Johnny Oleksinski

Writer-director Mary Bronstein’s absorbing psychological drama about a mother at her breaking point is two hours of mounting anxiety and nervousness.

Del Toro has whipped up a monster that’s enjoyable enough to stare at, all right. And you’ve gotta admire his handiwork. What’s missing are what the Creature hungers for most of all — life and love.

1917 is a modern war classic and one of the best movies of the year.

I enjoyed this ride of titillation, torment, insanity and exploitation to such a preposterous extent that I’ve considered signing up for online therapy to wrestle with it.

Skarsgård’s the ace though. Without going overboard, and never being anything less than terrifying, he fleshes out Orlok into a richer character than bat-like Schreck was able to. His tragic, albeit disturbing, final scene almost puts a stake right through our hearts.

The entire cast is wickedly good, and their overblown characters are what keep the Dickens spirit alive.

The movie is a bit long, and the culmination overstays its welcome. That is the only section of the movie where the viewer is a step ahead — and therefore it doesn’t sizzle like what came before. Yet the visual splendor of the sequence also proves the director has a flair for the epic we didn’t know about before. And that makes me all the more excited for the next “Untitled Jordan Peele Project.

What’s so unsettling about his Longlegs is, as big and cartoonish as he is, the weirdo is just believable enough. You could run into him late at night at a highway rest stop or, God forbid, on an empty subway platform. Cage makes a meal out of the murderer...During this so-so summer at the movies, something’s finally got legs.

One sequence is amusing: a number called “Fairytale Life (After the Spell)” in which panini grills and espresso machines sing along like they live in Pee-wee’s Playhouse. You struggle to care about the rest.

The duo’s journey is gripping, but long stretches elsewhere in the film drag and it feels much longer than two hours.

The director (whose “The Assistant” was solid, but this is far better) has built a gripping thriller around the sort of off-hand remarks, boozy outbursts and inappropriate behavior that most bartenders and reasonable patrons encounter all the time. Everywhere.

The drama is a crude blend of history and pulpy romance, with maudlin performances from the two leads.

Presence is a brisk 85 minutes, which is nice if you have dinner plans, but it also exposes limited storytelling ambitions. It’s a mid-season episode of TV. We don’t get to know much about the characters, and don’t care either way about their fate.

Nothing Cooper does is organic or authentic, and his show-off performance is always stilted. He arduously thinks through every single choice — it’s time to scream into a pillow; cue the laugh; ready, set, cry. Nobody goes to a movie to watch actors ponder their next beat. We want to feel, and his overwrought turn does not allow us to.

During a moment in which movies tend to be either cynically corporate or bleaker than a black hole, “Project Hail Mary” dares to be about that once-great driver of drama: friendship.

The races of Trading Paint, however, are as exciting as a Ford Taurus trying to parallel park.

Any plot greasing is quickly forgivable because of how damn delightful it is to be riding in the back of Squibb’s scooter. That this is the actress’ first leading role in a decades-long career is the greatest crime of all.

The entertaining movie from director Rose Glass, whose first feature was “Saint Maud,” is unsparing in its graphic depictions of violence, abuse and extreme aspects of the body. Many will find all of that stuff gratuitous, but it fleshes out this unsavory world and ratchets up the plot’s tension.

Issues millions of people face everyday are addressed cleverly and poignantly, and never without a hint of humor. Wilde isn’t really interested in sentimentality, either, and her movie hits harder for it.

Lets viewers uniquely into Springsteen’s creative process: Choosing a set list, adjusting tempos, collaborating with background singers. In short: Getting the band back together.

While Bigbug is characteristically eccentric, it also has the most mainstream appeal of any Jeunet film since “Amélie.”

The fact that Fiennes went right from playing a cardinal in Best Picture-nominated “Conclave” to a nearly-naked hermit with a hobby that would raise Hannibal Lecter’s brow makes me wish we could send the actor’s brain out to be analyzed by scientists.

The real find here is Gourav, who gives a pressure-cooker turn as Balram, a guy who can no longer smile and nod at his own oppression. He switches rapidly from sweet to deranged, gullible to Machiavellian, generous to bloodthirsty. This guy’s got more layers than spanakopita.

Based on Erich Maria Remarque’s 1929 World War I novel, the German film on Netflix is unsparing in its portrayal of the horrors of battle. It’s sensory-overload, tough-though-rewarding viewing.

