Lena Wilson

This film might not blow you away, but it is unique, and it will make you laugh. And ultimately, that’s all you really need from an indie comedy.

While it’s nice to see Toni Colette and Chris Messina face off both in and out of the courtroom and Zoey Deutch gives a strong dramatic performance as Ally, even the best acting can’t make Juror #2 make sense.

In the overstuffed indie coming-of-age subgenre, Sophie Jones makes an unassuming, honest contribution. Which is exactly what it needed to do to stand out among the endless pomp and quirk.

The cinematic equivalent of a bath bomb, this fizzy feature is sure to delight — at least until the charm fades. So unfurl your towel, dust off your bathing suit, and soak up that warmth.

As a film, Saturday Church could so much more, and its disheartening shyness keeps it from achieving greatness. A few choir boys short of a hallelujah, Saturday Church feels more like a subdued sermon.

Baghdadi has harnessed something truly special. Like its fractious characters, Sirens is both humble and arresting, relatable and unique. It will stay with you long after the band has played their final chords.

One of this century’s most arresting tales of female anxiety.

The Invisible Man is inarguably well done, and this is one of Elisabeth Moss’s best performances, but this is the kind of subject matter you can’t short-shrift. This is life-altering, traumatizing stuff, but in privileging horror shocks over emotional reality, this film unmasks itself. It’s not as interested in abuse victims as it is cheap thrills.

Seeking Mavis Beacon quickly becomes less about what this software and its spokeswoman represent, more about what Jones and Ross are thinking or doing at any given time––even if it distracts from the film’s mission.

Honey Bunch is a work of art, but it won’t go down easily for everyone, and it’s sure to be divisive. Definitely watch it with a friend or loved one — whether you’re picking apart the plot holes or reveling in the reveal, you’ll need to debrief afterward.

This is the cinematic equivalent of eating a macaron, a bourgeois treat best enjoyed for its prettiness rather than its substance. But much like a good macaron, a well-done period romance – interesting, well-paced, relatively pro-woman – is a deceptively hard thing to make. This is one exquisite petit four.

By showing the tangled relationship between a mother and her dysphoric child, L’Immensità writes a love letter to the lonely.

This may be dark fodder for a family project, but the result is a visually striking meditation on obligation and complicity.

Sims-Fewer and Mancinelli have given their subject matter the focus it deserves, distinguishing themselves as thoughtful, artistic and uncompromising in their shared vision. This female-centered story manages to be gutsy while resisting exploitation — a welcome and nuanced addition to a genre often hobbled by didacticism.

This is a sweeping, lived-in romance that is as resonant as it is precise.

It’s not that “Bodies Bodies Bodies” is bad. It’s visually appealing and nicely acted. But this film is not special, and like its shallow characters, it is persistently unaware of its own inanity.

First Match is a culturally significant, capably-crafted film, but it leans on safe familiarities when it should seek risky rewards.

“American Pachuo” is just a nice movie about a visionary guy. Entertaining and educational, to be sure, but so frictionless it barely sticks.

Like a poorly-researched presentation glued to the finest poster board and surrounded by glitter and shiny stickers, My Old School is easy enough on the eyes, but it’s hardly done the work necessary to earn top marks.

You might start this film expecting a riotous night with some of the most underrated women in comedy, but you’ll soon find yourself invested in a mesmerizing story of partnership and personal growth.

The premise is simple, but this twist-filled script by LeBlanc gives Laurent ample opportunity to shine. Because of its limited setting, the film hangs on Laurent’s acting ability, and she gamely vaults between elation, terror and determination.

Werewolves Within darts between sharp visual gags, intricately choreographed scenes and a few standout performances, but its climax lands with a thud.

With a popular subject, and some downright corny visual devices, The Inventor doesn’t knock it out of the park as neatly as some of Gibney’s other works. Still, it’s a worthwhile and damn entertaining addition to the developing Elizabeth Holmes canon that makes up for its flaws with undeniable watchability.

It’s undeniably impressive that such a tiny movie has garnered such a reputation. Ball has made an interesting attempt here, and it will be exciting to see what he does with a little more money and, hopefully, restraint. In the meantime, unless you want to tirelessly search “Skinamarink” for creepiness in all this filmmaking fog, you’re likely to find there’s very little there there.

Operation Mincemeat is overall light on remorse and far more interested in intrigue, both political and romantic.

A staggering accomplishment in its storytelling, visuals, and performance.

Despite its flaws, it goes down easy and guiltlessly, like cheap champagne.

Please Baby Please may pay homage to queer aesthetics, but it fails to make any coherent points about gender or sexuality.