Johnny Oleksinski

This comedy soars squarely on small moments and big jokes.

Roy Cohn was way more entertaining than the new documentary about Roy Cohn.

It is one that sweeps you up, though, in its beautifully detailed vision of an analog New York where stars eat at greasy spoons below 14th and future music legends pass the hat in basement clubs. Scrounging for their next meal.

The promising satire then shifts to a typical thriller with bloody shoot-outs, druggings, tazings and a car dramatically plummeting off a cliff. That business wears thin fast. I Care a Lot is almost two separate films, and I much prefer the first one.

Smooth as fresh asphalt, the film makes us pine for a pothole or two.

The Devil Wears Prada 2, the sequel to the 2006 comedy that’s not at all about Anna Wintour, is a good time, even if the high-pressure world of Vogue, er, Runway magazine is no longer the epitome of New York luxury and glamour it was back in the aughts.

The first flick had a lot going for it: clever cinematography, a refreshing irreverence and Paul Rudd’s boyish charm. But “Wasp” is scant, man.

Familiar though it is, the skillfully made movie finds vigor in the been-there-done-that.

The last time Guillermo del Toro directed a movie, 2017’s The Shape of Water, he won the Best Picture Oscar. His latest, Nightmare Alley, probably won’t, but it is nonetheless a far more entertaining and satisfying film than its overrated science-fiction predecessor.

Kaling’s script addresses issues such as sexism in the #MeToo era, ageism and racial prejudice in her disarmingly light and sneaky way.

What Yankovic and director and co-writer Eric Appel have done, brilliantly in spots, is parody Yankovic’s own life while sending up the whole biopic genre. In a messed-up way, the maneuver is kinda poetic. And so very funny.

Cool though the skirmishes are, director Gina Prince-Bythewood’s film could use some more visual panache, given the unique historical backgrounds of her characters. The look, by and large, is rudimentary action flick. Still, it’s good fun and has more than a few winning one-liners.

The well-known story beats are also given renewed vitality by the young actors, whom director Christopher Zalla expertly steers away from being typical overemoting movie kids.

I was surprised to find “Cameron Post” a sweet indie film in the tradition of John Hughes. Calmly directed by Desiree Akhavan, the movie doesn’t get tangled in the weeds of politics, but instead focuses intensely on its lovely characters.

Freddie Mercury may have had the better voice, but it’s Elton John who gets the better movie. Rocketman, director Dexter Fletcher’s trippy new biopic about the flamboyant rocker is braver, deeper and more enlightening than last year’s slobbering piece of Queen propaganda “Bohemian Rhapsody” (which he also partly directed).

The transition from the DreamWorks CGI version from 2010, one of the best family flicks in years, to real human actors is thankfully smoother and not as off-putting as most of Disney’s recent, pitiful princess efforts.

The gory-as-hell movie is as campy and fun as any chapter in producer Sam Raimi’s four-decade-old horror series. But trapping kids in an apartment — as opposed to college-age friends in a cabin — raises the stakes and brings on legitimate scares. And some hearty laughs, too.

Blockers is the latest example of the millennium’s most dispiriting film trend: Stupid drunk people making stupid drunk decisions for two stupid hours.

The lighthearted drama, about a road trip by two men — one white, one black — is unflinchingly optimistic.

Boy Erased is the second gay conversion therapy movie of the year, after “The Miseducation of Cameron Post.” Both are worthwhile. Where “Cameron” was an intimate charmer focused on the importance of camaraderie to get through hard times, the more dramatic Boy Erased is about accepting our family for who they are, in whatever condition they arrive in.

Reijn’s film, which was written by Sarah DeLappe and Kristen Roupenian, succeeds in making a young basement horror movie for today. And, as least year’s “Scream” reboot showed us, it’s a genre that’s been stuck for far too long in 1996.

Trying to understand the story can make you feel like you’re sitting on a stool in a dunce cap.

You can see director Jon Watts and the filmmakers struggling to replicate the magic of their first film. But its charm came not from an overabundance of jokes, but from turning Spidey into a school hallway hero whose biggest challenge was girls. Jetting off to Venice, Prague and London and busting up landmarks brings it more in line with the rest of the overly dense Marvel Cinematic Universe.

When a movie wades into the vast pool of World War II and Holocaust titles, the viewer expects a splash. One Life is, at best, a spritz. It delivers a lot of what we’ve already seen before, but on a less-than-cinematic scale. Yet spending some time with Hopkins and exploring a speck of light in one of the world’s darkest chapters is just satisfying enough.

