Jared Mobarak

How a documentary about the genesis of an artist’s album can evolve into a narrative about another’s perseverance with great things happening to great people is anyone’s guess, but here it is.

Rehmeier has found a way to traverse different genres while maintaining an authentic, honest mix of comedy and drama. He’s unafraid to go for the big laugh, regardless of subject matter, yet knows when to hit the emotion hard.

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

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.

This film thankfully isn’t a dramatic piece gunning for awards glory, but rather a heartwarming adventure through the emotional landscape of a child unsure how to live. It is very sentimental, but that’s kind of the point.

Bahrani’s adaptation of Aravind Adiga’s Booker Prize-winning debut novel may have a heightened air of fantastical satire, but it’s happily-ever-after isn’t one where hearts and minds prevail as good vanquishes evil. No, this is about one’s constitution. It’s about finding the strength to break your masters’ chains and spill their blood.

The County shows that it only takes one person to beat the drum for change to occur. But it also posits just how sinister the opposition can be when its livelihood of means is threatened in the process. I think Hákonarson could have gone further with this aspect of the film because there’s some real suspense built as far as who should be blamed for the tragedy that sparks Inga’s crusade.

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.

Murina proves a coming-of-age tale dealing with more than the usual tropes of puppy love, sexual awakening, and identity-building.

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.

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

We feel the futility of this reality with every exasperated sigh Blaze lets loose and defeated look that escapes Ruth’s usually stoic demeanor.

López’s fairy tale is one seeking to remind us of an innocence not yet stripped clean.

Pawo Choyning Dorji’s feature debut Lunana: A Yak in the Classroom captures the juxtaposition of big-city living and small-town surviving in a way that resonates beyond its cultural specificity—we all understand the contrast.

It’s a solid debut for Morrison and a star-making turn for Destiny with a message for girls and boys to know their worth and never settle.

Despite Ali & Ava proving a heartwarmingly funny and rich love story, its strength truly lies in the characters’ melancholic confrontation with their underlying pain.

McCabe’s goal for his film is to show the chaos objectively and thus not take sides or betray the reality of just how corrupt this fight proves. He places hubris, dignity, fear, and courage onscreen—raw and unfiltered.

Capernaum is a poignant character study of a boy being punished for the crimes of a system that never gave him a chance.

You’ll find yourselves laughing and hating yourself for doing so because Sigurðsson doesn’t play scenes for comedy despite very obviously writing for it. This is a testament to his direction and the actors’ heightened states of borderline farce played with complete sincerity.

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

At a time when Islam has become weaponized as a synonym for ISIS, we need glimpses at its positivity and humanity. That doesn’t mean Mu’min sanitizes things (a lot happens that could reinforce reductive stereotypes of social conservatism and familial oppression), only that she’s creating healthy representations at once relatable, laudable, and flawed. Nothing is black and white.

While it’s not as overtly comedic as Stevens’ Jakob’s Wife, A Wounded Fawn is funny in its own way.

Cody has constructed an elaborate composition hidden by its countless complementary pieces that each packs a deceivingly potent punch. And even though Reitman is the one bringing her words to life, their partnership has always been solidly attuned.

Dirty God isn’t some contrived pity project tugging on heartstrings. Polak is legitimately engaging with the aftermath of a real-life nightmare.

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.

A genuinely suspenseful ride thanks to all the moving parts and multi-layered motivations.

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.

We learn everything there is to know about an entire country through the Heise family’s words. Some passages prove better than others, but none are inconsequential to the whole.