You’ll find that out in the film’s last — and best — moment, which belongs to Redmayne. Is it sentimental? You betcha. But it sure takes you back to the TV magic of President Bartlet.

Danes and Parsons are a weird pairing, who carry their TV personas with them like tote bags. Their “Homeland” and “Big Bang Theory” shticks don’t quite click. Even so, when Danes’ mother comes to realize that her sweet kid is more than just a talking point, she’ll have you wiping away tears.

Richard is flawed, never villainous or heroic, and rarely follows his own fervent advice to be humble. You leave in awe of what he accomplished, but not admiring the whole man. Few biopics dare to have layers anymore.

Whatever sophisticated point Decker and screenwriter Sarah Gubbins aim for here is undone by its pretentious academic characters, whose arrogant droning would make you switch seats if you were next to them at a coffee shop.

What a refreshing break from what usually constitutes an epic nowadays — mixing Ant-Man and the Hulk.

OK, it’s no Frozen — a Let It Go only comes around once every couple of ice ages — but it’s nonetheless a heartfelt and joyful take on a good old dysfunctional family.

Sometimes it’s refreshing when a movie is just an improper noun that delivers what it promises.

Nothing salacious, and no dropped bombs here. Stan & Ollie portrays the pair less as hot-headed collaborators than a bickering married couple.

Anderson’s film is told via a prologue and three episodes that bring to life the quirky publication’s stories. They just barely engage the audience as we watch the director’s entire mobile phone contact list show up for about 15 seconds each.

The plot plods along — they drive a bit, guy gets shot, they drive some more, guy gets shot — and the dialogue is bottom of the barrel.

Raya doesn’t have any coming-of-age experiences, she doesn’t sing, she’s not trying to please her father, there’s no romance subplot, nobody helps her get dressed. What there are are crossbows and swords. And on that front, it is a success. The battles and missions in each separate place are visually exciting.

Finally, on the series’ supposedly last outing, one of its films lives up to the ever-deepening talent of its leading man. Equalizer 3 adds nothing new to the thriller genre, true, but it wisely acknowledges what’s worked well before.

Dynamite actually — sometimes cheesily — is a lot like 1990s and aughts disaster flicks, except there is not much suspense as to whether or not the nuclear bomb will land, even though Bigelow casually tries to create some.

A taut thriller, The Good Liar keeps you guessing ’til its explosive end. Director Bill Condon’s film is based on the novel by Nicholas Searle, and builds much in the same way a book does. You gotta get through the first 30 pages to become fully absorbed.

Laughter and enjoyment is stifled by the constant question of whether we’re allowed to laugh or enjoy anything at all.

While the off-kilter film is a fine showcase for the personalities of two of our best emerging comedic stars, Rachel Sennott (“Shiva Baby”) and Ayo Edebiri (“The Bear”), the humor falls short of being very funny.

Dunham has made a really attractive and cohesive film, merging her modern, punky sensibilities with the dirt-and-stone drear of the time period.

Ninety percent of the movie is a very pleasant watch. All “My Old Ass” needed was a few more conversations with Elliott’s family and friends to provide more closure for her and the film.

Bones and All is a surprisingly effective and affecting cannibal love story.

The fight scenes are remarkably exhilarating and spontaneous for being, well, animated. And all of the jokes — written by Rowe, Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg, among others — are truly very funny and witty while still making sense for this vision of the five boroughs. They’re spoken by a genuine, young cast, who sound like they’re having a party after school instead of the usual stiff, one-day-in-the-studio delivery.

Hollywood loves nothing more than a true-crime story about a serial killer, but a new movie directed by Anna Kendrick does a number on that familiar genre.

The rom-com ain’t dead yet. Crazy Rich Asians is a defibrillator for a genre that flatlined ages ago. This heartwarming, well-acted — and decadent — film takes you back to the greatest hits of Nancy Meyers, Richard Curtis and Nora Ephron.

While Rentheads and Broadway fans will certainly connect to it on a deeper level than those who only know Idina Menzel as Elphaba, not Maureen, Tick, Tick is a terrific, moving, propulsive film on its own terms. It’s about New York, art, life and love.

Directed by Maria Schrader, the film that’s part of one of the most reliably galvanizing genres — newspaper reporters doggedly chasing down a tough story — is a disappointing, sleepy metronome with made-for-TV diminutiveness.

