Jordan Raup

Capturing a stressful environment of constant interruptions that distract from medical urgencies, Switzerland’s Oscar-shortlisted procedural is a work of high intensity and acute resonance, even if it lacks a certain personality by design.

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.

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.

Although just under 100 minutes isn’t enough time to capture every nuance of 10 years with multiple subjects, One in a Million is an ambitious, affecting declaration that a complete sense of freedom will only arrive when personal independence is fulfilled.

This Un Certain Regard jury prize winner is a darkly humorous, cautionary character study in letting one’s long-lost creative dreams drive every decision––one in which Soto, more often than not, finds empathy as his protagonist circles the drain.

Gornostai’s documentary is a powerful reminder that even under the worst of circumstances, humanity will always find a way to endure.

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.

Seeing how Soderbergh and Koepp can expertly stack the deck to always be one step before the viewer is an exhilarating thrill to behold.

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.

Joseph’s mesmerizing debut feels like a living, breathing dispatch from a time beyond ours, ushering in new possibilities for the form.

With its cohesive black-and-white cinematography from Pete Ohs, a dedicated performance from Birney, and a plethora of crafty homespun special effects, OBEX is an inherently likable journey that should appeal to more than just those whose childhood was similarly, inextricably linked to this early era of computing.

A directorial debut of unfiltered frankness in both its tragedy and comedy, Sorry, Baby is a singular feat of storytelling.

Finding new ways to draw humor out of the MeToo movement and carnal objectification, this is a limber, gratifying sex comedy that has more on its mind than successful innuendos and punchlines.

Never laboring too exhaustively on a single trope, yet feeling comprehensive in the breadth of what’s dissected, Shackleton has crafted an entertaining, even self-deprecating investigation into a global addiction.

Gandbhir isn’t here to provide those answers, but with her unembellished, formally compelling vision, she gives all the evidence needed for those in power to rethink the laws and systems in place.

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.

Nosferatu is a feast for the senses, so transportive in its world-building that one can almost sense the legion of rats scurrying below their feet and feel the chill in the air when Orlok glides through the moon-lit window to guzzle blood.

While Rebel Ridge hints at larger systemic issues that could be part of a million other small towns across the country, the film works best when solely anchored on Terry’s perspective. The experience is one of riveting twists, turns, and unnerving tension.

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.

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.

With a gentle yet rigorous vision, Eephus coalesces into a reflective study of nostalgia: both for a game that has evolved and for a certain kind of American social life that is dwindling as fast as the sun fades.

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.

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.

In capturing the trans experience with language that only cinema can convey, Schoenbrun has crafted one of the most original, evocative, adventurous films of this decade.

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.

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.

Good One is an acutely felt portrait of impending womanhood and a remarkable debut for India Donaldson.

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.

A screwball comedy that never forgets a dramatic weight, Silver’s latest feature is a hilarious, touching, and acerbic tale of picking one’s self back up and not being afraid to pursue what is truly desired.

Weaving in skillfully employed, grounded visual effects, it’s rather shocking just how much the ghost, sight unseen, feels like another character in the movie.

As the steady flow of alcohol removes the barriers and fast-forwards the many years of estrangement, Moodysson’s skill at zeroing-in on the naked sorrows of the human experience is as sharp as ever.

Beautifully showing the importance of healing through art, Sing Sing skirts the treacly traps of a feel-good crowd-pleaser by providing a detailed, authentic roadmap for restoring a life burdened by trauma.

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

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.

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.

While spare early passages are narratively opaque and formally ornate to a distancing fault, the riveting second half––including a chilling reckoning with others occupying the desolate land and a well-executed structural gamble––brings profound expansion to this chilling story of atrocity.

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.

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.

An effective concoction of cosmic mystery and earnest emotion to elevate its small-scale, homespun design, Colin West’s Linoleum evolves into a nifty, heartfelt sci-drama.

Cinema Sabaya attempts to capture the spectrum of the human experience with a simplified conceit. While its reach may exceed its grasp, Rotem’s debut shows the necessity of making space for a dialogue, and how filmmaking is the perfect tool to express ideas that words can’t capture.

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.

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

Ira Sachs’ radiantly sexual three-hander Passages couldn’t have assembled a finer trio of actors to explore modern love in all its splendor and messiness.

For relying on the barest narrative threads, watching All Dirt Roads Taste of Salt is more an experience of transformative renewal than gleaning specific details of Mack’s story.