Leonard takes advantage of one of Rylance’s greatest strengths — the ability to instantly switch from weak to strong. Behind every tiny smile is ferocity.

Dismiss “Cha Cha” as yet another heartwarming comedy at your peril because every single person in it has layers upon layers of complexity.

Although the film is about Paige’s unlikely rise to TV stardom, what grabs us most is the eclectic Knight family running a scrappy professional wrestling gym on a shoestring. It might be the biggest missed reality-TV show opportunity ever.

Some heightened plot lines in writer-director Jared Frieder’s film don’t land as well as the tender moments do. The romance is admirably never overplayed for sentiment.

Decent movie, same old Borat.

A funny-but-tortured femme-fatale performance from Florence Pugh as Russian assassin Yelena Belova, brutal and tactile fights and a merciful lack of confusing backstory makes for the most enjoyable MCU entry in a while.

We learn very few specific details about this somewhat monotonous guy, and yet that vagueness makes him and his quest more relatable.

Off-screen, Oyelowo moves the camera elegantly, and he creates a few cool moments in the woods.

Is “F1” too long? Absolutely. But not once did I say, “Are we there yet?”

Cary Joji Fukunaga was the right choice to direct “No Time To Die,” even if he wasn’t the first in this rocky road of a production. His Bond feels reverential and classic, but not campy, and he makes bold choices.

Director Shawn Levy’s laugh-a-second movie is easily the best Marvel has delivered since 2021’s “Spider-Man: No Way Home,” and provides similarly nostalgic pleasures in its whiplash-inducing number of retro cameos — none of which I’ll spoil, for fear of my own life.

For a change of pace, you leave the entertaining “Superman” not confused or clobbered, but feeling good.

At Crimes, you gag a lot more than you giggle.

It might sound like a gimmick, but it’s as good as any action-comedy you’re likely to see. Cage heightens his already big personality just the right amount to ensure that the film rises above a skit. We care a great deal about fictional Nicolas Cage.

How unfortunate that we have two Ant-Man films and soon will have a pair of Doctor Strange flicks, but in all likelihood just a single Black Widow — a much deeper, more fascinating, more exciting character than either of those two duds, sorry, dudes.

Harp’s mix of old-school masculinity, love of animals and innate paternal instincts suits Elba perfectly. And unlike Nomadland, which also brought together real citizens with a Hollywood star (Frances McDormand), Elba fits easily and naturally into this group and their environment. It’s like a rider meeting the perfect horse.

Spending more than a decade pining for Pandora was worth it. Cameron has delivered the grandest movie since, well, “Avatar,” and with an over-three-hour runtime that never sags. What better way for struggling cinemas to regain their footing than with a gargantuan film that so celebrates the glory of the big screen?

Most importantly, Halloween recovers its long-lost gravitas and self-respect. It makes us remember why we loved Carpenter’s original in the first place: It was artful, frightening and supremely well-acted — not “Scream 4.”

The upper-crust British characters in The Little Stranger, the new horror film from “Room” director Lenny Abrahamson, are so rigid they make the Crawleys of “Downton Abbey” look like the Osbournes. The effect is occasionally spooky, but more often snoozy.

Directed by Michael Showalter without too much sentimentality or cheese, the guilty-pleasure rom-com (emphasis on rom) is elevated by Hathaway’s layered performance as a swept-off-her-feet California mother that goes well beyond the confines of its supermarket pulp storyline.

1994 plays more like television than a theatrical film. The more limited scope isn’t bothersome, though, because you can only watch it on your TV, after all, and two more films/episodes are soon on the way.

Degreasing a stove is a more enjoyable way to spend your Saturday night.

Chappaquiddick is far from a love letter to the famous family. It paints them as a hollow dynasty of pretty faces hiding behind a powerful name, while real men of intellect and influence puppeteer their every move. Camelot, it’s not. And, as this terrific movie suggests, the American people fall for their polished BS every time.

The final shot of Apatow’s movie is the iconic Staten Island Ferry, bringing to mind “Working Girl,” “Manhattan” and countless other New York City classics. The King of Staten Island joins that list.

Sorry to Raid on your parade, “Ant-Man” fans, but the third chapter is a pile of dirt.

