.

As the pieces of Ghostlight continue to unfold, it becomes increasingly clear what a smart and moving narrative O’Sullivan has put together.

The third act often feels more like a cinematic exercise than a filmmaker who has something to say.

Ultimately, not only has Park crafted an often hilarious and entertaining coming-of-age movie, but a surprise tearjerker.

While Eisenberg is excellent on screen, especially during a dinner scene when he unloads his concerns over David to his fellow tourists, it’s Culkin who, rightfully, steals the film.

Margolin’s directorial debut is often super entertaining with just enough style and patience to avoid the trappings of a broad, studio endeavor. It also has a ton to say about senior autonomy, aging, ageism (two very different things), and the bonds between family members, young and old.

As Love Me unfolds, it becomes an exercise to explore how very human emotions affect evolving artificial intelligence beings. Although referring to it as an exercise sounds unfairly cold. The movie is certainly not that. Both Stewart and Yeun bring passion to their characters. . . But something feels off.

The movie has its issues. . . The wrestling though? The action in the ring? Durkin’s direction of those classic matches? It often looks more “real” than the WWE or professional wrestling you see on television today.

The actors are game, but their connection is more cutesy than romantic.

What’s most remarkable about His Three Daughters aren’t the performances. As you’d suspect, Coon, Moss, and Lyonne complement each other perfectly (although we should note this is without question the best work of Lyonne’s career). It’s the fact that Jacobs and cinematographer Sam Levy have crafted a drama that takes place almost entirely in one enclosed space and somehow avoided the dreaded claustrophobic aesthetic that makes one feel like they are watching a filmed play.

The end result is often so insightful and entertaining that it makes you immediately wonder what subject matter Jefferson will tackle next.

This may feel like familiar territory to another U.K.-set disaster film, “Children of Men,” or the recent mini-series “Station Eleven,” but Bellow has crafted something singular here. And you won’t forget it.

Thankfully, the film has Jamie Foxx on the bench in a truly funny and passionate turn as legendary lawyer Willie E. Gary.

To say Farber’s screenplay is plot-heavy is an understatement.

When was the last time someone who has so mastered the stage – Baker is a Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright, mind you – crafted a directorial feature debut of such artistic confidence? A film that feels a million miles from the confines of a sterile theatrical setting. A movie that is creatively propelled more by a filmmaker’s eye than the words composed by a screenwriter.

Somehow, Gillespie manages not only to make it feel fresh but its own distinct chapter in this never-ending story.

For the most part, One Life is chronicling very familiar WW II territory. It’s not difficult to prompt genuine tension from these horrific events, but Hawes’ depiction of them is simply too conservative.

After co-writing and producing Romain Graves’ own epic of civil unrest, 2022’s “Athena,” he steps behind the camera once more for his second feature directorial effort, “Les Indésirables,” and while the subject matter is just as timely, the overall result is slightly less scintillating.

Foster is so good you’re often rooting for Stoll to succeed more than Nyad. And sometimes a performance like that is all you need for a feel-good story like this one.

Sure, the story hangs on by the thinnest of threads, it loses momentum in the second act, and one or two of the songs are just a bit too repetitive. Then again, you’ll laugh. Likely a lot.

Something is missing from making it a knockout.

The film’s saving grace, as you’d expect, is Domingo. He conveys Ruskin’s inherent natural charisma so perfectly that no one will finish watching this film and wonder how such a flamboyant man became such a powerful figure in this homophobic era. Domingo’s performance makes you believe.

It’s not acknowledged enough how difficult it is to make a period piece that doesn’t feel staged or performative. Nichols genuinely captures the spirit of this particular era and keeps your attention even if you never gave a second thought to those packs of bike riders passing you on the highway.

The movie is genuinely funny. The characters are well rounded. Giamatti inhabits Hunham so well he could crack zingers in his sleep. Randolph knows exactly what she’s doing and Sessa is just green enough to avoid the affected young actor syndrome.

This is a swinging-for-the-fences with the bases-loaded type of movie. An irreverent monster of a film that leaves you buzzing. We’re talking “cinema,” baby.

