Jared Mobarak

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.

It’s messy and overly convoluted, but the ends do mostly justify the means.

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.

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

Akl provides the scenario a keen insight that only someone going through the same push and pull as the characters could.

It’s a compelling journey often rendered inert by quick transitions from one tragedy to another.

[Lane] proves yet again that nobody can tonally marry edification and entertainment onscreen so effortlessly. It’s masterful.

All four main actors deliver great performances.

It’s light, absurd, and very low-stakes.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

Husson leads us through tiny moments building up an origin story of sorts for who Jane will become. These experiences and these observations become the basis of a book about life’s beauty and tragedy binding us in ways that transcend economic and social standing.

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.

I think Gough’s performance is easy to discount because she’s often seen in the background, but she delivers an unforgettable descent into anguish and grief.

The whole is not without flaws and eventually falls prey to the “this was really an origin story” bid for sequels, but it is enjoyable.

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

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.

Rather than showcase itself as a psychological puzzle, we’re left stumbling through a predictable shell game.

While there are a few twists and turns to keep things fresh, a low budget forces the action to remain dialogue-heavy and more or less focused on this single necessity. Never redundant, it can get a little bit slow.

While the concept remains sound as the backdrop for a frustrated public defender choosing the riskier road less traveled to make his mark and a difference when every other version of himself would balk, it has us believing the surreal visual anomalies sprinkled amidst the heist have purpose beyond superficial thematic reinforcement.

Lorelei is nothing if not a story about redemption.

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.

Hirsch is good, albeit a bit over-the-top. As is Fox, especially when busting Willis’ balls for being too much of a “coward” to take the risks she’s only too willing to tackle. And Haas is probably the best of them all as the monster hiding in plain sight.