Johnny Oleksinski

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.

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.

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

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.

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

Summer blockbusters don’t get much better.

I’ve always had my reservations about Sorkin as a director. His scripts tend to be better than his final products. Those druthers started to fade with the moving “Trial of the Chicago 7” and are now completely gone after “Being the Ricardos.” His vision of ‘50s TV production is spot-on — nostalgic, quick, boozy, but without the glamor of Hollywood movie-making.

Soul amounts to more than technical wizardry and intelligent dialogue. Why artists keep pounding the pavement despite never finding commercial success is a meaty topic.

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.

As for Broadway buffs and lovers of old New York, the witty, hilarious and haunting movie starring a totally transformed Ethan Hawke as musical-theater lyricist Lorenz Hart will have them utterly bewitched.

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.

With this visionary director — one of Hollywood’s best — it’s one winner after another.

Coppola’s movie is packed with many similarly smart, but never egotistical storytelling decisions and is easily one of the finest films of her career.

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.

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.

You’ll begin “Twinless” with basic expectations, and you’ll end it with your mouth agape. And then you’ll ask the most satisfying question there is after first encountering an exciting young filmmaker’s work: When’s the next one?

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.

And now, your love-it-or-loathe-it movie of 2020.

This is a sexy, funny, ravishing and dark revision that keeps Heathcliff’s frightening obsessiveness, emotional toxicity and sadism intact while ably contorting the tale into a decadent, modern, yet still distinctly gothic, romance.

The movie proves a New York teen superhero can do more than just excitedly swing around. He can move us, too. It’s the best stand-alone film to feature the iconic character so far. And it’s animated.

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

Jackman’s turn doesn’t have an Oscars wow quality; nor does the movie itself. The script’s zingers can occasionally come off as store-brand “West Wing.” But it’s a fun, endlessly fascinating watch in which the big questions outweigh the tiny problem.

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.

Whenever there’s a lull here, a big laugh soon comes along with the force of a boa constrictor that conceals the flaws.

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.

Vivo is a heartfelt piece with catchy songs and a much more cohesive plot than Miranda’s Moana, which gets tangled midway through. Sure it could do with a touch more depth, but in the kids movie genre, you could do a lot worse.

It’s my favorite Cage performance in some time, after overly bizarre turns in recent years as a murderous parent in Mom and Dad and an inmate on a mission in the Japanese film Prisoners of the Ghostland. When he goes back to basics, it’s as rich and juicy as a delicious ham steak.

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.