Matsoukas also finds two first-rate performances in Kaluuya and Turner-Smith. Theirs is one of the more carefully paced romances in recent memory, and the subtle way their tension switches from fear to desire is masterful.

What any of us wouldn’t give for a spontaneous night of rule breaking and lounge hopping with a genuine NY character, like Murray’s, again. Coppola’s funny and slyly emotional film, which should be cherished, is the closest we’ll get to that for a while.

It’s the most touching dramedy about young women battling over a sash since “Little Miss Sunshine.”

Watching “The Iron Claw” can feel like getting slammed with a metal folding chair over and over again. So bludgeoning are the true and tragic circumstances that befell the famous Von Erich wresting family during the 1980s and ’90s, which director Sean Durkin’s film depicts.

We hold Pixar to a higher standard because of the true art it has achieved over the past – gulp – 30 years. If “Inside Out 2” doesn’t quite reach those heights, it is still a promising step on the studio’s difficult quest to rediscover its own sense of self.

The core problem facing the rather annoying new movie “The Fall Guy” — starring Ryan Gosling as a professional daredevil — is that we can’t believe. Never for a second does the viewer buy that goofy Gosling is an in-demand stunt person who sets aside his ego for the betterment of a project.

Brilliant star Michael B. Jordan does double-duty in “III,” returning to play Adonis Creed and directing a film for the first time — the man is a champ at both athletics and aesthetics.

Even after nearly three hours of sitting, I didn’t feel as though I’d gotten to know the characters very well.

Be you a fan of basketball or basket weaving, Air will snugly fit the tastes of just about anybody.

The John Wick action series doesn’t get bogged down in such silly trivialities as character development, plot, dialogue, morals or any of the usual rubrics most films follow. Instead, these fun flicks are just loosely connected, extremely violent fight scenes starring Neo from “The Matrix.” And why the hell not?

A lot of this is typical rom-com fare. The genre is not boundary-pushing and that’s perfectly fine — ideal even. But Ryan doesn’t have the sparkle and fizz as a director to make this lacking material sing.

Director Daniel Chong’s original movie is terribly funny, and often in an unfamiliar, warped way for the cerebral and mushy studio.

Yes, it’s your typical Macguffin, with everybody chasing down a trinket, but a fairly creative one with a lot of good jokes. The comic-book-style action sequences also set co-directors Joel Crawford and Januel Mercado’s movie apart from the litter. The No. 1 reason to watch, though, is Banderas’ top-notch voice performance. If only more A-listers treated their animated film roles as more than a pet project.

Clooney draws you in, but upon arrival there’s an emptiness.

You’ll never look at Shia LaBeouf the same way after seeing Honey Boy, the affecting movie that’s inspired by his own life. If you run into him on the street, you’ll want to give the poor guy a hug.

The film, admittedly, does not rev up as fast as a Ferrari. The director initially prefers a relaxed pace and almost sepia color scheme that make us unsure, sometimes in frustration, of what the vibe of the story is supposed to be.

Hanks and Zengel, a 12-year-old German actress, form a believable, loving bond.

What’s best and most consistent about “2” is how flippin’ funny it is.

It’s an intimate film that moves at the deliberate, careful pace of an excavation and, in so doing, uncovers a few gems along the way.

CODA is part of that fizzling genre of film, popular in the ’90s, in which you’re almost always on the verge of sobbing while watching it.

Booster’s film, directed by Andrew Ahn, tries to do too many things at once. One side is the clever Austen adaptation, while the other is a sendup of the rom-com genre to the point of parody.

A useful aspect of watching the movie on streaming rather than onstage is you can turn on the subtitles to catch all of Minchin’s clever lyrics. Many of the quirky phrases, coming fast and furious, were muffled on Broadway and the score improved when I listened to the album later.

Plummer’s last-minute performance is smashing. In fact, the whole film is excellent.

The tone of “Brittany,” and its emotional impact, reminds me of Amazon’s other heartfelt winner, “The Big Sick,” which netted Kumail Nanjiani and Emily V. Gordon an Oscar nod for original screenplay. Colaizzo should get one, too.

It’s a canny blend of “Degrassi” and John Hughes, but here the kids mostly behave like angels. Love, Simon is the rare, feel-good gay movie.

