Jared Mobarak

It’s through these actors that we see how their characters process their pain above and below the façade created and understand why they’re incapable of looking beyond their tragic wealth of regret.

No matter how hokey or neatly cyclical things get, Johnson excels.

By never attempting to give anyone on-screen a path towards redemption, Kostanski keeps things entertaining.

Ignorance to technology is a running theme throughout both to earn easy laughs due to the ageist nature of the joke and intrigue as far as which man — if any — is in control. That probably won’t be enough to get some audiences on board what is a pretty straightforward genre film, but it’s enough to provide its own spin. Between that and the sheer joy of seeing these actors comment on their careers through these characters, a good time should be had.

Iliff’s script and Hughes’ direction might not provide anything we haven’t seen before, but both allow the actors the necessary room to give us what we need to stay invested.

We might still miss Sorrentino’s prior, more unforgiving tone, and his sleek filmmaking style; it’s arguable this material doesn’t mine the best of his strengths.

With some acting that leaves us wanting and the excruciatingly slow reveals of gore to fool us into thinking we experienced impact and not aftermath at the start, Kitamura must use everything at his disposal to lead us into the high stakes arena of predator and prey.

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.

Letting the “monsters” dispatch each other lets our “heroes” retain their fear and expendability — they can die when you least expect it because they aren’t our only means towards victory. This universal animosity keeps things interesting so the battles can be short and sweet without any monologues extending the opportunity for table turning.

Book Club...excels not in its boldness to be risqué, but its boldness to portray vulnerability. It’s about love’s risk versus reward and the acknowledgement that present happiness is worth the future’s potential pain.

Right when I was ready to resign myself to the thought that Revenge simply started too strong to maintain itself, Fargeat brought me back from the brink with a tense labyrinthine conclusion making use of its locale and blood as plot propulsion.

They can get too caught up in characterizations that render each a bit one-note (Susan’s hippie sensibilities, Joe’s type-A machismo, Anna’s selfish resentment, and Tom’s martyrdom), but we forgive this reality because the story deals in contrasts. They’re intentionally opposites as couples and individuals for a reason.

So while the whole is less than the sum of its parts, there is a lot to like. The cast is unique, the visuals mesmerizing, and the music ready to get your toes tapping in the theater.

I do think it’s improved upon the original insofar as relying on narrative cohesion (episodic or not) above random acts of pandemonium. I still believe having three episodes of television to focus on one character at a time is the better way to go, but their convergence upon Snowball and Daisy’s adventure is authentically drawn regardless of convenience.

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.

Its mere existence is a win, though. As is its ability to galvanize Lucy and Shaw’s relationship to help steer them through a third act that resonates on a frequency the rest couldn’t approach. It’s a testament to Plaza and Caine’s performances, too, since they are finally able to shake free of the hyperbolic hamming and prove why they were cast in the first place.

Our enjoyment of her quest for blood thus hinges more upon how fun we consider the humor Wascha and Wexler provide than the action itself.

With a sprawling cast of familiar faces, Murder at Yellowstone City reveals itself as character-driven from the start.

I found myself rolling my eyes more than intrinsically caring about the figures on-screen.

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.

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.

Crampton and Fessenden are great in their respective roles both when the drama asks them to grab our attention and the comedy asks them to goof around

It’s an imperfect, singular ride through small-town suburbia with lightning-fast pacing that causes some segues to have you wondering if you missed a scene.

This film leans hard into its irreverence, knowingly sacrificing mystery and twists for foolproof laughs.

The film is playing with familiar tropes along a formulaic path, but it’s simply too endearing to dismiss outright.

It’s the type of human-interest story that touches upon the surface of what occurred in a way that hits audiences emotionally without actually saying much.

So we’re left with a problematic façade that can’t avoid tainting the thought-provoking crime mystery unfolding beneath it.

The cinematic version of this children’s book retains an air of wonder steeped in simple resonate clichés for younger viewers enduring the same hardships as Milton Adams.