In The Life of Chuck, the pieces come together much too obviously. And the takeaways — that a person is the product of experience, and don’t judge a book by its cover — are well-tread to the point of total flatness.

Running in the footsteps of the last two entries directed by Christopher McQuarrie, “Fallout” and “Dead Reckoning,” No. 8 is another high-voltage, gargantuanly envisioned test of Cruise’s bodily limits. Only this franchise can make wincing fun.

Every aspect — acting, writing, special effects, score — is a notch above its superhero peers. In the best possible sense, you forget you’re watching just another Marvel movie.

The once-great franchise is hardly reborn from the amber this time. It’s slammed by an asteroid yet again.

Those confessionals can and should deliver an emotional wallop; however, Sara Colangelo’s direction isn’t skillful or nuanced enough to give the scenes power. The speeches from actors, such as Laura Benanti, about the worst day in all of these people’s lives feel too rehearsed and polished for us to believe them.

It’s a lot of fun . . . until it becomes a mystery thriller so convoluted and tonally wacky, Angela Lansbury would have quit in a huff.

Both boys are good, and Kyle MacLachlan gives a tender turn as Franky’s gay dad. But the sheer amount of issues shoved in here is overpowering.

It’s an impressive first effort from Kravitz that, like the island and the women, immediately has us in its grip.

What Werewolves Within aims to be is a Knives Out of the horror genre, with a wacky ensemble having a blast while they play enormous characters and follow clues. They do, and their antics are enjoyable for the most part. However, unlike the Daniel Craig mystery film, Werewolves can sometimes be overly spastic and annoying.

The actress is absolute bliss in her new Italian drama, The Life Ahead.

If the sequel is a notch less than its astounding predecessor, that’s because — like Adonis Creed does during moments of doubt — the filmmakers are overcomplicating things.

Although “Ben” can get a little sentimental at times, Roberts and Hedges are a team to root for.

While not totally original, transitions to live action with real guts and reinvention.

The franchise’s greatest transformation yet: He’s made a pretty good movie.

The new movie, directed by Joe Wright and written by Dinklage’s wife Erica Schmidt, ranks with the most lifeless adaptations. Even the swishy dances are a downer.

A riotous dark comedy in which a cute suburban get-together becomes a lethal nightmare.

Absent of any edge or layered characters, Wonka is at its most enjoyable when you forget the novel and classic Gene Wilder film and strap in for routine pleasantness.

If you didn’t know Kirby before this film, get used to hearing her name a lot. She’ll be nominated for every major acting award this year.

In attempting to dramatize their harrowing story in the film Thirteen Lives...the director doesn’t make quick, from-the-gut decisions the way that the intrepid team did. Instead, he takes a chill ride on the Lazy River.

Directed with visual splendor by Wes Ball, the meaty film’s combo of flawless zoological effects (unlike this year’s inferior primate picture “Godzilla x Kong”), superbly crafted characters and a timeless story of emerging civilization and the fight for survival is remarkably riveting for what sets the groundwork of a whole new trilogy.

Here’s what’s smart about director Gavin O’Connor’s film: Although a lot of movies about addiction fixate on the agonizing and physically punishing withdrawal process, this one doesn’t.

This “Poppins” sequel has an entirely new score, with exactly none of the cherished songs from the great Julie Andrews movie. Once you accept that, you can move on — and enjoy the countless other joys this follow-up has to offer. It will be a jolly-er holiday with Mary Poppins Returns.

Nostalgia is a prime factor, yes, but the story is legitimately engrossing this time, however recycled it may be, rather than a lazy stack of trumpeted entrances and exits and half-witty asides that marred the 2019 and 2022 films.

You’d be hard-pressed not to enjoy the jolly jaunt. Clumsy Paddington, as always, makes an adorable mess of things.

As well-worn as it may be, Comer reliably freshens up every project she touches and makes otherwise cold scenes sizzle.

Many modern teen issues are touched upon — depression, anxiety, eating disorders — and because of the honest performances from Smith and Fanning, you ache for them.

Providing a hint of redemption is Edgar-Jones, a naturally vulnerable actress who can turn the shallowest of material into something deep. We like Kya and are with her every step of the way, even though at over two hours there about 50 steps too many.

This whole half-baked sequel is a forced exercise, willed into being by the so-called “Keanussance” — society’s renewed love affair with Reeves. He’s a nice guy and a decent actor, but he’s made a lame movie. It’ll let down even hardcore fans.