Jared Mobarak

Cervera’s feature debut is an accordingly powerful depiction of motherhood’s oft-overlooked cost.

The filmmakers utilize Rose’s intent with Barker’s story and run with it to find the most terrifying, resonate, and scathing conclusion.

The acting is top-notch throughout, matching the film’s quiet yet dark nature.

Bennett is wonderful as always. Her ability to show strength through vulnerability is unparalleled.

You can’t help be inspired by their courage under fire from all angles. Seeing these women smile in the faces of men telling them what they’re doing is wrong or refusing to understand the nuance of something as simple as filler shots for professionally edited interviews is as potent as them giving each one the middle finger since their presence in the news world is that and more on its own.

Maybe Fenn’s treasure will one day change someone’s life in a material way. Maybe it won’t. In the meantime, though, it’s calling us to awaken and explore.

Because Lerman and Hawkes are so good, Adalsteins can let their resentment and fear exist unspoken.

Disobedience‘s journey is one of authentic emotional honesty excelling in instances of insecurity and fear.

Nothing occurs that isn’t meticulously exacting to the story’s trajectory whether it’s seemingly throwaway characters or expert deflections of truth where the pieces are supplied but the underlying machinations are still out of reach.

Wandel pulls no punches in her depiction, and both Leklou and Vanderbeque deliver performances well beyond their years.

McCarthy and Grant’s rapport in these roles cannot be beat. Their caustic wit is mutual so each biting takedown is either appreciated or met by another in return.

Be content with flirtation because it’s more than enough when coupled with a pair of the most charming performances of the year.

Its in-depth dissection of what the concept of “truth” has become in an age of blindly devoted acolytes spreading information faster than it can be confirmed.

What begins as a modest and perhaps slight take on the refugee crisis tinged by an acquired yet welcome taste of British comedy, however, slowly reveals its underlying drama via the stark inevitability of its existence. You can only deflect from your plight so long before the stress and anxiety bubbles back to the surface.

The result is at once empowering . . . heart-wrenching . . . and inspirational.

Just like Moore’s previous films The Secret of Kells and Song of the Sea, a consistently mesmerizing Celtic flavor is imbued into the animation, music, and story.

Its content, humor, and heart all merge to deliver a piece with the potential for cult appeal that transcends the act itself. It’s a treatise on America, the blurred line between taboo and cruelty, and our collective fear of real individuality despite claims by both sides of the aisle to foster freedom. The outcasts get their day.

[Fanning’s] performance is what you’d expect and the character is too—strong, dedicated, and on the cusp of hopelessness. It’s because of this that Watts actually shines brighter.

Inspired by his grandmother’s institutionalization for OCD and propelled by his own experiences having identified as both genders during his lifetime, writer/director Carlo Mirabella-Davis’ fictional feature debut Swallow provides its lead an escape through pica.

This film is about ownership of one’s actions. It’s about accepting that which you cannot run from. No matter how dark that reality appears, however, The Ranger is also very funny.

The heart of The Duke is what shines brightest.

Moya has a great eye for locales and his production and art designers go above and beyond utilizing what Eastern Europe has to offer.

With excellent archival footage, first-hand accounts, animated portraits curated with relevant quotes, historians providing context, and the contemporary pursuit for justice, Rise Again proves itself to be an extensive deep dive into a subject that needs to be taught.

Dale is a force as he runs the full spectrum of emotions to reveal why he matters and why he must also be forgotten.

Garfield is funny and charismatic to draw us in and devastating when presenting the palpable shame that keeps us caring. Broadway cameos aside (some even get to sing during the biggest set-piece of the whole on “Sunday”), however, Garfield can’t carry the full weight of the story alone.

Bouwer utilizes a memorable aesthetic (think Annihilation) that personifies nature while also reducing humanity to its base yearning for satisfaction. And Kapp renders it all part of a bigger scheme revealed through dream-like trances stripped of subterfuge and hope of escape.

