Jordan Raup

It may end up playing as a silly lark, but along with dismantling ideas of masculinity, Daniel Scheinert has also created a singularly entertaining crime comedy built on utter idiocy.

Throughout Photograph, Batra shows a sensitive touch and a patient eye for the subtle rhythms of human connection

It’s a warm, patient film culminating in a quietly powerful, reflective finale, though its sum is greater than its parts when the first two sections register a touch underdeveloped.

Slalom ultimately becomes a story about seeing one’s passion in life corrupted through the twisted, pre-meditated manipulation of a mentor. It’s enraging and crushing in equal measure.

For fans of the series, The Trip to Spain gives one a wholehearted meal of all they could possibly desire.

While Burns is certainly damning of the forces that let these tactics be utilized, the message of the film is ultimately more about coming clean as a nation for one’s mistakes and the oversight needed between branches to have a government of integrity.

Aster displays proficient skill in eerie tone-setting, elaborate production design, and the type of scares that will leave a pervasive imprint on the mind, even if the underlying mythology gets over-complicated by the finale.

While some of the story’s turns can feel overtly manipulative, Shortland finds a bracing humanity in depicting the perverse situation of Stockholm syndrome.

A surprising coda that leans into more genre-friendly jolts can feel at odds with what came before, yet A Useful Ghost marks an impressively ambitious, layered debut about a spirit’s ability to illuminate the ills and complications of modern life.

As the film progresses and a comedic rhythm clicks into place, L.A. Times blazes its own distinct, disenchanted trail of romance in the modern age.

Due to its relatively simple base pleasures, there’s a sense this madcap comedy will be dismissed for choosing nimbleness over pathos, but it is Coen and Cooke’s clear love for both B-movie tropes and the wonderfully game ensemble they’ve assembled that makes Drive-Away Dolls go down so easy. Even if one doesn’t fully connect with the attempts at humor, to see the film’s MacGuffin revealed––and precisely how it pertains to a certain supporting character––is ultimately worth the price of admission alone.

Riley doesn’t offer a great deal of insight, but he clearly has a lot on his mind. Here’s hoping he retains this creative edge on a more focused follow-up.

Throughout his films, Waititi has always been skilled at melding comedy with trauma and crafting screenplays with crowdpleasing callbacks. Hunt for the Wilderpeople is another such example of amiable, kind-hearted storytelling.

by staying true to his offbeat brand of comedy, Martin has something compelling to say about moving on amidst — or perhaps because of — the humor of life.

While Don’t Think Twice depicts a certain world with incisive specificity, its themes of what success truly means are universal to anyone involved in the arts.

Despite an ending that is far too obvious and tidy, Agnus Dei is a moving drama about the struggle to keep one’s faith in the most difficult of situations.

For all its anger at the ways Black experience has been flattened, reduced, and commodified, American Fiction has a fleet-footed touch, distilling complicated systemic issues of race to a comedy that invites both a laugh and conversation.

More abstract than her previous films–and therefore, I imagine, off-putting to many–the steady, surreal, and sweet flashes of brilliance in this one-of-a-kind story are enough to sustain interest during some of the more tedious passages.

Magic Mike’s Last Dance has an ample dose of humor, heart, and chiseled abs, but one wishes the trilogy capper felt more than perfunctory.

It’s an ambitious undertaking for an 87-minute film, and while this lofty aim can result in a few passages striking a bit broad, one comes away admiring D’Ambrose’s meticulously committed approach to storytelling.

Woman of the Hour likely won’t be the last re-telling of this shocking tale, but it’s hard to imagine a more perceptive take than the one Anna Kendrick provides.

Even if the last act doesn’t succeed as intended, On the Count of Three threads the difficult task of finding the humor in hopelessness while not exploiting the genuine pain of severe depression.

In Araújo’s vigorous directorial vision, a heightened sense of anxiety courses through, hinging on the precise ways a girl in mental free-fall, rightfully lacking the words or life experience to find a footing, will react to each daunting new situation.

