Matt Donato

There’s a brooding tonal growth that Pesce is able to establish, as he unravels a film that becomes more horrific with each passing second.

There's nothing uniquely surprising or exceptionally rousing, which is a shame given the unfathomably dreadful predicament and an interesting turn of a performance from Dave Bautista. It's a film without sensation that feels like it's pulling its punches across the board – development is stunted, ideas lack passion, and the camera avoids visible violence – before the ending strolls off into the sunset with barely any goodbye.

Never does Soderbergh’s projection strike me as B-movieness or popcorn entertainment. His mix of arthouse iPhone Hollywood and downplayed character accentuation (by way of misrepresented screen shrinkage) makes for a thriller that fails to spike excitement via a villain who’s always right where he has to be.

Terrifier 3 is a bounty of practical effects riches that cannot be denied, but its storytelling is scattershot in ways that hold the sequel back.

Split is never as clever or poignant as it thinks it is, but James McAvoy won't let it be forgotten, either.

Blue My Mind is a provocative Swiss origin story about sex, drugs and trials no person can possibly be prepared for. Whether Mia’s transformation is true or a ruse, the proposition of underwater DNA is only bested by Lisa Brühlmann’s execution.

Kramer plays with surreal department store catalog visuals and body-swap quirkiness, leaning heavily on interpretive dance to convey meaning. There's nothing like it, but with such extravagant boldness comes risks, and they don’t always pay off.

12 Hour Shift never takes itself seriously enough to make the calamity that ensues anything more than “dumb fun,” and I mean that positively.

Obvious and sometimes aggravating no doubt, but still effective in raising blood pressure given a backstory so instilled with old-school cultism.

Mayhem is a wonderfully violent middle finger to corporate culture, gleeful in its desire to redecorate cubicles with red blood splatters.

How does a movie about the galaxy's most dashingly roguish outlaw end up being the safest Star Wars to date?

Totally Killer tries to skirt responsibilities by having you laugh at its self-awareness, which works as much as it doesn't. Kiernan Shipka will be the reason people talk about Totally Killer, even if the film's foundation of paper cards is one strong gust away from collapsing at any second.

Holder's wayward romantic indie chases meaning through quiet reflections that navigate hardship somewhat cleanly. While it's a delightful representation of Brooklyn's playground, scenes flow through motions like a wandering observer.

Kong: Skull Island is a grand cinematic adventure powered by furry fury, as the horrors of war blend with chest-beating creature confidence.

This is a boxing drama that scrappily battles for its recognition, determined to win you over at any cost.

It’s an odd “rock and a hard place” production about survival of the fittest mentalities that can’t help but indulge soapy relationship dramatics amidst an otherwise dire entrapment, which will probably leave most laughing and irritated at the wrong times.

The Void is a portal back to the 80s, hinged on immersive practical effects work that picks up the slack of a slighter story.

Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F is a standardized comeback that moderately succeeds in balancing tradition with reinvention. The film doesn’t kick your door down and challenge your Beverly Hills Cop fandom—Molloy knocks politely on your door and shows you what you want to see. It’s a humble nostalgia bomb à la Live Free or Die Hard, one afraid to upset the apple cart and detrimentally one-note. But Eddie Murphy’s still Eddie Murphy, and that’s like sneaking in a cheat code.

While Wyrmwood: Apocalypse might be described as a brains-off zombie flick that’s best when at its most insane, it’s certainly not braindead. Engines rev as zombies breathe toxic-colored fumes, homemade outposts defend against hungry undead outside, and horror-action excitement ramps almost with a vivid, videogame cinematography that’s escapism through extreme, baddie-brutalizing violence.

Let The Corpses Tan is a stunning display of visual seduction and slaughter-first gunplay, if not somewhat distracted by a skeletal script that’s been stripped of all meatiness.

Annabelle: Creation is no lifeless dummy. Plotting may run a bit thin and coincidental, but David F. Sandberg whips up bone-chilling scares and hefty doses of peek-through-your-fingers imagery.

Daddio is a repetitive and reductive experiment in dialogue-driven storytelling.

The magic here is in underground experiences and questionable decision making, all twisted like junky copper wiring that’s unraveled into something more useful.

Gareth Evans’ Apostle is The Wicker Man, Safe Haven and Silent Hill thrown into a boil that bubbles over during a ruthless third act that certainly delivers if you have the patience.

This is dirty, abusive, sticky, heartfelt (?), enlightened (??), intellectual (???), deranged, offensive, damningly provocative filmmaking at its…most…unhinged?

We Bury The Dead is a sprawling but sparse zombie remix that's too far removed from the genre it's exploiting.

As punishing as it is grotesquely poetic, Headshot is a healthy dose of breathtaking brutality that makes you hold on for dear life.

Run Sweetheart Run is a passionate Los Angeles marathon that severs heads, scolds abusive norms, and gets loud about the ways society needs to reflect upon bettering itself. Shana Feste finds action-packed elegance in rage and reflection, borrowing from fast-moving midnight flicks that aren't afraid to challenge oppressive stigmas.