What begins like a feel-good tale of one woman’s quest to be the best, Stephanie Johnes’ Maya and the Wave quickly transforms into something much bigger. More than simply attempting to rejuvenate her career after three back surgeries, anxiety disorders caused by the trauma of the accident and its public backlash, and a loss of sponsorship, Maya’s journey became a fight for equality.

Addiction, mental illness, and religion become more than just color — they become real motivating factors that cause us to reevaluate everything we thought we knew. What’s great about this transition is that Wang isn’t merely a guide leading us through. She’s experiencing this shift too.

While Eternal Beauty is oftentimes funny, it’s almost always dramatically profound and emotionally complex.

While the movie provides common sense scenarios, its success lies in putting faces to the issue. It highlights heroes and villains to transform abstract numbers into human beings. That power trumps any lack of cinematic brilliance because this type of documentary seeks exposure and potential hope.

Beyond its aesthetic and horror lies a poignant message about second chances.

This is powerful stuff that transcends time and place despite the production design being impeccably executed.

We’re shown damning cycles feeding on each other that prove worse when their hypocrisy and irony is acknowledged. And both Wood and Stone will make you scream and cry depending on what they allow or ignite.

While Sól’s trajectory is the plot’s main thrust, she’s really a conduit to a vérité depiction of life’s myriad complexities.

The last act almost feels like the directors were doing their best to talk about those things that would have either slowed down and complicated the exquisitely rendered first two, or hadn’t yet happened until she left PBS.

The result is as funny as it’s excruciating and alienating as it’s relatable.

It’s about hypocrisy, mistrust, and the struggle felt by second-generation immigrants everywhere. And Haq pulls no punches in depicting just how devastatingly bad things can get when a child’s mind is torn between a community built on archaic ideals and another entrenched in a present where such stringent rules prove impossible to uphold.

I only wish the third act didn’t devolve into generic action set pieces that ultimately leave the quieter, cerebral intrigue behind.

By letting the horrors to come unfold in all their uncensored brutality, Dear Jassi forces those who would rather dismiss such situations as not being their problem to experience the violence being done in God’s name firsthand.

There’s plenty to like here: gorgeous cinematography—there’s an unforgettable shot during a power outage at the coma facility, where the generator attempts to flicker the small, rectangular lights along the walls of the main, symmetrical room—propulsive synth beats to go with the choir, and stellar performances that at some point all skew towards parody to really drive home the indoctrination angle before each awakening opens eyes to the truth.

The role of Alice is very much internal and, as such, very reliant upon putting her thoughts onscreen. That we can also see those thoughts in our own minds simply through Kendrick’s thousand-yard stares, moments of lashing out, and visibly draining anxiety is a testament to her commitment to the character and the script’s nuanced complexity to allow her to say so much without saying anything.

Doff may have thrown in a kitchen sink of clichés, but he knows exactly how to marry them together. The result is an endearingly uproarious affair.

The imagery of water fish swimming in the sky while Hina floats towards an uncharted “marine” habitat of clouds is stunning to behold and the humor earns some big laughs even if much of it centers around teenage horniness and sex-based assumptions. Beneath all that, though, is a resonant tale of empathy and romance.

The plot’s obviousness melts away because we’re having a genuinely great time as these flawed men grow ever so slightly with each passing minute. They feel real.

There are no sides when it comes to appreciating soldiers like William Pitsenbarger—only awe. Rather than epitomize a great military man, he exemplifies what it is to be a great human being. That’s why his story can change the priorities of a man like Huffman and why those he barely knew can dedicate their lives to his honor.

One mystery is solved so another can begin without missing a beat as revenge takes on new meaning in the aftermath of its completion.

Inventiveness, creativity, and complete disregard for mainstream sensibilities are what make the director so captivating.

A unique hybrid wherein fact is projected through a prism of fiction as both a mechanism to educate outsiders and heal from within.

As for the politics, even though the characters are stereotypes playing on the public’s liberal assumptions of human rights, Desierto is less interested in holding one side above the other as much as showing the true-to-life tragedy real life brings.

It’s almost as if Frye’s childhood was stolen to some extent by this whirlwind of sensory experiences, rebellion, and dual lives she’s only now able to unpack, interpret, and acknowledge with fresh eyes recontextualizing memory through truth.

