John Fink

Carney has offered a sharp, hopeful crowdpleaser that strikes the right notes.

A funny, often fascinating riff on aspirations both in and out of reach, I Love Boosters is ambitious and, like Sorry to Bother You, explores the systems that make the American Dream possible for only a select few. But the film is also a gleeful celebration of the underdogs scraping by as the cost of living increases.

Our Hero Balthazar is an effective entry point into a crisis that truly needs more coverage in both documentary and narrative cinema.

The film is at its best in moments of warmth, humor, and kindness—that is where it really shines, without needing to amp up the stakes or shift forms.

Mohammed Ali Naqvi’s Hanging by a Wire is not without thrills and human drama. Yet it seems focused more on a death-defying rescue than on what could be done to prevent this from happening again.

Despite fine performances and a riveting premise—prisoners finding meaning in caring for their elders, even a violent white supremacist—Frank & Louis falters by putting its characters in predictable, nuanceless boxes.

Paul Andrew Williams’ Dragonfly largely succeeds because it never quite telegraphs where it’s going until its third act.

While the film may embrace a low-budget, drab-naturalistic aesthetic, it’s far from dull. Duplass, Strassner, and Larsen brilliantly execute one of the year’s finest romantic comedies.

While there’s a lot to admire and some big laughs courtesy of Deutch, the film will wear down audiences a bit, feeling both redundant and, as many romantic comedies do, ultimately predictable.

The mood created by Basir, who also photographed To Live and Die and Live, is far more interesting than any over-the-top, formulaic family drama the film boxes itself into.

A delightful first feature with a lot to admire and characters that are a bit more complex than they first appear, there’s a consistent charm to this type of relaxed indie made without much interference.

Like the Church potluck to which Amziah King introduces his one-time foster daughter Kateri, The Rivals of Amziah King is a gleeful mashup of genres and tones blending bluegrass music, comedy, revenge, and heist-thriller elements into a tasty homestyle buffet full of eccentric characters and thick Southern accents.

A darker take on coming out, Plainclothes has a few familiar twists but ultimately succeeds through its performances and take on the material.

Inspired by objectification, By Design, by design, tests the patience of viewers via Kramer’s precise direction and controlled mise-en-scène, designed by Grace Surnow and photographed by Patrick Meade Jones––unfortunately, the challenge never feels rewarding. Perhaps that’s the point: aspirational luxury sells the sizzle, not the steak.

Seeds is a film that lives and breathes as we absorb the wisdom of these elders.

Zhu brings a great deal of sympathy to her performance, yet her directorial debut somehow feels a bit hollow, disconnected by design.

Cherien Dabis’ All That’s Left of You considers generational trauma on both an intimate and epic scale.

Rodgers has crafted a worthy companion to Chasing Amy, a warm and inclusive film that could not come at a better time.

Striking a sweet, often humous tone, Arlyck navigates aging gracefully with a keen awareness of how parent-child relationships morph as time proceeds.

It’s rare to see a film that captures a disappearing community with such immediacy, remorse, and, yes, occasional joy.

There are clearly-defined targets, to be sure, but Babysitter struggles to make the point that perhaps we’re all human. It’s somewhat cringe-inducing by design, but the satire and humor feel dated.

Wonderfully lensed by Andrew Hajek and rhythmically edited by Laura Colwell and Vanara Taing, Jazzy is an often whimsical portrait of childhood and tradition that feels loose, playful, and boundless with raw emotions and a sense of hopefulness.

Vulcanizadora is a step forward sans compromise––often hilarious, contemplative, even cautionary.

Fresh Kills gets much of the atmosphere and tone right, and at its best is an evocative character study of mob wives and daughters; A’zion lends a particularly fascinating performance as a tough-willed woman ready to stand her ground and look out for “her people.”

This isn’t quite a nuanced study in violence, despite its title. Shot in northern rural Ontario, Canada in a generic backwoods called White Pines, the film ultimately feels hollow despite the deliberate cinematography by Pierce Derks.

In trying to capture the current state of the exhibition industry, there’s simply too much left unsaid, either for legal reasons or editorial choices.