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.

With a lovingly crude sense of humor and finding the perfect star in Hewson to radiate sincere liveliness every moment she’s onscreen, Carney has crafted a winning tale of motherhood and music.

Brimming with an inner life and an authenticity that shouldn’t be undervalued due to its tough subject matter, Leaf’s debut is a film without a single false note.

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.

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.

Holofcener deftly juggles the emotions of every character, parsing exactly where each is coming from, lucidly and thoughtfully elaborating her script with their specific insecurities.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Retrograde is a powerful reminder that conflict breeds conflict and enacting a plan trying to protect a certain group of people will always leave others neglected.

With remarkably immediate cinematography and an intimate understanding of its subjects, Descendant becomes an essential ideal of how to tell a community’s story: not through distant talking heads, but capturing moving bodies through land and history, giving a voice to those that can often feel powerless.

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.

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 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.

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.

With a strong sense of authenticity and purpose, The Northman is designed to unnerve and repel. In a wide release landscape of easy-to-please, vaporous entertainment, such feats should be celebrated.

While Bay’s frantic approach is a double-edged sword, delivering pure entertainment from the get-go while lacking in any particularly ingenious set piece, it’s a refreshing proposition to see him return to the basics of action filmmaking.

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.

Once again Soderbergh has delivered a film that comes across as effortlessly constructed, which could only be achieved through immense consideration of every detail.

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.

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

The documentary shows the Kraffts’ harmonious curiosity with nature––even its most cataclysmic forces––to make the world a safer place is a lesson anyone could benefit from.

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.

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.

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.

Journalistic in the sense that it feels like Beshir has compiled stray quotes, fleeting snapshots, and loosely connected thoughts from a journal into a dreamy cinematic form, Faya Dayi becomes more breathtaking as these images and ideas coalesce.

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.

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.

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.

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.

With an immersive vérité touch, Acasă, My Home vividly captures living on the margins of society––whether it’s actually off the grid or being thrown into a system not of your choosing.

With a grand score by Alan Silvestri that kicks up at every possible turn and extravagantly over-the-top Hathaway performance, this update on The Witches is a family-friendly Halloween treat that still boasts Zemeckis’ brand of the bizarre and a clear-eyed vision that seems all the more rare in today’s Hollywood.

These men have dedicated their entire lives to not only finding these exquisite white Alba truffles but also to the dogs that help them find their way, and to see their culture upturned for selfish reasons is an upsetting thing to witness. That they still have so much personality, joy, and life in them, however, makes The Truffle Hunters a delightful, charming watch.

It’s a depressing, disturbing journey to witness, but an essential one to see the machinations of evil that pervade and influence our daily life on the internet and beyond.

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.

It’s the director’s most emotionally attuned and narrowly focused work, a film in which our attention is not pulled along by heavy dramatic shifts or distracted by a mountain of subplots, but rather how trauma can form a life of complacency and it’s only slivers of progress that hint at a more promising future.

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.

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 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.

To the Stars is quaint in its aims, but this compact focus brings an enveloping level of intimacy.

It’s the kind of escapist action film and politically-tinged revenge tale that could actually spark a discussion rather than the reaction one has after walking out of The Hunt: stunned silence at how filmmakers could so severely botch a satire in a moment when there is plenty of material to mine from. If nothing else, at least it is mercifully short.

Embracing the sci-fi genre, they take out the world-saving doom and frightful creature effects this breed of films is known for, and instead deliver a light, cuddly adventure that’s a step below its predecessor in shear (sorry!) inventiveness but still containing a wealth of delightful comedic gags.

What makes Boys State so compelling is it appeals both to the most cynical and hopeful of viewers.

One of the most subtly striking decisions in Minari is to not focus on the major moments in their path towards the American Dream, but rather memorable interactions within this tight-knit family, however minor they may be.

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.

The tell-all exposé on why exactly The Last Thing He Wanted is a failure on almost every level is likely many years away, but it’s been some time since such a promising concoction of talented ingredients has resulted in something so impossibly dull, gratingly lethargic, and utterly incoherent.

Providing levity and comfort to ideas of mortality, Kirsten Johnson has illuminated the sweet embrace of death.

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.

Where Decker’s film excels is in the innovative perspective brought to each moment and the talented ensemble that gets to grab ahold of the material. Elisabeth Moss and Michael Stuhlbarg are having so much scenery-chewing fun they practically end up swallowing the single location.