While Blichfeldt might revel in the gruesomeness a touch too much, this is a well-crafted debut––commendable in the unexpected, gnarled ways it finds sympathy with the downcast and dismissed.

The narrative might get a touch too solemn, injecting a bit of reality when it comes to unanticipated hardships, but some welcome closure is offered without tying things up with a neat bow.

Babylon is a brash, bombastic, unwieldy comic opera conveyed with enough bad taste and directorial panache that it—refreshingly—registers as a refutation of the well-mannered prestige drama to which these kinds of nostalgic odes often conform. And while there’s a touch of wistfulness in regards to the communal power of big-screen cinema, the film is more defined by an acidic unsentimentality, both when it comes to its characters and the precarious world they inhabit.

Clemency is a thoroughly draining experience as if we’re placed in purgatory with no means of escape, but it’s ultimately powerful in the ways it shows how the death penalty has consequences for everyone involved.

While a few too-prescient touches pull one out of the experience and its inevitable conclusion leaves a bit to be desired, The Vast of Night is a mightily admirable and entertaining tale that heralds the birth of a career to watch.

The finishing of the narrative puzzle isn’t as graceful as the mindful setting of its pieces, but this is a rare director who has something compelling to convey with each choice he makes behind the camera.

As it stands today, Lo and Behold is an entertaining exploration into an ever-shifting discussion, but, with Herzog’s specific charms, it will no doubt be a significant time capsule — or ominous document of warning — in the years to come.

Laika’s craft makes the sweet-natured, grand adventure worth going on, but the accompanying dialogue from those leading the journey is ultimately too simple-minded to make a memorable mark.

Not giving into audience expectations and thus creating something more terrifying in its relatability, Sebastián Silva’s TYREL follows a testosterone-heavy weekend and the anxiety-inducing isolation one character is faced with.

With a docudrama approach capturing moments of reflective tranquility next to the beach or on a rooftop, Viva feels deeply rooted in its location.

Fighting with My Family doesn’t pull too many unexpected punches, but as someone who has never watched a split-second of wrestling in their life, the fact that I was engaged with this underdog story is a testament to the success of Merchant’s first solo directing effort.

The details in this post-apocalyptic chamber drama — flat-out horror this is not — are spare, an initially refreshing decision that ultimately results in a rather empty, half-formed narrative.

As a film capturing increasing condescension until a breaking point is reached, Beatriz at Dinner impresses with an impassioned performance by Hayek.

After the perpetual dormancy of our lives this past year, humanity is on the verge of reawakening, and Awaken is a worthy testament to just how much there is to explore.

While Palm Trees and Power Lines functions as a harrowing lesson for the worst-case scenarios of grooming, there’s an emptiness to the experience that, while reflecting our protagonist’s journey, results in a film that doesn’t feel fully formed.

If laudable for the ways in which it can find comedy in the banal, and for showing a new side of Ridley, one wishes Sometimes I Think About Dying ultimately left more of a finite impression considering its weighty, universal subject matter.

Despite succumbing to the seemingly inescapable monotony that pervades most final setpieces in this genre, the film exudes a charismatic quality of nimble fun with its playful direction and lighthearted lead performance.

Emily the Criminal keeps up the pace to deliver an entertaining ride but misses the audacity to leave a genuine mark.

Despite a layer of derivative blandness with the formation of its characters and cribbing from sci-fi greats, there’s something downright invigorating about a film without loftier ambitions than providing slasher-in-space pulp.

Whether intentionally intended or not, this earnest endeavor does wonders to enact sympathy and overturn any negative public perception of his outbursts, even if it can feel more like self-therapy than a fully-formed film.

While it’s not as stylish as Husson’s Bang Gang, Girls of the Sun is just as assured. There’s a specific political message at its back and it expresses it without compromise for better or worse.

While Speer Goes to Hollywood effectively shows the delusions of Speer’s mythologization, one wishes it didn’t skirt around more complicated questions of cordiality in the filmmaking process when dealing with such monstrous history.