While putting attractive stars onscreen in lavish locations isn’t new, here’s a film that does it well and isn’t afraid of showcasing authentic, character-driven humor that nowadays almost seems old-fashioned.

With two wonderful performances by Barbie Ferreira and John Leguizamo––playing two strangers who share the same last name but are otherwise unrelated––the film progresses into a moving yet somewhat predictable affair. And that’s okay.

The Greatest Hits might not inspire thoughtful essays, as a cinematic pop album it satisfies with a few somber notes, some lesser tracks, and a few terrific moments where it all just works.

While bound to spark hundreds of think pieces, Alex Garland’s stirring Civil War will undoubtedly go down, too, as one of the most provocative films of the year. It’s also an early contender for one of the best, offering a stunning warning: no matter what the cause, war is hell.

While the romantic comedy and set-bound gags work, the hunt for Ryder––and the cartoonishly inept gangsters and drug dealers that populate his underworld––compel less.

While the show that ends the film might overstay its welcome a bit, Ghostlight is a profound work about a tough family made tougher by unimaginable grief.

With a premise that is as simple or as complex as you’d like it to be, Monkey Man anoints Dev Patel as a new action director and star.

Vibrant and often hilarious––with a surprise appearance by Fred Durst, who becomes a spirit guide to help the kids “break stuff” and save humanity––Y2K is far from perfect, but it does try harder than most comedies in its densely accurate portrait of an era of angst awaiting the nightmares of the 9/11 era.

The result, written by Julia Lederer (from her play) and directed by Kim Albright, is a film loaded with metaphors and similes where fragile hearts are made of paper and nothing is left to chance.

While any passage itself could make a compelling short, it’s largely held together by the curiosity of its maker and the tangents of interest to him as a family man of a certain age when friends, family, and those close to us start slowly fading away at a quicker pace.

Where the sprawling, knotty, and thoroughly captivating Soundtrack to a Coup d’État sheds new light is in its form, exploring a global conspiracy playing out often right in view.

The film’s free-flowing, sometimes experimental structure proves evocative.

Anselm at its most effecting shows how cinematic exhibition thoughtfully utilizing 3D can make an intimate encounter with an artist. When it’s less powerful, the experience suggests rushed cliffnotes of a fascinating life.

South to Black Power is a fascinating example of making the political science documentary personal.

In some passages, Cypher achieves a level of brilliance and psychological terror that becomes difficult to sustain as it winds towards its eventual conclusion.

Through its experimental structure, The Tuba Thieves defies convention, creating a challenging experience that forces us to listen without an overarching narrative imposing some sense of order or the authority of a documentary filmmaker.

Robot Dreams is one of the best films of the year, animated or otherwise.

Following the events that led up to Winner’s arrest––including recordings of conversations between Winner and agents who stopped by for a friendly chat, along with the efforts of her loving family to advocate on her behalf–– Kennebeck again has crafted an often riveting exploration of the state of national security.

There is a giant world out there, and Maltz’s first narrative feature is a rich and moving ode of the people we encounter along the way, as well as the roads not taken.

The Stroll is ultimately a celebration of the colorful personalities that worked the streets and have a story to tell. It’s a history of multiple communities and an important contribution to New York lore; a story told from the perspective of someone who made history and is now in a position to write it.

Caught between a horror action flick that delivers gallons of splatter and a well-cast high-concept comedy, both seemed pushed aside for mediocre thrills and a few chuckles.

There is something occasionally fun in watching a film with questionable choices bookended by over-the-top musical numbers. It’s not hard to imagine a spirited programmer getting a crowd excited for it at some point in the future.

Ambitious, accessible, and comprehensive, Kim’s film is a thoroughly entertaining introduction to Paik, filled with the same joy and curiosity as his work.

For horror fans particularly dedicated to this franchise, the character development might not matter as much as the horror sequences, which are extraordinarily well-executed, drawing upon the art deco aesthetic of an aging building filled with secondhand vintage furniture and random found objects.

The film is a compassionate portrait of a young man finding his place in several communities with a rigorous support system of mentors and family members in place. I just wish writer-director Khan would have given us a little more time with the rich ensemble around him.

