Jordan Raup

Lau’s ambition to strive toward similar aims is worthy of commendation, creating a tapestry of moods of detachment alongside a city symphony of isolation, yet it’s hard to shake the sense that not much new or complex about our modern way of life is conveyed.

While Donzelli’s latest feature is a well-acted, stifling study of domestic violence, one wishes there was more to take away than a schematic lesson in the horrors of abuse.

Jeff Zimbalist and Maria Bukhonina’s new documentary attempts to elucidate the thought process behind these daredevil theatrics. Yet it ends up doing more to glorify and celebrate their life-threatening, thrill-seeking actions than interrogate the complexity of why they have devoted their existence to an insane diversion that has seen many of their friends fall to their deaths.

My Old Ass yearns to go down easy and succeeds at such, but one wishes it dug a bit deeper into its Pollyannaish script and aesthetic.

This is the kind of comedy one imagines will only earn a few chuckles when it eventually arrives on a streaming platform.

With its whirlwind, surface-level observations of fascinatingly complex lives, The Thief Collector is the kind of scattershot true-crime documentary that grips in the moment but, with reflection, is more entertaining to discuss than revisit for additional clues.

Initially intrigues with its lo-fi sci-fi ambition but has too much on its mind without saying anything interesting at all.

Every so often the semblance of a promising adaptation peeks beyond the surface, but ultimately it all gets swallowed in a reductive muck of misguided choices that over-explains what the short story left up for discussion.

William Oldroyd’s Lady Macbeth follow-up Eileen is lacking in a considered formal approach but strives to make up for this misgiving with a script that offers its talented ensemble an unexpected mix of sensual longing and perverse thrills. While this clash of tones doesn’t entirely gel, part of its appeal is the shock of such contrasts.

A ruthlessly nihilistic beast of a movie, Elijah Bynum’s second feature Magazine Dreams provides a one-note powerhouse acting showcase for Majors, who ends up getting lost in the drawn-out second half as thematic points that initially sting get repeated ad nauseam and red herrings meant to shock become unnecessary side plots.

If The Pale Blue Eye dances around potentially intriguing ideas––the dehumanization of being in the military and who ultimately answers for the crimes carried out in the name of religion––it’s all window dressing for what is ultimately a murder mystery lacking momentum.

While a murky, laborious affair, Pinocchio never feels wholly inept with the consummate craftsman at the helm, yet it’s certainly the director’s laziest time behind the camera.

The film is all the better for not over-explaining its gleefully outrageous final moments, but one wishes the journey getting there was handled with more consideration.

Bits and pieces work—an underused Maria Bakalova, in one of her first post-Borat roles, stands out as she contends with Dieter’s advances; there are a few laughs seeing Carol dealing with a crumbling relationship at home with no way to intervene; Dustin placing more importance over this franchise than his newly adopted son––but The Bubble‘s vast majority plays as Day for Night for dummies. Comedy can certainly be extracted from the strange new world we find ourselves in, but Apatow’s project is a meta experiment in search of a purpose beyond delivering a few scant chuckles.

The Sky Is Everywhere is certainly a delight to behold; one just wishes Nelson mined a bit deeper in the adaptation process, pulling back on trite verbosity and letting Decker’s fanciful, psychologically striking vision do the talking.

Delivering a happy ending that feels like a cheap way out of the story, Resurrection may initially shake one to their core, but by the finale it devolves into little more than a diabolically outrageous genre outing for two great actors.

Despite an under-developed script, Wolfhard and Moore both deliver strong performances as their characters continue their parallel tracks, with narcissism blocking the desire to achieve their true goals and neither truly listening to the person they want to make happy.

Slathered in nostalgia for past moments in the franchise yet still introducing entirely new backstories, this humdrum antepenultimate adventure leaves one convinced those steering the series don’t have a firm grasp on where it’s heading.

In a Hollywood where sequels are mandated to go bigger and expand the I.P. to chase the dollar signs of a cinematic universe, on paper, it is refreshing that Krasinski decided to stay relatively small-scale with the sequel. Yet, in carrying over the narrow scope, the narrative hang-ups of the first outing are only expounded upon here with a rinse-and-repeat blueprint to the stakes that feels all-too-repetitive. Considering the resources at Krasinski’s disposal to do something genuinely exciting, it’s disappointing to see the lessons that went unlearned as the same tricks get duplicated.

The actual experience of watching this gonzo dystopian samurai western is far from the shock-a-minute journey that one would expect, but even in its more banal sequences, Sono’s imaginative eye peeks through.

This tedious film’s biggest issues don’t lie with its simplification of politics or often taking the feel-good easy route, but rather how flat the comedy lands. This in part due to how weakly formed its characters are across the board, as well as the peculiar tonal approach that is taken.

Mortensen is clearly attuned to the emotional toll of maintaining such a relationship—loving someone even if they don’t show any love back—but once this idea is firmly laid out early on, the repetitive narrative doesn’t expand to reveal more layers of complexity.

Troop Zero drowns in its cloying aim to please at every moment. It doesn’t bring anything new to the table, but that wouldn’t be a problem if its familiar heart and humor landed in any memorable way.

By lacking a sense of vision in embracing what came before and ignoring the recently laid path for where this story could go, The Rise of Skywalker is not only a disappointing end to this saga–it’s also an ill-fated harbinger for Disney’s future in storytelling.

The entire saga of The Man Who Killed Don Quixote is compelling in showing the burden that journey can take, even if the end results don’t make for Gilliam’s finest hour (or two).

