Gregory Ellwood

Along with some truly breathtaking visuals, the pint-size Ochi is the best part of Saxon’s long-in-the-works opus.

O’Brien has never had the opportunity to play such a sketchy, dirty character before and utterly kills it. This is the sort of performance that make casting directors take notice.

At no point in Patti Cake$ is there ever a hint that Macdonald is unable to legitimately rap. She’s simply a revelation.

How many times have you read that it’s really hard to duplicate the success of the first film in a sequel? Probably more than you can remember. Well, here’s a newsflash: Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol. 2 pulls that feat off with only a little strain and a belly of genuine emotion.

Phoenix is almost otherworldly here. It’s his charismatic performance that often carries the film through its repetitive moments as he expertly takes Callahan on an emotional roller coaster filled with the highest highs and the lowest lows.

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.

Watts co-wrote the screenplay with Christopher D. Ford (“Robot & Frank”) and, frankly, it’s not as clever or compelling as it wants to be.... The filmmaker does deserve credit, however, for conjuring up some nicely tense cinematic moments.

There are moments of genuine magic that make you wonder what this movie could have been. But do they linger like that imaginary friend you’ll never forget? In this case, perhaps not.

While Leigh transports you back to 1819 through these rich characters, he simply tests the audience’s patience in getting to the heart of the story. There is an abundance of formal speeches and long monologues in the film, and they are often arduous and repetitive.

Coppola packs a lot into the film’s 85-minute runtime, but in many ways, the complete experience feels like a slight tease. There is more to explore. There are other portions of Shelly’s life or Coppola’s increasingly poetic perspective of Vegas itself that are calling. But some moments overcome the film’s thin narrative facade and not just Anderson’s triumphant climax, either.

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.

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.

Considering Redmayne’s achievement it’s almost shocking that you can argue Vikander gives the more memorable performance.

To say Blanchett is good here is a grave understatement.

It's good stuff and, in a perfect world, will prompt Hollywood execs to take Winocour's directing skills very seriously.

Mielants and Porter end the film in a manner that is almost offensive to the audience. This isn’t about providing a spotlight for kids with behavioral issues or the professionals who commit their lives to them; it’s melodrama for melodrama’s sake, with an awkward attempt at a “happy ending” that is borderline cringe.

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.

While Bening is incredible playing a fading Hollywood starlet in Paul McGuigan’s Film Stars Don’t Die In Liverpool, it’s her co-star, Jamie Bell, who might be the film’s real secret weapon.

What truly elevates Plainclothes in this genre are the contributions from Tovey and Blyth.

Yes, Jackman’s impressive portrayal of Hart is at the center of “The Front Runner” (it’s one of the best performances of his career), but Reitman uses a large cast of characters to give depth to the events in question.

Carousel is another entry in a run of magnificent Jenny Slate performances.

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.

All that being said, the songs are impressive enough that it’s not hard to envision “The End” becoming something of a cult musical. Five years from now, maybe less, some excited college freshman is going to convince the head of their college drama department to let them put on a stage version of this musical. And chances are, it will be a smash. This is material that, with some editing of its book (er, script), a spotlight on the songs, and natural physical intimacy, could flourish on the stage.

Bale and Pike are superb. Despite some melodramatic tendencies and strange choices in Cooper’s script they make you have sympathy and compassion for each of their characters.

Much of the success of the film is due to the four leads who seamlessly work the one or two outrageous moments into the story without resorting to over-the-top characterizations.

All the actresses do their best with the material, but only Mulligan truly transcends its limitations.

It’s all fun and murder games (until it’s not), but something is missing. “Maxxxine” feels a bit emptier than the first two installments. Goth is quite good at reprising the role, but Maxine is sort of already a fully-baked character.

It often seems as though Hikari is being pulled toward a prespective that is simply not Japanese enough to provide a true cultural perspective. But, more importantly, Hikari knows how to push enough emotional buttons without the audience sensing they are being manipulated. And, for many, those talents mean Rental Family will lead to genuine tears.

While the kids are pretty fantastic overall, it’s the collaboration between Brill and Bonilla that takes Heller’s screenplay to another level.

It’s well crafted and compelling at times thanks mostly to the casts’ efforts, but there is an emptiness that permeates through the film as if a significant piece of Wilde’s demise is missing.

Orley’s direction is fine, and the picture is well made for a low budget indie, but Davidson is all you’ll really remember when you leave the theater. And for many, that’ll be enough.

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.

A deceptively dense piece of work filled with moments that articulate the complexity of the human condition.