We’d be reminiscent to not admit this is the sort of movie that’s hard to shake. We haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. Considering how rare that is, maybe that’s just as gracious a compliment as admitting to bawling while the credits roll.

While the film elegantly considers the relationship between Feña and their father in the third act, it still feels like something is missing from that aspect of the picture. Especially after Feña’s anxious build-up to his arrival.

Unfortunately, Cailley’s conventional cinematic aesthetic is also often akin to a contemporary streaming movie (the first thirty minutes or seem like a television pilot) and while the visual effects are solid, there are few images that will stick with you hours after you’ve left the theater. What saves “The Animal Kingdom” is the genuine horror over this happening to anyone (Cailley gets that right, at least) and Kircher’s fantastic performance.

Over the course of three and a half hours, Bang both refutes and affirms the criticisms over working conditions for these workers, many of whom are migrants, traveling hundreds of miles (or more) to make money for their families back home.

While the filmmaker has a better grasp on conveying well-staged melodrama than many of his contemporaries half his age (Fabio Massimo Capogrosso’s score and Francesco Di Giacomo‘s cinematography assist), the heart of the story somehow still gets lost. Even a final scene that should capture the tragedy of this tale falls surprisingly flat.

Despite Ben Hania sticking to her cinematic formula “Four Daughters” is genuinely hard to forget. It will linger with you for days afterward. That’s mostly due to Olfa’s heartbreaking perseverance to find her children and a wee bit of Ben Hania’s storytelling skill too.

This is a film you can dissect for hours. A movie full of details and creative choices that will spur debate and passion. Another work of Glazer’s full of images that may haunt you for weeks. And well worth almost the decade it took to get here.

The subjects of Kokomo City are quote machines, but their strength is that they make you listen to what they are actually saying and digest their opinions. Oh, no, they are not just here to entertain you. Points will be made.

Disappointingly, and despite the best intentions, Durham’s overwritten script diminishes some potentially truly moving moments over the course of the picture. There is simply too much clunky exposition.

The best news is that the songs, by Galvin, Gordon, Lieberman, Platt, and Mark Sonnenblick (“Spirited,” “Lyle Lyle Crocodile”) were written beforehand. Those compositions contribute to the one-time-only musical performance that practically saves the movie. The songs and staging of the show are simply hilarious.

It goes without saying that Lambert’s skill at stating the film’s surreal moments is genuinely impressive. She collaborates with cinematographer Dustin Lane and art director Robert Brecko to stage images that stick with you long after you leave the theater. But, outside of a showcase moment for Ridley in the movie’s third act, there isn’t much else that does.

Cassandro isn’t here to cover every moment of Armendáriz’s life. And there are storylines, especially with his father, that neither Williams or his co-screenwriter, David Teague, can bring to a satisfying conclusion. But as a portrait of a man finding himself in his profession? Of celebrating his true self? It’s extraordinary.

Perhaps it worked better as a theatrical endeavor, but the result is a film that feels like a collection of familiar hospital set storylines thrown together without a true compelling throughline.

Styles, night and day here compared to his work in that other fall release, wonderfully inhabits a working-class man fearful of public scrutiny but unable to hide his true self.

You wish the film had a slightly more queer eye behind the camera (yes, that’s a genuine thing, Andrew Ahn’s “Fire Island” is an excellent recent example). Even for a major studio production, it might have helped. But if everyone around you is laughing, maybe it doesn’t matter. It probably means another Bros gets made which, hey, wouldn’t be a bad thing at all.

Magee’s script doesn’t always give them enough material to play with, but Corrin runs with it and, most impressively, with a freedom that totally clicks with de Clermont-Tonnerre’s sensibilities. And yet, when the credits roll it feels like something is missing and, well, you somehow wish they’d pushed it even more.

Despite Deakins and Mendes’ shorthand in framing gorgeous images, there are moments, especially in the second act, where the film could simply use a bit more energy. Luckily, for Mendes, Colman provides it soon after and when the movie needs it most.

Dense isn’t always used as a compliment when describing a movie, but in the case of Women Talking it’s a badge of honor. Polley is tackling numerous social dynamics among the women as well as a number of contemporary themes including women’s roles in society, religious freedom, sexual liberation, and even gender identity.