The filmmakers do well to avoid creating a dense puzzle that will only alienate youngsters when leaning on the Pokémon for comic and narrative relief can keep things moving.

Adapting a book by Deborah Kay Davies, director Harry Wootliff and her co-writer Molly Davies bring True Things to life as a quasi-reaction to Instagram captions generally painting a much sunnier picture than reality could ever prove.

Just like Issa López did in Mexico with Tigers Are Not Afraid, Brazilians Gabriel Bitar, André Catoto, and Gustavo Steinberg have crafted Tito and the Birds as a powerful metaphor utilizing reality’s horrors to drive home a point too many have resigned themselves into ignoring.

Abbott and Qualley unload everything from physical to emotional to psychological abuse, both roles desperate to solidify their respective superiority and restore the status quo. Rediscover balance by admitting their desires. Who knows? They might just fulfill them too.

It’s a helluva ride through the annals of religious history and the ways in which the concept of God has been bought and sold by charlatans and pop culture.

Robe of Gems isn’t an easy film. Its harrowing content is devoid of optimism and its pacing ensures we wallow in the resulting suffering even if very little of it is actually shown on-screen.

Lamarr wasn’t without demons, but to look at the entirety of her life in context along its volatile trajectory of highs and lows is to understand she was a victim of chauvinistic times.

Everything you want from a western thematically is present with arch stereotypes of good and evil prevalent but never detrimental to the characters.

Utilizing the style he honed as Terrence Malick’s editor and on his directorial debut The Better Angels, Edwards supplies Richie’s inner turmoil through poetic imagery.

A just world would place [Bell] in the awards conversation, but ours will probably not give Skin the platform necessary for that to happen.

Both Krige and Eberhardt deliver subtly quiet performances within this atmospherically fragmented pursuit of vengeance, ultimately transforming into agents of change.

What The Women’s Balcony provides is a universal theme. At one time or another we all must reconcile our idealism with morality. We must look past literal meanings to embrace subjective ones able to encompass a broader swath of the surrounding world.

That authenticity captivates. Seagrass understands that these couples’ retreats aren’t for everyone and that some marriages aren’t either.

Sword of Trust proves an enjoyable curio of eccentrics getting themselves in way over their heads.

Love and Monsters proves itself a pretty well-rounded adventure for both its target audience and those older looking for a bit of escape that’s still firmly rooted in reality. Joel is an unlikely hero whose success shows humanity isn’t dead yet.

This is the Devil’s story. The Dark and the Wicked is Satan entertaining himself with the dread of those he could kill in an instant if he wanted. But he doesn’t. He wants them to endure an agony they never thought possible and for us to question the veracity of what we see.

LaBute is meticulously escalating the danger by providing Hap his wildest dreams in a way that reveals to the audience how their ability to come true is reliant upon him losing control.

A stirring tribute to a man of many talents, Chevalier gorgeously gives a once-forgotten virtuoso violinist the cinematic treatment.

While the uncertain nature of the sport lends a suffocating tension to the whole, the complexity of [Morgan's] character’s day-to-day struggle as a man who knows nothing else does too.

This story isn’t working towards a solution or revisionist history. It merely reminds us that the Devil doesn’t commit atrocities. Men and women do. Kingsley and Hilmar ensure we believe this by delivering three-dimensional performances we’re used to seeing on the heroic side.

Piper will reveal the strings of a stage set to slow things down or turn extras into kangaroo-court jurors to throw shoes on instinct instead of reason. She’s throwing convention to the wind to expose love and life’s glorious mess—whether you’re ready or not.

There’s some gnarly imagery that comes once, in Good Madam‘s second half, the supernatural takes over from the historical and characters find themselves falling into the trance of larger, systemic issues plaguing our world for millennia. But the beginning is just as tense and anxiety-inducing in its more normal sense of reality.

This starts and finishes with Pashinyan’s faith in Armenians and they do not let him down.