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.

Crip Camp is both an inspiring historical document of a grass-roots movement but also an urgent call to action for those on the sidelines of ongoing political and societal battles.

This collection of lost souls and inquiry into their perspective on life results in a tale of profound authenticity and devastating heartbreak.

Hittman has provided an essential, specific look at just one person’s struggle to have control over her own body. By doing so with such a delicate, considered perspective, she’s giving a voice to millions of women going through the same experience. And it’s time to listen.

Accompanied by Mica Levi’s score–which mixes fairytale-esque harps to introduce the story and Southern-fried beats and synths as the craziness progresses–Bravo elevates the material and provides a unified, eccentric vision.

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.

A thematically rich and acutely moving update for both a new generation and certainly many more to follow.

It all culminates in a final scene that is as eloquent as it is wise.

One imagines how over-the-top zany this could have been made, had the adaptation been overtly faithful, yet Linklater is able to extract the heart of the story while injecting some of his own characteristic themes.

It may begin with a scattered, cartoonish approach, but Booksmart eventually blooms into something entirely and beautifully its own.

It’s his commitment to the physicality required that signifies a mythic status to both the henchman who have the honor of fighting him and those watching the spectacle on display.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

Thoroughly engrossing ... The way the directors are able to provide a portrait of empathy on all sides is astounding.

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

Hogg’s earlier films are striking in their picturesque abstractness as we sit in on conversations from a distance, but the ambition and warmth on display in The Souvenir makes this her greatest achievement.

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.

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

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

Those going into Paul Harrill’s second feature looking for frights will be rewarded with something more substantial: an experience rich with atmosphere and humanity, and drama ultimately more enlightening than the cheap thrills that pervade the dime-a-dozen ghost stories we’ve seen before.

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.

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.

Through his exquisite vision, Mascaro tells a curious tale of spiritual commitment, marital strife, and the blurred separation of church and state, leading to an ultimately surprising, powerful conclusion.

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.

[A] thoroughly engrossing documentary.

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.

As we hear the actual recordings of the astronauts communicating with the designated capsule communicator (aka CAPCOM), it gives Apollo 11 an underlying, powerful thread of humanity.

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.

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.

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.

Rather than focusing on Lizzie as a figure out of a horror movie or creepy folk tale, she is portrayed as a woman who found liberty only through the death of her oppressors.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

A shimmering example of what Hollywood sci-fi can achieve when the aim is high, Annihilation is a gripping, mystifying adventure and proof that a transportive experience is more rewarding than a story with clean-cut resolutions.

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.

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.

If Collet-Serra put Neeson on a merry-go-round and added some danger, I’d gladly show up.

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

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.

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.

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.

Unfolding with a specific eye for grandeur in every space, the images resonate long after the credits roll.

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 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.

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

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

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.

It’s difficult to imagine something funnier, dumber and more action-packed coming from this group.

Marczak himself, who also plays cinematographer, is wary to delineate the line between narrative and nonfiction, and part of the film’s joy is forgoing one’s grasp on this altering perspective, rather simply getting wrapped up in the immaculately-shot allure of its location.

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.

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.

As a hyper-focused, dream-like portrait of a teenager grappling with both the conditions of his upbringing and a newfound identity, Beach Rats feels invigorating at very turn.

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.

Menashe works as both a rare introduction to a way of life largely unseen (or exaggerated by those outside of it) as well as a touching depiction of fighting for what’s most important in life.

Considering how Perry intricately carves out the understated instincts of each of these characters, it’s easily his most humane and emotionally complex film.

Marjorie Prime, a micro-scale sci-fi chamber drama, fascinatingly explores the perception and dissolution of what we remember throughout our lives.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

Filled with scenes both broad and understated, Mudbound may take some time to find an engaging rhythm and poignant depth, but once it does, the powerful last act will not be soon forgotten.

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 a film of overwhelming empathy and playfulness as loneliness turns into gratification and desires are slowly manifested into reality.

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

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.

Landline is a film about many things: sisterhood, infidelity, growing up, marriage, parenting, self-discovery, etc. That it manages to have illuminating insights about each, and none feeling like they are taking the backseat, is a feat unto itself.

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.

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.

The psychological weight of our certain death and the fact that life will go on long after we are departed is difficult to visually convey, but A Ghost Story is one of the most poignant films to ever grapple with this existential question.