It’s far from terrible and a pleasure to look at. But, perhaps inevitably, after such a raging success, Bong’s latest movie is a disappointment.

Throughout, Dirisu and Mosaku enliven a fascinating character study.

It is a phenomenal showcase for Ronan, who dares to be unlikable for the rare time in her career. Her natural charm and whimsy we’re used to from “Lady Bird” and “Little Women” is but a glimmer in Rona’s eye — and that little light is why the viewer roots for this troubled woman as hard as they do.

Luce is a taut, extremely watchable movie, though the dialogue could loosen up a touch.

Oh, the movie is brilliant without a doubt, but it’s dotted with such shocking moments, and there isn’t a whiff of pretentiousness to be found. Only guts and incredible visuals.

Beyond the requisite lessons, there are some witty touches.

Bugonia buzzes by, if sometimes nauseastingly, and is a huge improvement from Lanthimos’ episodic drivel last year.

Ultimately “Mad About the Boy” is much like Bridget herself: endearing, silly, messy, wacky, kind. I like it… just as it is.

While the movie could be a notch scarier, the unsettling imagery and slow build to chaos make me want another movie by this director stat.

Honor Among Thieves is a useful reminder of something that’s been forgotten in the age of dense film universes and ultra-violent action films: Light-hearted adventure movies like “The Princess Bride” remain the perfect vehicle for humor, romance, fights and special effects. When done properly, as Dungeons & Dragons is, they give audiences a full-bodied experience that’s hard not to like.

The sleepy horror movie is an onslaught of spooky images that, while well-done, are watered down by sheer abundance. We stop being scared after the first 15 minutes because there is nothing new to see.

Unlike Zack Snyder’s Justice League, there is nothing serious about The Suicide Squad. That’s a good thing.

Director William Oldroyd’s mouthwatering drama, based on Ottessa Moshfegh’s acclaimed novel, misleads and misdirects all the way to the shocker ending.

The Batman is the first caped crusader adventure in a while to come off as completely purposeless. Christopher Nolan’s movies reframed the comics as realistic, psychologically complex tales of an urban blight, and Affleck’s Bruce was built to fit into a wider DC universe. The Batman is here just to ensure that Marvel has box office competition.

It’s fresh, it’s alive, it’s not the same old Marvel Cinematic Universe.

For the most part, though, Luca is light and effervescent as a summertime Bellini, which is something parents can drink while the kids watch this.

It’s the gargantuan and deeply satisfying Spider-Man: No Way Home in which the former Billy Elliot proves he’s more than a teen idol with a perfect American accent. This time, his Peter’s got gravitas, emotional oomph, brutality, believable love, an anguished scene in the rain! The movie is the actor’s best performance yet, in anything, Spandex or no.

The climactic scene, in both story concept and design, is too complicated and peculiar for my tastes. But until that short blip, co-directors Phil Johnston and Rich Moore’s (“Zootopia”) film is supremely intelligent, and Reilly and Silverman once again give deep-feeling vocal performances.

The style and tone of writer-director Dan Scanlon’s movie has elements of DreamWorks’ “Shrek” and “How To Train Your Dragon” mixed with the siblings-with-secrets aspects of Disney’s “Frozen.” But Onward is better for the change-up. That stylistic and narrative departure gives us Pixar’s most heartfelt story in years.

Day’s performance is a beacon surrounded by mediocrity and mismanagement.

The hugely enjoyable second entry doesn’t lift the franchise to new artistic heights, a la The Empire Strikes Back, but Part II is every bit as good and scary as its predecessor, and the characters, especially the kids, go to deeper and braver places.

The evidence adds up cleverly and the script doesn’t coast on its status as a nice family movie in order to avoid delivering a satisfying conclusion. It’s meaty, like a roast leg of, well, you know.

The Outpost really is not a movie of wit or soaring inspirational speeches, but of no-holds-barred emotion. A story of young men in their 20s, with dreams and loved ones back home, who had the courage to risk it all for each other.

The newest “Dragon” adventure, once again written and directed by Dean DeBlois, achieves real visual artistry.

The supremely talented Florence Pugh has rapidly rebounded from the “Don’t Worry Darling” debacle with The Wonder, a creepy new Netflix drama that’s unusually strong for the streaming service. For once, it’s the characters who endure hardship — not the audience.