Johnny Oleksinski

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.

Wright is relaxed and almost meditative as she takes in the beauty of the horizon, and her simple directing captures the majesty of nature.

Also making a meal of a morsel is Chloë Sevigny as Paul’s mom. The actress probably has fewer than 20 lines, and still she brings depth and palpable regret to her scene.

It’s a violently annoying and annoyingly violent ensemble piece speckled with “look how wacky we are!” characters that are impossible to put up with; a copycat Coen Brothers yarn with the depth of a tortilla.

This movie’s got as many cliches as Madison’s got cheese curds. But script aside, Jackman and Hudson onstage are effervescent and, speaking as someone who’s never mounted a motorcycle, the songs rock.

No. 3, with a reported price tag of more than $400 million, is the most visually glorious of the trio, adding fresh and imaginative beings and environments that further flesh out one of the all-time great fantasy locales.

There are some zippy chase scenes and shootouts, and tension throughout. But the characters — especially the lethargic Affleck — make for more of a C-Team than an A-Team.

The movie is a good 40 minutes too long and momentum ceases to build a while before it finally ends. Still, when the director’s party is raging, you’ll wish you had an invite.

[Tatum] lets his cuddly co-star shine and wrings out a few touching moments of his own, too.

The supporting voices are sublime. Alongside Hudson are Audra McDonald, Tituss Burgess and Broadway’s Hailey Kilgore and Saycon Sengbloh. But the music, absent a believable 1960s sense of place or real concert atmosphere, doesn’t rouse so much as please, not unlike the familiar movie it’s a part of. Respect settles for being respectable.

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.

J.Lo has delivered an over-the-top song-and-dance camptacular, both gravely serious and deliriously funny, providing one cuckoo moment after another.

Most of DC Comics’ dreadful movies deserve to be violently squished, but not Blue Beetle, a refreshingly spry new film featuring the lesser-loved, bug-shaped superhero who’s been crawling around in some form since 1939.

That’s the worst thing about these new Scream films — they couldn’t spook a kitten. They’re much more concerned with so-so jokes and overly geeky observations about the horror genre. Yes, Scream always commented on other scary movies, but never so obnoxiously and repetitively as now.

Saltburn has a brain, no doubt about it, but it also has a script that’s written in jet fuel.

The adequate Netflix film, which was supposed to have been released two years ago, is funny in spots, but it flatlines early and gets way too gross.

A movie needs more than a smart idea and an impressively visualized concept of the future to run smoothly. Two-thirds of the way through, “The Pod Generation’s” battery is already at 1%.

Birds of Prey moves at a breakneck pace with a dry, totally unsentimental sense of humor, and it never gets caught up in cliched morals or weighty lessons.

Since the characters barely get a chance to catch their breath, let alone say their piece, we don’t learn much about them beyond familiar traits. However, Reitman’s aim isn’t to seriously illuminate that fateful night so much as to energetically add to showbiz mythology.

Bad Hair is about 10 minutes too long. You don’t salivate over Anna’s home life as much as you do her office from hell, and a few of those scenes could have been trimmed. Nonetheless, it’s nice to see horror let its hair down again.

Directors Aaron and Adam Nee’s movie sits frustratingly for two hours on the tarmac of comedy as we the angry passengers await takeoff.

Many diehards, in their slavish, zombie-like subservience to the MCU gods, will tell you that Sam Raimi (brilliant on the 2002 “Spider-Man”) has directed a horror movie. Lies! It’s as scary and visually arresting as “Van Helsing,” “Underworld” and “Hellboy 2.”

Lohan and Curtis are the main attractions, since “Freakier” functions mostly as a nostalgia trip for 30-something ticket-buyers who can now legally enjoy a margarita. But while massaging millennials, the movie also has a good time slinging mud at Gen Z.

Endlessly entertaining and frequently hysterical, “Anora” is one of the year’s best films and a formidable Oscar contender.

Wolfs, a so-called comedy written and directed by Jon Watts in which Clooney and Pitt play rival New York fixers tasked with discreetly disposing of a dead body, is a dreadful, laugh-free slog that tests the limits of what star power alone can salvage.

Skarsgård is dangerous as ever here, but writer-director Dan Krauss’ drama offers very little insight into the minds of these men, and we’re left with no satisfying takeaway. It’s just one upsetting scene after another.

When you make a film out of the greatest TV show of all time, there’s bound to be a hint of disappointment. What you’re getting here is a very enjoyable mob movie that can be appreciated by anybody, but will undoubtedly be preferred by Sopranos fans. The Godfather IV it ain’t.

It’s a royal chore.