Jared Mobarak

While the execution of every weak excuse for a twist and turn is really the culprit behind Looking Glass‘ failure, I would be remiss to not point a finger at Cage too.

Much of the film is forgettable in the sense that you’ve seen it all before. But where the jokes at the beginning feel tired, the drama at the end lands.

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.

Fuglsig’s job was to document, commemorate, and inspire. He does all three.

There’s also some commentary about twenty-first century technology and cellphone culture, but I don’t think Taylor goes far enough to make it more than throwaway insight soon forgotten for crazed violence. As far as the latter goes, Mom and Dad delivers crazy in an exciting way that never bores.

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.

There are countless openings for the plot to take wild left turns and embrace its overt severity as entertainment, but Proud Mary would rather stay the course of its one-note trajectory and remain earnest in its desire to be taken seriously.

Salama and co-writer Omar Khaled ingeniously use the death of Michael Jackson as the catalyst to go back to Khaled’s adolescence.

There’s little here to conjure any excitement.

Every single action proves overt to the point of superficiality with Hostiles becoming less introspective drama than unsubtle parable.

Whatever issues I have with the final construction don’t alter the reality that Recy Taylor’s story must be told and seen.

While the whole thing meanders with no destination, I’m going to hold my position in the middle because it looks fantastic. If nothing else this exercise in nihilism has given Keating an excuse to throw everything at the wall and see what sticks.

The Divine Order packs a lot into its brisk 96-minute runtime. But it never feels forced in the process.

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.

Stevens excels at playing put upon characters mired in self-doubt with both heavy drama and infectious humor (see Legion for another great example). He deftly pulls off the necessary instantaneous shift from frustration to epiphany very well.

It’s a humorously tragic scenario that excels thanks to its performances.

Negri has a compelling tale to tell about life, death, and love — the execution is just too schizophrenic to earn our investment.

Everyone involved grabs his/her role by the horns and rides the adrenaline rush to victory or death.

What makes Most Beautiful Island standout, however, is that it isn’t just about desperation.

If we’re not supposed to pity Dahmer while watching the unfortunate progression of his sad life, why are we watching? Is it to reinforce the notion that he was always a monster? Or is it to forgive Derf (Alex Wolff) and his buds for assisting in his descent? In the end it really doesn’t matter because we don’t buy any of it.

Adapted by Anita Doron from the award-winning novel by Deborah Ellis, The Breadwinner delivers a heart-wrenching coming-of-age tale within a nation that’s lost its way.

Hamoud’s message concerns having the courage to be who you are no matter what society or heritage demands. Compromise is important in any relationship, but it shouldn’t be one-sided and especially not favor the man simply because the culture is steeped in patriarchal infrastructure.

Thoman spins a suspense thriller with all its genre underpinnings around Miranda to take the control she’s always carefully ensured was hers away.

Boseman brings this badass attorney oozing warranted confidence to life opposite Gad’s non-confrontational everyman experiencing the true power of his occupation as a result. And Brown steals the show with an emotional turn able to earn empathy from the most jaded audience member like Spell did Marshall. It’s time new generations learn Thurgood’s name.

It can be a grueling experience considering the heavy subject matter, but there’s enough optimism to stave off boredom.

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.

This is a film of philosophical rumination as its hopeful characters find themselves living in an imperfect world of their own creation.

Gyllenhaal is onscreen pouring his heart and soul into an imperfect man who’s made more inspiring for being so.

While Robinson’s film does fall into the usual trappings of biopic beats, its subject can’t help but transcend them.

Willer’s essay film is obviously a cathartic experience, her documenting a family history that transcends the personal towards the universal

The Fontana sisters amazingly traverse this evolving landscape, alternating between warrior and crippled as the plot wears them down to nothing. We desperately crave they’ll earn a victory, but a release from the torture may have to suffice.

The film becomes so self-aware that it’s tough to discern whether we should take what’s happening seriously or not.

The script carries us through without much effort, its expertly paced discoveries keeping us enthralled.

Jesús proves a gripping cautionary tale unafraid to let its characters suffer for justice. A son’s mistake becomes a father’s failure and no matter what happens, no one’s soul is left whole.

Goon: Last of the Enforcers does ultimately deliver on the promise its predecessor made with a gooey, heartfelt center surrounded by a profanity-laced candy shell.

There’s something about the overwrought relationships and hidden connections that amplify our excitement. Jung is moving things so fast (despite a runtime just over two hours) that we’re never afforded a pause to roll our eyes or laugh. We instead buckle down since each revelation means Sook-hee is given another reason to fight.

Only when I was certain of the stakes could I sit back and let the proceedings unfold, my skepticism evaporating to appreciate the sadistically laid plans.

Only when limbs literally start flying through the air did I truly find myself invested in what was onscreen. It’s too bad it came way too late.

Where O’Shea succeeds and Hollywood often fails is acknowledging the pain and sorrow so many feel can’t magically disappear. To be cognizant of your own evil is to accept its cost. Realizing you are the monster might be the worst punishment you could ever endure.