Embellishments aside, Flamin’ Hot is like the perfect snack or comfort food: consistent, delivering an experience that pleases because it is so familiar, and a classic Hollywood rags-to-riches story with a heavy dose of Latin flavor.

This is much more than an ethnic family drama that aspires to have “cross-over universal” appeal, even as it generates such by throwing too many elements together alongside three unique, compelling stories.

The film does fall short of being the rousing comedy it sets out to be, falling into a fairly predictable pattern with a neat resolution and concept that it delicately doesn’t turn on its head.

Striking a thoughtful tone, The Integrity of Joseph Chambers is an observant film about justification—one with quiet consequences that become somewhat apparent in the nearly perfect final scenes featuring Jeffrey Dean Morgan as chief of police in this small town. The deliberate pace is bolstered by the humor of Chambers essentially playing dress-up and getting himself in way over his head.

Featuring a great premise from which to build a franchise, YouTube creators Danny and Michael Philippou’s directorial debut Talk To Me is a refreshing retread, imagining tantalizing “micro-possessions” that get stronger the more you use them.

Smart and perceptive, The Pod Generation is more than a one-note big-tech satire.

Kim’s Video is endlessly entertaining, embracing the energy of the films that made Redmon, a kid from Paris, Texas, who loved movies and was thankfully able to escape to New York at the right time and find Kim’s.

House Party is fun enough but feels like a missed opportunity.

The film’s structure allows us to spend time both together and individually with each character, veering off with them for a day at the office, school, dance club, or park. It is simultaneously a slice of life and a film about the bigger picture.

Is That Black Enough For You?!? proves a warm, wise, personal celebration of raw creative energy.

Pretty Problems explores several interesting themes but never quite knows what to make of Jack and Lindsay, their new friends, or the help that enables them. It feels conceived from within its own bubble, where money can in fact buy you almost anything you want except for a sense of fulfillment if you don’t know exactly what’s desired.

Like caring for someone at the end of their lives, Last Flight Home might not be the easiest film to experience, but it is an accurate representation of the ups, downs, and mixed emotions of those times, crafted with compassion, nuance, and great warmth.

The inescapable problem at the core of any omnibus or anthology film with multiple cooks in the kitchen is, by all design, things will be uneven. Yet V/H/S/99 is fun enough in the context of TIFF’s Midnight Madness—including standouts from the usually gross and reliable Flying Lotus and Johannes Roberts, whose film is genuinely terrifying before turning a bit silly in its final moments.

Despite a third act that rushes what could have been a deeply profound conclusion, Clerks III is one for Smith’s loyal fellowship. He returns to the well with a mix of sharp, geeky humor and affecting life lessons—an outing that feels refreshingly old-school.

Directors Ha and Yi craft a compelling and moving tribute to a man who was by no means a perfect person but nevertheless had a remarkable impact on breaking barriers.

Vengeance is a refreshing, self-aware take on a man who sets out to define a societal problem and is met with evolving redefinition.

Perhaps The Black Phone should have pushed its premise a bit more, building real stakes and real thrills in a deeper analysis of its archetypes. If performances by Thames, McGraw, and Hawke are strong, there could stand to be a few more twists and a bit more character development to transcend what is a middle-of-the-road psychological thriller.

It’s a hard picture to dislike. The Belchers are such a purposefully weird and inclusive group; even if you haven’t seen the show you’ll feel right at home after a few minutes.

What initially starts as a light-hearted look at YouTube star David Dobrik and his “Vlog Squad” evolves into a portrait that doesn’t quite know what to make of him and his enablers.

Anonymous Club’s power is in its meditative nature, reflecting on the intersection of celebrity and creativity.

While perhaps a bit too neat in terms of its plot and resolution, the film is an unflinching portrait and powerful character study that hinges upon Andrea Riseborough’s nuanced performance.

A documentary that is “authorized” by his estate––which perhaps gives mother Bernard a platform to right his wrongs––the picture smartly never takes the middle ground, but rather provides a kaleidoscopic portrait informed by those that knew him well—family, business partners, mentors, contemporaries.

What is most fascinating about Walker’s feature is the intoxicating rhythm it concocts while taking certain narrative liberties as both Kris and Naomi, holding a shared history with secrets, find themselves within a certain comfort zone.