Heavens, that masterful first half of filmmaking. That quiet, subtle love affair. That charismatic pairing between Mescal and O’Connor, which, for a moment, feels like a cinematic romance for the ages. Oh, I’ll pay a ticket just to experience that again, absolutely. But just that. Just that.

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.

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.

If there is any saving grace to “Horses,” beyond Luc Montpellier‘s often painterly cinematography and Jeriana San Juan‘s superb costume design, is its commitment to chronicling this era of hidden queer love.

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.

What’s most disturbing is Jackson’s pedestrian direction has resulted in a film that barely recognizes how powerful this is in contemporary society.

What’s fresh and compelling are Wilde and Hoffman. They are so stellar together that the film’s multiple endings work because they are front and center in them. In the end, almost despite Araki’s efforts, they make having “Sex” worth it

California Schemin’ is an impressive calling card that suggests McAvoy shouldn’t make this project a one-time wonder.

“Five Foot Two” is mostly about a woman pushing forward with her career in pain, and we’re talking chronic literal pain.

The film’s inherent problems, however, are two fold. First, the third of the picture is an absolute slog. The Zellner’s may have though this was a creative choice to make the comedic scenes funnier when they finally hit, but it simply doesn’t work. Second, the funny bits simply aren’t as funny as they should be.

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’s a line for an audience between conveying the true horror of what occurred and being excessive and Maras barely avoids the latter.

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

Sure, Vikander and Olsen are superb as Mia has to constantly stop herself from wringing Virginia’s neck, but the whole endeavor increasingly feels flat.

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.

Considering the entire film takes place in the confines of the school building, it’s a testament to Tøndel’s direction and Reinsve’s enthralling performance that the film avoids feeling claustrophobic.

It goes without saying that Cranston has a lot to carry on his shoulders and he does an admirable job. It’s hard not to laugh every so often at one of Wakefield’s snide remarks and that’s effectively because of how Cranston sells it. But even this accomplished actor can’t make you feel any sympathy for a character whose actions defy convention in the most unimaginative ways.

For a feature debut, Una is bursting with exceptional confidence and style. The aesthetic is Jonathan Glazer meets Andrea Arnold and it assures that some of the script’s more staged scenes hold your attention.

When Kusuma, Kidman and Destroyer finally kick it into high gear it’s so, so worth the wait.

Honestly, you almost wish Singer had the foresight to ensure everyone involved took the proceedings completely seriously. That might have resulted in a camp classic that would be more memorable than this often aimless and thematically thin endeavor.

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.

Institutional corruption has been a centerpiece in Romanian film, especially over the past two decades. It’s no surprise then that Emanuel Parvu‘s Three Kilometers to the End of the World is driven by that narrative even when it’s not the most compelling part of the story.

Karia has Ahmed’s impassioned performance, one of his best, a committed and talented cast, often stunning visuals from director of photography Stuart Bentley, as well as his own imaginative staging to captivate the viewer.

The contemporary allegories are obvious, but too much of Vanderbilt’s screenplay gets lost in literal card tricks and heightened melodrama.

Apologies in advance, but for lack of a better descriptor the whole thing is a mess. It’s not even good enough to be a cult movie which is backhanded compliment anyway. But, hey, at least the actors tried.

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.

If the movie only serves as an appetizer for Liminov’s fascinating life, that’s something, I guess.

Beyond Reitman and Keenan’s tight screenplay and a fantastic recreation of Studio 8H from production designer Jess Gonchor, the movie would not fly without an ensemble that may end up being legendary in its own right.

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.

It’s a marvel that Bennett crafted this screenplay almost at the age of 90. And his dialogue is often sharp and witty. The scenario is ripe for a captivating and moving drama. And yet, perhaps this was one project that needed a different director at the helm for the material to truly resonate.

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.

While Bercot's intentions are admirable, she and co-screenwriter Marcia Romano have conjured up too many moments that play out like thousands of courtroom scenes you've seen before.

Demange, who earned glowing reviews for his debut “’71,” tries to guide all these plotlines and characters with a steady hand, but it often feels too unwieldy. There are simply too many storylines and threads competing with each other. The result is a movie that it feels like snippets of a life instead of a portrait of one.

As Coppola teases Jacobs’ brilliance over the decades, you realize he may not have gotten his due as one of the most influential designers of the past 50 years. He may have been taken for granted both inside the insular fashion world and by the public at large. And, at worst, you just hope sometime soon, another filmmaker tackles an extended film or docu-series about him and really gives him his due.