The groundwork is laid for a rich playground of political intrigue and sci-fi thrills, but Captive State is continually hobbled by acting more like a mouthpiece for the state we are in rather than a memorable genre outing with characters we can root for.

Them That Follow has a compelling hook, but what’s left is nothing but an unfortunately wasted opportunity.

Has a compelling hook ... but the follow-through leaves something to be desired.

A kinetic, comedic journey taking place over a day, Kirill Mikhanovsky’s film is a bit too needlessly frenzy as it eventually runs out of steam, but is potent in its exploration of shared cross-cultural experiences.

As an oddity of the serial killer genre, some of Berlinger’s choices ring more as engagingly strange than unsuccessful.

Never truly scary or side-splitting hilarious (aside from one of the single greatest visual jokes I’ve seen in a long while, involving a kindergarten class picture), Little Monsters can often feel toothless in its bite, ending up being a watchable, if watered-down zombie comedy.

While Adam seems almost like a rite of passage before we get more complex trans dramas in mainstream filmmaking, one can’t help but feel frustrated by its missed opportunities.

With The Meg, Turtletaub flounders about, failing to wring out a basic amount of tension in most scenes, leaving us to swim around in circles with only spare, Statham-infused signs of life.

Like an amusement ride on its last legs, there is no wonder in this world anymore; just the repetition of cheap, worn-out jolts. The park is gone, and with it, so is any semblance of humanity.

Not containing the wit to be smart, thrilling sci-fi nor the chutzpah to embrace a fun, B-movie shlock vibe, it unfortunately feels like an uninspired TV pilot that any other network would’ve permanently locked in a vault.

John Callahan’s life is a fascinatingly complex one, and Phoenix is certainly the ideal actor to portray him, but Gus Van Sant’s maudlin, erratic approach leaves too little of an impression.

The adventure rides on the charisma of the ensemble, who milk the body-switching situation for all it is worth.

War of the Planet of the Apes has all the bombast and sense of finality seemingly required for the end of a trilogy, but there’s an underlying emptiness that nags with each scene.

While Lucia Aniello (one of many from Broad City involved here) brings a certain energy in her directorial debut and the cast do comedically click, Rough Night too often feels watered-down with a blatant disregard for basic logic, resulting in a comedy that’s ultimately more exasperating than clever.

Everything Roberts wants to convey is obtrusively front and center, leaving little room for the viewer to have any interpretation for themselves.

Featuring superb performances from Tracy Letts and Debra Winger, writer-director Azazel Jacobs has assembled an impeccable ensemble, but his script doesn’t quite have the dramatic acumen to make his Terri follow-up much more than an amusing farce.

Despite the contrived drama surrounding it, this is a refreshingly uncynical portrait of familial strife.

Never genuinely thrilling or sincerely hilarious, Beauty and the Beast ho-hums along until the next needle drop of a prominent musical cue. If Disney believes these tales are as old as time, they ought to have a better reason for bringing them back to life than unimaginatively cashing in on nostalgia.

While there’s an infectious energy to the process of musical creation and an impressive lead performance from newcomer Danielle MacDonald, the feature debut of Geremy Jasper is ultimately hindered by predictable story beats and a cynical outlook at the world it’s capturing.

Dave McCary’s directorial debut is a film of imagination, adventure, and discovery, but also one too hesitant to challenge in its tone, traveling down a tiresome path of tropes.

Despite [Harrelson's] commitment to a lack of civility, there’s a darker film lying in the cynical heart of Wilson, one that gets squandered by its mawkish aesthetic and lack of interest in exploring these characters beyond their crudeness.

Let down by muddy characterization and a choppy directorial style, the drama finally coheres in its final act to deliver the uncompromising thrills that have been Sheridan’s trademark.

It’s far from achieving the holy grail of comedy, but as a frivolous, fleeting time, The Little Hours has its charms thanks to the strength of its cast.

Assassin’s Creed bears a jumbled narrative and self-serious approach that ends up feeling far too assaultive on the senses without any genuine pay-off.

This superhero adventure, like most of Marvel’s output, is well-paced enough with a few interesting ideas up its sleeve (including a refreshing climax featuring anti-destruction) that it should thus hold one’s attention. But for being devoid of a compelling story at its center, one walks away from Doctor Strange feeling as empty as the magic on display.

Despite a committed lead performance and flashes of finding beauty in the bizarre, Buster’s Mal Heart loses confidence as it proceeds, resulting in a journey of half-formed ideas that could’ve used as much focus as Malek’s dead-eyed glance.

As a morality play that will surely leave the audience contemplating what they might have done in the situation, The Light Between Oceans mostly works. As a layered drama with indelible characters and an intricate narrative, it falls short, giving credence to the more contrived climactic moments while losing specificity.

Free State of Jones has a story worth telling, it just doesn’t know how to effectively do so.

While it fails to deliver convincing action and its comedy feels watered down, Central Intelligence does get the “buddy” aspect correct. Doing their best with a script (also by Ike Barinholtz and David Stasser) that feels all-too-safe, Johnson and Hart manage to prove that a movie can glide by just enough on sheer charisma alone.

H. simply doesn’t feel fully formed, keeping us at a narrative distance from its otherwise relatable characters.

Swiss Army Man is an exceptionally unusual, one-of-a-kind achievement, worthy to seek out for that factor alone. However, if as much time was spent on refining the script as was the world-building, this could have been a magical realism fever dream like few others.

Goat is a compelling watch, but in the end, its themes are a bit muddled, and certainly not unique.