Marya E. Gates

There is surely an audience for this kind of feel-good quote-un-quote feminism. But a book of such richness, with a heroine as complex as Birdy, deserves much more than this genial Renn Faire romp.

Sidney works more as an explainer for why Sidney Poitier remains such an important figure in American history—not just Hollywood history—than it does as a warts-and-all biography of Sidney the man.

Its perpetual commentary on the mainstreaming of queerness remains at odds with its very desire to tell its story within the Hollywood system.

That this catastrophe is director Wanuri Kahiu’s follow-up after her sublime debut “Rafiki” makes it all the more disappointing. Where that film has rich characterization, this has generalities. Where that film has vibrant cinematography, this has dreadful, bland compositions. Where that film has a detailed sense of place, this film has a disjointed, geographically murky portrait of L.A. and what appears to be a sponsored by SXSW and Whataburger view of Texas.

I was blown away by the film’s use of mostly archival news footage after its premiere at Sundance earlier this year. Upon a second watch I found it even more compelling the way Perkins, and editors Jinx Godfrey and Daniel Lapira, expertly deploy this footage to tell not a biography of ‘The People’s Princess,’ but rather of the way the media shaped the perception of her public life.

The nostalgia of Ponsoldt's film is curdled and rotten underneath its summery sheen.

The Blue Caftan deftly explores the complexities of interpersonal and romantic relationships. Halim, Mina, and Youssef share a love for each other and for their shared craft. They want to find happiness in this life without any regard for how society dictates they should. Touzani’s film is a rich, vibrant ode to love in all its many forms.

Eliciting powerful performances from her two leads and striking visuals from cinematographer João Atala, “Medusa” casts its gaze at the hypocritical and violent world of purity culture with unflinching honesty that will leave the audience spellbound long after the credits roll.

It’s in exploring the iconography of the hotel that the documentary shines the brightest. Van Elmbt and Duverdier are clearly well-versed in the works that were created on the grounds, or by former residents, and do their best to imbue their film with the same timeless cool that pulses through them.

With a script this sharp and performances this game, it’s a shame that the basic filmmaking doesn’t do anything visually to elevate the film further.

Incoherently directed, thematically muddled, and poorly acted, writer/director/producer/star Livia De Paolis’ drama The Lost Girls should have stayed on the page.

While it is great that the documentary gives their commitment to direct action proper respect, it sometimes downplays exactly how important the work of activists who got abortion legalized in states like New York, or who got Roe through the court system was. Where it does succeed well is in showing the socio-economic disparity in access to safe abortions, which cost roughly 5 times as much as a month of rent.

While it doesn’t quite live up to its grand ambitions, it’s refreshing to see a movie so beautifully and sleekly filmed attempt to wrestle with humanity’s deeper questions. Foxhole might not be in the top tier of the great anti-war film canon, but it's not too far away.

Ultimately Spin Me Round is like a bad vacation where even the gorgeous Italian seaside isn’t enough to make the time spent feel worth it.

By combining petty drama, deadpan humor, and the terror of human emotions, the filmmakers effortlessly straddle a liminal space between comedy and horror, never quite tipping their hand too far into either genre.

The blended tones and mixing of rom-com tropes with wry humor and mystery mostly work well until the film makes a hard pivot to biotech horror. By the last act the script begins to resemble "The X-Files," however the same implausibility that made that show a hoot, here unfortunately undermines the spell the film had successfully cast.

Filled with easter eggs for fans of any facet of Cage's career, the filmmakers don’t place a judgment on which of his films have the most value, understanding that a favorite film is intimate and personal, and that what matters is that it does resonate on some level.

Even with its rough edges, it’s refreshing to see something this big, this zany, and this open-hearted still has a place on the silver screen.

Yeoh is the anchor of the film, given a role that showcases her wide range of talents, from her fine martial art skills to her superb comic timing to her ability to excavate endless depths of rich human emotion often just from a glance or a reaction.

The Weekend Away is the best kind of purposely preposterous potboiler. The scenery is gorgeous, the twists keep the adrenaline pumping, and the performances are memorable. Even though you might not remember everything that happens, you’ll have a good time while it lasts.

The story beats are predictable, but Decker forges her own unruly and unforgettable path through them, crafting a teen film with avant-garde flourishes that attempt to find a balance between style and substance.

Diallo has crafted an incisive, intelligent, and stridently political horror film that is distinctly all her own. The terror at the heart of this film reverberates far beyond the myths of this academic institution. Master excavates the very roots of our country’s foundation and dares us to face the haunted ground on which it is built.

Although AM I OK? follows a well-worn formula, it finds transcendence in Johnson and Mizuno’s authentic, intertwined performances and Pomerantz’s deeply personal, heartwarming screenplay.

Its many playful edits, careful world-building, stellar performances, and insightful screenplay suggest Eisenberg is a filmmaker with a deep understanding of form and an empathetic grasp of the flaws that make us human.

Dickey and Studi are magnetic on-screen, oscillating between the easy chemistry of old friends, and the awkwardness of strangers.

On top of being a return to form in terms of gnarly kills – so many neck stabs! – Scream uses its meta wit to craft both a rewarding experience for fans of the franchise, while also critiquing the very nature of fandom. And while it doesn’t quite live up to the impact of the first, it’s a strong film in its own right.

By keeping the film’s emotional core at a distance for most of the film, the only catharsis the audience feels during its denouement is from the relief that this bleak, miserable slog is finally over.

Bloated at nearly 140 minutes with Cooper clearly miscast in the lead, it struggles to maintain urgency. Dreary and overly saturated with a CGI patina, this new take on Nightmare Alley adds more gore and f-bombs to the source material but ultimately remains emotionally inert and unclear exactly what it wants to say about these characters and the world they inhabit.

Philip Noyce is a natural choice for this kind of film. He’s great with actresses in peril and at keeping tension ramped up to eleven. But using the collective trauma of a generation of parents and children as the backdrop for a real-time thriller, whose lives have proven time and again to matter less than the right to own an AK-47, remains unconscionably distasteful.

Laurent’s portrait of women pushed to the edge of society, exploited, and tortured for the sake of progress is uncompromising and fearless.

It’s nice to see McCarthy and O’Dowd in roles that showcase their emotional range; one just wishes it were in a project worthy of their talents.

Frankly, the musical, with music and lyrics by Benj Pasek and Justin Paul, and book by Steven Levenson, itself is where the fault lies. There were few redeemable qualities to begin with, and Chbosky’s dreary, washed-out direction adds nothing to its already bleak, vapid existence.

Ultimately The Last Letter From Your Lover is exactly like the beach read from which it was adapted: lavish, breezy, and inconsequential.

Sheldon is a coal miner’s daughter, and her brother is a fourth-generation miner. Coal is intrinsic to her family. This is the story of her people, a celebration of their traditions, a condemnation of an economic system that failed them, and an elegy for a waning way of life.

Her thrilling mastery of slow-burn tension, insightful examination of power dynamics in business and personal relationships, and creation of exceptional performances prove Domont to be a director with a singular voice.