By concurrently threading the needle of both the hereafter and emotional breakthroughs for our characters, it can make the plot schematics feel too tidy in their construction, but the journey in finding how these elements fit together is never less than engrossing.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Steeped in the mythology and fables of Japanese history, it’s another fantastical adventure from the studio with innovation and awe at every turn, despite a story that could benefit from having more specificity and focus.

Along with Aisholpan’s enduring spirit, The Eagle Huntress excels in portraying the beauty and respect the people here have for both the animals and environment.

In capturing childlike wonder through Pete’s eyes, this film has more than a few heartbreaking moments regarding the definition of a home and the people (or fantastical creatures) that give it life. And by keeping things relatively small-scale, David Lowery’s studio debut retains a personal touch with an unceasing supply of magic running through its lovable, full-hearted soul.

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.

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.

Even divorced from scandal, Weiner makes for a captivating, sadly comical look at the machinations of the political process.

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.

By keeping characterization and plotting to a minimum, García has crafted a film in which he invites his audience to bring their own interpretations to the pensive story.

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.

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

Eggers, whose production and costume design background is on full display in the austerely crafted setting, effectively builds the tension of this divine battle, one which isn’t scary, but surely memorable.

For an 11-year-old sneaking into the theater for his first R-rated movie, Deadpool could prove to be a revelatory trip. For myself, it was an exhausting, grating experience, lacking in wit and cleverness as it crumbles underneath its wall-to-wall torrent of jokes. If this represents a new stage for comic-book adaptations, the future is even more dismal than one could have imagined.

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.

With Wiener-Dog, Solondz is perhaps at his most evidently candid, showing all the different, damaged people that can enter and exit one’s life, and what our mutually shared, inevitable destination will be.

Most nuanced and effective in the feeling of getting to know someone the first time, when the evident foretelling is put to the side, this is simply an absorbing love story.

While Sing Street is often infectious its its scraggly energy, one wishes Conor’s other band members were slightly more fleshed-out, which would make their already-absorbing performances sing even more.

While there’s no denying the film’s empathetic, tear-inducing impact, one wonders if a tighter structural grip would allow it to have been even more effective.

A culturally specific story is being told, but the film’s familiar structure helps to add a commonality for any viewer.

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.

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.

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

Despite actors who are clearly committed to the material, The Free World is an unfortunate misfire of banality.

Indignation is a thoughtful examination of romantic courtship and educational routines that’s best when its writer-director prioritizes characters over plot.

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.

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

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

There are no grand revelations or heightened emotions to be found in this film. Rather, Reichardt is keenly aware of small interactions, whether it be a few words or a glance, that make the most memorable moments in one’s life

What’s lacking in aesthetic cohesion, pacing, and subtlety is made up for in a powerful lead performance and an essential story with compelling religious undercurrents.

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

There are no clichés here, and Lonergan flawlessly carves out the most sincere moments to reveal a sprawling, deeply affecting odyssey of emotional recovery.

It’s such a step-up in vibrancy, scope, and emotion that it feels like the introduction of an entirely different, more accomplished filmmaker.

Assassination Nation may hit buttons in the moment, but looking back, it fades away as an experience as ugly as it is unpleasant.

A conspiracy thriller as euphorically entertaining as it is devastatingly bleak.

One of Eighth Grade‘s greatest strengths is its specificity related to the current generation.

An earnest, clear-cut drama about the struggle for one woman’s liberation from the shackles of domesticity, Puzzle does what it sets out to do remarkably well.

There are few films that make one rethink the entire genre that came before it, but with their continually surprising, feminist bent approach, the Zellners have succeeded in doing so.

The Tale is a soul-excavating reckoning with the suppression of trauma and a testament to the courage required for a victim to confront the most damaging moments of their lives.

In capturing the crumbling of a family and the scars left behind, Paul Dano has made a fascinatingly complex portrait of the fracturing of American ideals.

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.

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.

There will never be easy answers when dealing with the soul-baring act of producing truly great art, but Josephine Decker’s film is as mesmerizing a plunge into the process as one is likely to find in modern cinema.

Most surprising of all, Mandy isn’t solely about the carnage-heavy path for revenge. Cosmatos knows that the impact will be much greater felt if there’s an emotional backbone. Thus, one can feel the soul-churning passion behind every popping eye and crushed skull.

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.