As always, Lelio has a way with his actors. Nothing will ever feel forced. Even the most melodramatic stakes will feel grounded. And yet, despite a pointless framing device the film simply does not need, it’s missing some of the visual magic of his earlier films.

At its best, a welcome addition to the increasing number of contemporary Native American stories seen in the films such as “Songs My Brother Told Me,” “Wild Indian” and FX’s “Reservation Dogs.” At worst, it’s a disjointed narrative that sadly overstays its welcome.

While the entire cast is superb, it’s the rich performances from Watson and Mescal who elevate the material beyond that aforementioned air of familiarity.

Dhont, who displayed an impressive artistic vision with his feature and slightly problematic debut “Girl,” has pulled off something miraculous with his sophomore effort.

The power of Mungiu’s work is his writing. Like much of Eastern European cinema of the past decade, he’s crafted a morality tale that should prompt a viewer to take a look at themselves in the mirror wherever they may live. And if it ends without any hint of resolution? With barely a glimmer of hope? So be it.

It may be bloated, but Moonfall always feels like it’s moving at a somewhat brisk pace. And the filmmaker’s greatest talent is collaborating with visual effects teams to craft images that somehow get seared in your brain.

Admittedly, Utama is a simple story, but one that packs an emotional punch without endless exposition or symbolism.

There are definitely some logical gaps in Ford’s screenplay and perhaps the consequences could be slightly more dangerous (intriguingly, guns barely appear throughout the proceedings), but as a filmmaker, he displays a keen awareness of racking up the tension when necessary and not overdoing it when it’s not.

In the end, it’s a stellar turn from Sharp that dots the I’s and crosses the t’s when the tear ducts begin to flow. And you realize how marvelously constructed the whole endeavor is.

When the film works, it’s often because Banks confidently carries so much of it on her own shoulders.

Despite a very frank and welcome illustration of gay sexuality rarely seen in modern media (in this manner at least), Greater Freedom continually teases us with storylines and subject matter by choosing to frame this era through a relationship that it cannot rationalize.

Gambis, who is both a director and a biologist, has crafted a piece of art that captivates as much as it informs.

It’s a subtle and poignant performance that makes you eager for Richardson to have an even bigger spotlight in he next endeavor.

Despite Davis’ lyrical direction, the obvious gaps in the screenplay provide too many holes for what strives to be a definitive portrait of an exceptional talent.

The film’s saving graces is not only Ahmed, who, as you’d expect, elevates the material every chance he gets, but his on-screen connection with Chauhan. Somehow, the relatively unknown Canadian actor gives one of the best performances from a young actor in recent memory.

You can certainly respect Sharpe for taking a big swing in this regard, but he can’t bring the proceedings back to earth when the audience needs some sort of emotional investment. This also ends up hampering Cumberbatch, who is giving one of the most committed performances of his life, but only to find it buried under all of the film’s extracurricular aspects.

This version of Cyrano feels less fresh or contemporary than it wants to be. Something is missing either in the songs, the staging, or, more likely, the screenplay. That being said, the core story will still be compelling to many as it has for over 120 years.

The filmmakers are beyond lucky to have the performances from Smith and Ellis, as well as Venus’ own incredible story, to keep you captivated when it matters most.

The storyline is so predictable, in fact, that despite Lafosse’s skills at crafting a scene the narrative simply leaves you wanting. The actors, on the other hand, carry most of your attention because they simply have to.

Of course, you can also just enjoy Red Rocket for Baker and cinematographer Drew Daniels’ gorgeous twilight landscapes or Rex’s irresistible charismatic performance. Or laugh at Stabler’s exploits (although we admit, the film could genuinely be a bit funnier) or fall under Strawberry’s charm. Or you can see more.

Despite what may initially seem to be a somewhat straightforward contemporary drama, Hamaguchi has crafted a rich, skilfully layered masterwork with flawless performances and a script that is a screenwriter’s holy grail. It sticks in your brain for days and nudges you to take it in again.