Where things go is easy to guess considering the plot’s rather simple trajectory of personal growth and emotional maturity, but the pathway is always surprising.

The journey is ultimately as sweetly funny as it’s emotionally tragic.

Lucky isn’t perfect as a person or a film, but there’s something fitting about this. Escape from his character’s situation won’t ever be clean and Kang ensures to never pretend it will.

While the intent for gender equality is welcome, the execution subverts that goal.

O’Reilly has crafted a meticulously drawn tapestry of universal human themes within a setting that’s as unique as it is familiar.

Butler’s film may be beholden to certain clichéd conventions and formulaic familiarity in its progression, but its characters evolve within them with an authenticity that dismisses such convenience as a way of life.

The Exception is merely a serviceable drama taking us on a competent if predictable journey.

As directed by Jonathan Teplitzky, the film carries with it a theatrical style heavy on dialogue with everything portrayed in close-up besides some very attractive wide shots setting each scene.

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.

While there’s the underlying notion of it telling us a captivating story from the annals of American history, it’s his depiction of the adversarial relationship between those making decisions and those affected by them that hits home.

[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.

Suspense moves to boredom, boredom to frustration, and frustration to ambivalence.

Roessner hasn’t written an anti-war or pro-war film. Sand Castle merely shows the honesty of war’s infinite complexities.

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

There’s so much happening that the whole gets boring for long stretches throughout.

Connery does well with the period aesthetic while Cook/Marin find the captivating vein running through the Morris family for optimal emotional success.

Director Pete Travis lends the evening setting a welcomingly mysterious glow amongst its shadows, visually complementing Neate’s plotting to bring us into the action on the ground floor.

Its style is audacious, its plot minimalist, and its future full of potential.

There are no surprises, for better or worse.

Gifted proves cutely endearing and effectively poignant if not especially memorable in any “everyone needs to see it” way.

Shinkai’s film opens up from cute stranger-in-a-strange-body antics and expands into a philosophical and metaphysical parable about fate.

If there’s one thing to take from watching Tony engage with his own past, it’s the gleeful delight he shows when talking about rejection. He wore every instance that viewers didn’t like what he made as a badge of honor.

Don’t think this story is one steeped in heavy drama from start to finish without room to breathe. Roberts’ script — written from an original idea by Robyn Joy Leff — is also very funny.

It’s one thing if The Dark Below sought campy implausibility, but it craves legitimacy instead.

This should be an intense ride to oblivion or perhaps even a satirical romp chock full of self-indulgent camp, but it proves to be neither.

It’s a familiar tale pitting selfish desire against the greater good, but it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen thanks to the wondrous South Pacific landscapes.

It’s stupid, mindless, and crude, but I laughed throughout and admittedly can’t wait to watch it again.

You quickly discover that even Soisson’s best intentions are ultimately hampered by half-baked execution throughout. So intent on providing red herrings, he never allows us to know anyone other than through two-dimensional labels like “soon-to-be-victim” and “potential killer”—sometimes simultaneously.

It’s a stylish debut from an artist with a keen sense of visuals, music, and feeling — a finger firmly on the pulse of now.

There’s just one thing missing from Zhao Liang‘s visually masterful documentary Behemoth: a before image of what this wasteland of coal and rock used to be before God’s beast was unleashed.

I feel like Day could have made three documentaries out of his footage: one about Greif’s journey, one about street artists, and one about the art world’s old and new guard.

Sadly The Bye Bye Man lacks both surprise and intrigue despite possessing some promise via a wild opening.

Credit is due to Marson for staying objective in how she tells Hurwitz’s story so it can transcend his individual experience within this complicated landscape.

Thankfully Bousman’s endgame does deliver the supernatural slaughterhouse of the title to great effect with inspired spectral victims looped in suspended animation. It’s so memorably jarring that you wonder if the whole was just sloppily reverse engineered from this massive undertaking.

Besides an unnecessarily indulgent epilogue, the film’s good versus evil dynamic is successful at extricating itself from any mainstream trappings while also nicely serving its audience.

All mood, atmosphere, and mystery with our own confusion about the action mirrored in those onscreen.

Atmosphere is paramount as it should be, but sadly it’s created almost solely from jump scares the prologue quickly numbs us towards as soon as things get going.

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.

The biggest draw is watching Cage embrace a character with the unironic comedic flair we haven’t seen from him in quite some time, but it only works effectively if he’s able to balance the realization that Gary Faulkner isn’t a joke.

If anything it simply reminds us of his onscreen charisma and endearing humor, his handle of Hughes’ descent into eccentricity and insanity proving memorably entertaining. While he’s not the lead, he is the glue.

The end result isn’t bad; its potential merely creates disappointment.

Writer/director Alexandra-Therese Keining‘s adaptation of Jessica Schiefuer‘s 2011 August Prize-winning (Sweden) young adult novel Pojkarna (translated as The Boys but changed to Girls Lost for international release) is deliciously dark and profoundly vital.

It’s a captivating experience with wonderful displays of heart and humor, but I must question some of its execution.

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.