Lena Wilson

Words like “colonialism” and “the American dream” are thrown around, to little avail. This movie ultimately cares more about monotonous shootouts than making points about border relations

Where Anderson went to great lengths to address some salient topics in his novel — like colonialism, the American healthcare system, and the obsolescence of the working class — Finley’s “Landscape” lacks the worldbuilding necessary to make any such strong connections. This could be a scathing indictment of our country’s growing class divide. Instead, it’s a nice-looking, entertaining movie that conveniently pulls its punches.

“The Devil Made Me Do It” is an excellently spooky work of fiction. It would be even better if it privileged ghoulishness over gospel.

Andy Greskoviak’s script lampoons corporate apathy and retail-work ennui with the same swiftness as his voracious zombies. Unfortunately, Black Friday also tries to make viewers root for its characters, who are mostly delightful because they are such wildly mediocre people.

Why Magic Mike’s Last Dance chooses to teach viewers about love, consent, and having it all, then, is a mystery. The Galentine’s Day crowd will probably be too drunk to notice.

The Last Thing Mary Saw is as surprising as it is frustrating.

Though it centers on one woman, anything we might stand to learn about her own developing values is quickly swallowed by overcomplicated narratives about secondary characters, corrupt colonizers and family secrets.

It is bizarre and dizzying and oddly beautiful in its fervor, as fantastical props and effects distract from the nonsensical plot. But this script also clumsily insists that its protagonist, a woman named Eva (Eugénie Derouand) who uses a wheelchair, is murderously obsessed with overcoming her disability.

The Tribes of Palos Verdes privileges melodrama over nuance, pitting skilled actors against a humdrum script and sketchy roles. It doesn’t offer anything new, and bungles any mildly interesting plot points.

Though it features delightfully weird visuals and a stellar turn by Kathryn Hunter, The Front Room can’t find its identity, both on-screen and in its own marketing.

Don’t Breathe 2 is plenty lively, full of violence and action, but a rancid narrative (and some seriously terrible dialogue) overpowers the script.

Maybe if the film had dwelled on its more off-color scenes instead of falling back on typical comedy fodder, it would be truly magnetic. Unfortunately, it’s more like a sloppy friend who, despite starting the night off full of joie de vivre, you now have to help stumble home.

Seance meanders for most of its running time, wavering between tones and styles. It’s both self-aware and overly serious. It tries to be a murder mystery, a slasher, a coming-of-age tale and a haunted house flick all at once.

The Princess somehow manages to be both under-written and insultingly obvious.

A subdued score and some by-the-book camerawork can make this urgent story drag, but what it lacks in sting it makes up for with an original script (by Marcella Ochoa and Mario Miscione) and a ferociously pregnant protagonist who would make the “Fargo” character Marge Gunderson proud.

The Strangers: Chapter 1 might freak you out if you aren’t old enough to remember The Strangers, but where its predecessor was subtle and interesting, Renny Harlin’s reboot chooses to be ridiculous and boring.

It’s a bizarre movie, but there’s enough action to help you zip through this overstuffed story even if you’re not sure why you (or Georgia, or Sam) are there in the first place.

The film focuses more on one character’s moral defects than the sketchy project overall, leading to a conclusion that feels unsatisfying at best and pompous at worst.

The indisputable star here is Johnson. She balances Anne’s dissonant scorn and sweetness with aplomb, her usual soft-spoken, sarcastic shtick perfectly suiting the character. Even when forced to do truly regrettable things, like wink directly at the camera, she exudes charm.

This high-concept horror too easily crosses over from charmingly erratic to nonsensical.

[A] soulless film.

The premise is disingenuous at best and, in a moment where scores of citizens are calling for widespread police reform, fearmongering at worst. Like Jigsaw offering one of his facile riddles, this film is not as clever as it thinks it is.

Though the film attempts to introduce a future laden with fascinating social implications, it maddeningly ignores them in favor of an overwrought, plodding, and inherently sexist romance.

Please Don’t Feed the Children has a few things going for it – namely capable lead performers Michelle Dockery and Zoe Colletti – but Destry Allyn Spielberg’s boring, predictable first feature definitely doesn’t feel like it comes from a descendant of filmmaking royalty.

Where it could lean into the typically bone-dry Addams family humor, this film more often relies on poop jokes, explosions and the musical talents of Snoop Dogg. It’s sure to entertain little ones, but parents may find themselves itching for something more impish.

It’s difficult to imagine anyone watching Life Upside Down out of anything other than abject desperation.

Neither romantic nor comedic, When We First Met is almost too vapid to be aggravating. After watching it, you might be tempted to hunt down a time-traveling photo booth of your own so that you can undo your mistake. Luckily, this movie is so shallow you probably won’t even remember it after you wake up tomorrow

The problem is not that Cats makes no sense . . . nor that the performances are mediocre (most of them are quite good). The murder weapon is the galling CGI intended to cover the actors in head-to-toe feline fur. Instead, the animation detracts from the film’s capable performers and inventive surroundings, drawing the eye reluctantly in like the sight of a person vomiting in the middle of an amusement park. It makes for a slow death, so overwhelmingly grotesque that it ceases to be interesting at all.

The twists in Hypnotic may not be brilliant, but they are abundant, making for the sort of straight-to-streaming treat best enjoyed on a couch, with company who will laugh with you and let you yell at the screen.

Those poor viewers willing to take on this Freudian tale and its dialogue rivaling “The Room” must brave a ludicrous slog for crumbs.

It’s beautiful, if not brilliant, and (aside from a final act that drags on way too long) fun to watch. In the alternate universe where I don’t care about misogyny and I decided to watch this movie on mute, it’s probably one of the best things I’ve seen all year.

While Our House occasionally loses sight of itself and could stand to take more risks, it offers a wholly original perspective on female friendship bolstered by precocious directorial acumen and a self-assured visuals.

Given the cast’s three outstanding performances and slick camerawork by Nicolás Colledani, this makes for a fascinating capsule of family brutality.

There is little here that was not already tackled in Rob Stewart’s 2007 documentary “Sharkwater,” nor in the more recent, less artful “Seaspiracy.” Though where Stewart painstakingly explained the beauty, intelligence and importance of sharks, Roth would rather that we love these animals simply because he does.

This well-choreographed hunt is chilling, sure — particularly because of de Wolf’s terrifying performance and unconventional choice of weapon — but it’s also a little bit fun.

The Trip is occasionally fun, but other films have handled gleeful gore and psychological torture with a far more skillful touch.

Though there are a few standout creations, the anthology is mostly muddled, privileging a heightened version of 2020 over a reality that was plenty scary on its own.

This mawkish plot might be tolerable if its characters were more likable; instead, they are pretension personified.

Forget about hell, the emptiness these filmmakers must address lies primarily in their predominantly female cast of characters.

To set expectations, it’s best to think of My Fake Boyfriend as two movies. There’s the gay rom-com, focused on Andrew, that Pride month viewers have presumably tuned in for, and then there’s an almost “Black Mirror”-ish comedy, centered on Jake, about a meddling techie who gets caught up in his best friend’s life.

This is not your mother’s Disney Channel, and thank god. All of the “Zombies” movies are brimming with camp delights, as though the crew watched “But I’m a Cheerleader” while dropping acid. This is particularly true for Zombies 3.