Chloe Domont’s feature debut Fair Play cuts deep even as it comes dangerously close to careening off the cliff of plausibility with a screenplay that dips into sophomoric.

While it doesn’t quite reach the height of laughter or thrills of Feig’s best work, Ghostbusters has a persistent dose of rollicking, scrappy fun that the ideal summer blockbuster should contain — all the way past the last credits.

My Donkey, My Lover & I is a sun-kissed, transportive charmer that doesn’t bring much new to the table yet never hits a snag. In other words: the ideal summer watch.

The viscerality will surely leave one shaken, though they may question if the unceasing sadistic acts on display are worth the experience.

Farrelly is telling a heart-warming, comical buddy story first and foremost, and Green Book, for better or worse, feels more like a wholehearted familial embrace than a treatise on the state of race in America today.

Despite a compelling performance, we rarely get an authentic sense of the psychology behind her eyes.

Putting a modern, live-action spin on this fable-esque puppet tale, director Mirrah Foulkes crafts a vibrant, brutal directorial debut, even if the ultimate catharsis leaves something to be desired.

He escapes the confines of being just a hired gun, but in the case of A Quiet Place: Day One, Sarnoski’s tender, apocalyptic character drama keeps getting interrupted by a bunch of pesky aliens.

In his directorial debut, Matt Spicer gets right what so many other films commenting on today’s technology obsession fail to capture: the aesthetic appeal of the technology.

In the end, even with its shaky introduction and unsatisfying climax, Always Shine effectively lingers with a pair of deeply committed performances and Takal’s layered dissection of the vulnerabilities inherent in the world of filmmaking.

You won’t float off the film’s intended horror high, but the characters will endear you enough to show up for the promised second chapter.

While Red Sparrow ultimately doesn’t earn its all-consuming, grueling dourness, there are a few thrills to be had, and following the best performance of her career last fall, it’s certainly another fearless step forward for Jennifer Lawrence.

Led by André Holland in an impressively anguished performance, the ensemble elevates a script that has its heart in the right place but feels lacking in layers of complexity that we see from the art on display.

It’s a sharp script with distinct observations helping it rise above the plethora of other similarly-themed fare.

This story may be on its last legs, but as table-setting for an even bigger threat, Infinity War daringly leaves more questions in the air. The way this world ends looks to be not with a bang, but a whimper.

Joshy doesn’t provide any new revelations about the transition into adulthood, but, with an amusing ensemble, you could be stuck with a much worse group of guys.

The rigorous perspective solely on these mythical creatures is a daring decision––a more compelling experiment than the overdramatized recent entries into the Planet of the Apes franchise––but the end result is more commendable than dramatically captivating.

While it doesn’t land with as much impact as it should, the contradictory, heart-numbing effects of such a dehabiliting program are conveyed with a keen sense of nuance by Akhavan.

As the fun hits a brick wall, the film doesn’t quite have the pathos of other coming-of-age stories like The Edge of Seventeen, more focused on selling the amiable, Superbad-esque hang out vibe that is so attuned to Davidson’s brand of comedy, but when it is time for some comeuppance, it’s easy to feel for both Mo and Zeke.

While not fully engaging on a narrative level, the project at least demonstrates Kogonada hasn’t lost his filmmaking mojo, crafting a movie that may seem more personal to him than most viewers.

Ant-Man and the Wasp may never achieve that level of surrealist humor, but as a series of amusing quips and inventive setpieces, the rest of the Marvel family could learn a thing or two from the scrappy small-scale of their tiniest colleague.

The drama’s formal elements aren’t as compelling as the ideas it wrestles with, but it does make for one of James Franco‘s more accomplished and complicated performances.

With the ensemble of mostly non-actors never less than utterly convincing, Amman Abbasi’s debut drama is captivating in its immediacy, despite a script that doesn’t feel fully formed.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

This back-to-basics homage to disaster pictures of the 1970s has a modest charm, elevated by Harlin’s brisk direction, even if there is little that makes a lasting impression.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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).

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

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

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.

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.

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.