What’s mostly a vérité document of lead character Tina’s (Carlie Guevara) trajectory towards chemically transitioning from male to female despite being an undocumented immigrant in an expensive city like New York, Flavio Alves’ The Garden Left Behind is also a rather potent expression of humanity’s collective dysphoria.

What makes Ever After so intriguing is how Hellsgård and Vieweg put these familiar characters and ubiquitous premise into a mythology that’s wholly unique.

That’s the fun of it all: complete unpredictability.

Keating’s nothing if not ambiguous in his plot motivations, keeping us confused and off-balance when all is said and done without concrete, mainstream resolutions. What’s supplied instead is intense, unadulterated dread.

The result can be frustratingly militant in its desire to show all angles of its central conflict (and how it sparks others), but the questions it makes us ask ourselves are worth it.

Moments when the characters’ actions and dialogue drive home this reality of Israel’s apartheid state are where The Teacher truly shines.

Every little detail — straight down to a smiling child holding out a melting ice cream without caring that it’s pooling atop her hand — carries weight. Not a second is wasted.

Things do get extra silly by the end, but the blackly comedic tone is consistent enough to allow for such a wild turn of events to feel at home nonetheless.

Glowicki does a great job grounding things in the confused malaise of a woman suddenly devoid of ambition beyond finding that cat.

Vigalondo has a ton of fun with the premise of two worlds by changing both aspect ratio and fidelity.

The film doesn’t nail every beat . . . but what it gets right is unassailable.

We read into what’s been provided in ways that resonate with us personally whether or not the resulting thoughts were consciously presented. We make films ours.

Thankfully Johnson got someone like Powley to take on the central role because it’s through her honesty that we allow the rest to be somewhat two-dimensional.

While things do ultimately get heavy-handed at times (Grace comparing Edward’s act to murder is one thing, him comparing it to the utilitarian sacrifice of war is another), it never gets boring.

Terrestrial wears a pitch-black humor on its sleeve, a fact that won’t prepare you for how bleak the filmmakers are willing to run.

Records does his best Lou Taylor Pucci in the lead role, crazed yet innocent (his turn from Where the Wild Things Are unavoidably brought to mind). He imbues John with a sense of longing, out-of-place and out-of-touch with social cues delivered his way.

It means something to see activists in Wisconsin band together and dig for the truth even if the damage has already done its job. Dashed hope is still hope after all. Every example—failed or not—reminds us that we can fight again.

Faison’s performance in the role is not one to be forgotten either. He’s playing a man with obvious psychological trauma, but never in a cartoonish way. There’s a brilliant authenticity to how he shifts his vocals depending on who he is talking to too.

Director Terence Krey and Nyland (who co-writes as well as stars) have crafted a horror film under the name of the aforementioned song An Unquiet Grave, so a return to happiness will inevitably be short-lived if it even arrives.

Real heroes are always one misstep away from being the cautionary tale they hope to prevent others from becoming. That’s why Hanif’s story is worth telling. That he can flirt with relapse, hit emotional brick walls that would defeat the best of us, and still look beyond today to realize the value of his life and that of those battling alongside him regardless of age, potential, or opportunity is why he’s an inspiration.

Vigalondo has a top-notch conceit that unfortunately loses its way when buckling under the weight of the middle third’s anything goes antics. Thankfully, however, the climax prevails in its thematic resonance, moral quandary, and righteous hope.

Lutz has composed a university lecture in its own right: educationally pragmatic and historically enlightening.

While I really like how Kalashnikov doesn’t inject himself into the footage with chapter titles, narration, or government officials explaining things, it’s difficult not to wonder if a bit more guidance could have helped The Road Movie from risking reductive criticism as a glorified YouTube playlist.

To say The Swearing Jar is an uplifting film without a clarifier such as “bittersweet” is perhaps a tough sell, but that’s exactly what it is.

McArdle and Brallier have thus rendered VFW an efficient us versus them scenario with Fred’s crew possessing an infectious, three-dimensional rapport opposite Boz and cronies leaning into their one-track yearning for a fix. Begos then brings the grainy and gritty aesthetic its predecessors possessed to really deliver a throwback vibe augmented solely by new advancements in violently realistic gore.