No one would deny Sisto clearly has a vision of what he’d like to accomplish and shows flashes of humor here and there, but the almost overt influences of any number of other filmmakers (Michael Haneke, ‎Yorgos Lanthimos, and Sean Durkin immediately come to mind) have the cumulative effect of making the proceedings feel numbingly familiar.

What’s strikingly revolutionary in Pleasure is how Thyberg’s gaze provides Bella’s story much-needed context by embracing the mundane aspects of this particular world.

To say it’s a stellar feat of cinema is something of an understatement.

It becomes pretty obvious early on that CODA is one of those movies where you know where the story is going pretty much the entire time, but the elements harmonize so beautifully it still sucks you in.

Ewing makes a creative decision in the final act of the picture which simply sucks all the air out of the room.

What there is, however, is Nasibullina and she makes you root for Velya despite all the character’s faults

Nine Days is the sort of original cinematic art that, these days, is few and far between.

Despite the efforts of Hopkins and an outstanding ensemble, Zeller can’t divorce his feature directorial debut from its theatrical origins.

There is barely a manufactured minute in the film. Everything fits together organically and in a narrative film that is much harder to pull off than it sounds.

At almost two-hours Worth somehow feels almost twice as long. Granted, we understand it’s a cliché to describe a film in such terms, but Colangelo and Borenstein are trying to cover too much ground that is, for lack of a better word, repetitive.

What you take away from Wendy, however, is that Zeitlin’s talent to soar cinematically remains intact. He can transport you to a fantastical world without the benefit of massive CG effects or a massive set on a gigantic soundstage.

Dominic Cooke’s Ironbark is blessed with fantastic turns from Benedict Cumberbatch, Jessie Buckley and Rachel Brosnahan to up the stakes and make it all feel a bit fresher than it actually is.

Blank knows exactly what narrative territory she’s in and uses the dramatic conflicts at bay to make a number of decidedly funny and oh, so painful points.

Simien’s strengths come to the forefront once again and that’s what makes it so difficult to pinpoint why the final product doesn’t exactly gel together as it should.

The only aspect of the film that even makes it watchable ends up being Shannon’s portrayal of Westinghouse.

Simply put, this is an expertly directed first feature. Clapin’s willingness to be patient as a scene unfolds, to let the hand experience the surreal images from its perspective, to let the quiet captivate the audience is beyond impressive.

The problem, unfortunately, is that Hope Gap is based on Nicholson’s play “The Retreat from Moscow” and the proceedings never really leaves the theater. Despite the director’s attempts to throw in [a few] drone shots to break up the drama and make the affairs inherently more cinematic, there are few scenes that don’t seem as though they would be more intriguing played out in front of a live audience.

What elevates Hustlers from an entertaining con job flick to something noteworthy is that the racket isn’t inherent to the story Scafaria wants to tell. Many filmmakers will say their film tackles female empowerment, but few do the legwork to make an integral and authentic part of the story.

A hodgepodge of a story that only really works when Glaisher and Wren are in the sky. And when they are it’s absolutely gorgeous.

Somehow the filmmakers found lightheartedness and – gasp – laughs in a story of political intrigue at the top of the notoriously buttoned-up Catholic Church.

When Shults soars under this structure, he composes some brilliant moments. When he falters, it seems like the movie doesn’t know where to go or when to end (if it even wants to).

Ford v Ferrari is the sort of cinematic entertainment that sucks you in and won’t let you go until you cross the finish line.

The film’s title isn’t just referring to the past, but what everyone involved witnesses in their communities everyday. By letting this fester and not confronting it dead on are we not saying we’re fine with being “barbarians’? It’s a credible question the filmmaker leaves you to ponder in private.

His film feels more like a collection of wonderfully envisioned set pieces that don’t fully form a coherent whole.

For every scene that doesn’t work there is another that’s spellbinding. It’s gutsy and provocative and, frankly, that’s a compliment you can’t give many independent films these days.

A somewhat cool robot does not make a movie. ... The eventual twists aren’t that surprising and don’t really make sense in the context of even the film’s most basic world building.

There is drama in the source material for sure, but maybe a little more style could have helped elevate this moment in history for the masses.