Jared Mobarak

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

Pearce and Barton set up this heavy emotional narrative dealing with mental illness, PTSD, and familial love only to undercut it with loud overtures of systemic violence devoid of textual basis.

This trilogy secures our respect as a crowning achievement in animated cinema that should stand the test of time.

Familiar yet effective, straightforward yet unapologetic.

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

It’s a mesmerizing look behind a curtain torn away so Mayfair can reveal an authenticity too often masked by historical precedent and conservative acquiescence. Love is created in rebellion, but ultimately stifled by the need for survival.

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

These young actors are superb in their roles, each embodying the complexities of early teen life and the adult struggles they face without the maturity to appropriately handle.

Mazzei expertly creates this sense of contrasting arguments through the mystery she’s crafted, letting its terror metaphorically represent the struggle sex workers combat psychologically thanks to America’s prudish nature forcing them to lead dual lives.

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

The final result isn’t a knock-out..., but it’s definitely entertaining. A lot of that success stems from the comedic rapport between Levi and Grazer with the former’s ability to portray Billy’s youthful innocence, frustration, and fear key to the whole’s authenticity.

The film zooms in to project humanity’s struggle onto Vesper. With one gust of wind (and some tragic losses), health and prosperity can be hers (and ours) again.

This film becomes a journey of trials and tribulations with as much inspirational grace as crippling resentment.

The result is an introspective character study caught against a gorgeous yet volatile backdrop. While I personally believe the payoff is worth the journey, however, I wouldn’t begrudge others for feeling as though they’ve been jerked around.

Nothing Blakeson gives us is necessarily new or unique, but his ability to put it all together into this very American capitalist greed package is fresh enough to enjoy that familiarity for its sheer hilarity.

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.

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.

It’s a delicate scenario that treats its characters with the respect and complexity they deserve.

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

By far the best Part Two in the universe (not necessarily hard to achieve) it also rests at the franchise’s peak alongside Iron Man, Avengers, and its predecessor to show the viability of cinematic serials.

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.

Expect a breezy affair with good-natured laughter and low stakes. You’ll learn some things and remember others en route to watching as Poitier’s legacy is reinforced with a carefully curated mix of family and friends driven by the sole goal to immortalize their hero.

Despite its darkly supernatural package, however, Louis-Seize’s film adheres to its idiosyncratic tone of purposeful excitement for a future that’s hardly assured––death can be a beginning too. Rather than adhere to the status quo by taking people’s lives, maybe Sasha can somehow take their deaths instead.

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.

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.

Alexandra Simpson’s No Sleep Till plays out in a slice-of-life documentarian style. It’s a quiet piece with gorgeous images (kudos to cinematographer Sylvain Froidevaux) and interesting characters engaged in the seemingly wild juxtapositions inherent to maintaining a mundane status quo through the uncertainty of impending chaos.

Grashaw’s ability to keep everything moving through that thick air of uncertainty is the film’s best attribute because it does feel like we’ve gone off-track more than once after chapter one (there are three, one for each sibling).

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