To say Soft & Quiet is designed to get your blood boiling is an understatement—it makes its intentions very clear when a pie for the meeting is unwrapped, revealing a swastika.

The film’s final revelations are underdeveloped and underwhelming, wrapping up events neatly in a way that lacked the humor of earlier scenes.

I Love My Dad is as funny as it is mortifying, with Oswalt as a kind of sociopathic Cyrano de Bergerac justifying his behavior in the name of becoming closer to his son.

The film may be Linklater’s warmest and most nostalgic precisely because of its specifics.

Like Cage, it’s a curious creation, one that never quite matches the ambitions of the man of the hour, but does allow him to poke fun at himself and treat fans to something cathartically silly.

It’s a film that gleefully, hilariously subverts expectations at every corner, borrowing à la music videos from pop culture, experimental film, and any corner of the universe it finds inspiration in.

The film is an open, honest portrait of personal conflict, contradictions, and suppressed narratives that shed some new light on the student protest movement by bringing the footage—and some of the personal baggage—out of the vault.

The geopolitical stakes are immense and Navalny is essential viewing, especially for any Western audience that may have not been following this story so closely.

Perkins’ approach, however, could be read more as an exercise in media study than biopic of Diana. It adds to the canon but not the lure of the mythical “People’s Princess.”

Having two terrific stars front and center isn’t nearly enough when they’re only given permission to run wild in this small of a playground.

It’s frustrating when a film provides us with an original character and an engaging first act while following so predictably in the shoes of other home invasion and defense thrillers.

A film such as this lives and dies by its leads, and both are wonderful on-screen together, creating a realistic love story that works well as they navigate the situation they both find themselves in.

Well-constructed if not repetitive in certain passages, Lady Buds is an engaging and comprehensive look at the many dimensions of legalization, striking a friendly, conversational tone as it provides a deep dive into the supply chain, marketing, distribution and ultimately the bind the industry finds itself in as the drug is still considered at a federal level a controlled substance.

Capturing the rhythms of life on a rural Humble County, California commune in a changing cultural landscape, Kate McLean and Mario Furloni’s beautifully crafted Freeland is a restrained, nuanced drama centered around a quietly thrilling performance by Krisha Fairchild.

Director Bill Benz (best known for episodes of Portlandia), Clark, and Brownstein have a good deal of fun playing the business side of show business—the documentary filmmaker trying to find a unique angle between concert footage, or the star having to take mundane questions from the press in each city she visits on tour. It both documents an identify crisis and doesn’t.

499 is often as riveting as it is stunning to consume: a spiritual journey punctuated with inhumane acts of violence intertwined with a certain national identity. Reyes offers an ambitious and unflinching portrait of contemporary Mexico that provides a vague answer regarding the endgame of the violence in the country.

Although masterfully directed and performed, the film somehow feels a bit unresolved, especially since the family lives in a populated suburb rather than a rural area which would make their desperate actions far easier to conceal.

Moreh’s approach creates a surprisingly comprehensive, if (by design) one-sided, American-centric view of the peace process. Interviews and archival materials have a means of immersing us in the backroom discussion.

Here is the rare kind of often sweet college comedy with good-natured laughs that captures a side of the process rarely seen in frat comedies: the divide between those in the service industry and those that have the luxury to party eight days a week.

The film problematically never quite commits to being one thing: bouncing around the investigation, being work of advocacy, and a study of family violence. In doing so, it lacks the kind of emotional impact and outrage it ought to have.

The Hunt for Planet B is an evocative documentary.

Covering the same ground as many fiction and non-fiction works about grieving and action in the wake of tragedy, Park’s picture feels somewhat more nuanced.

Language Lessons is often likable thanks to its small cast and improvisational nature which delivers beyond the kind of Zooom table reads that nonprofits were offering as pandemic fundraisers throughout the last year. However, in terms of its cinematic value, it never quite transcends, feeling like a film that’s necessary in the moment without exploring the impact of the pandemic head-on.

Edited with a brisk pace by Samuel Nalband, WeWork is a fascinating character study of the kind of entrepreneur that is often embraced without criticism by the financial press as a “thought leader” while offering vague catch phrases about “disruption” and “transformation.”