Maureen Lee Lenker

Nickel Boys is a fragmented film, so much so that it can be difficult to grasp it. But at a certain point, it turns around and grabs you instead, refusing to let go until you're left sitting in a startling and stunned silence.

In Madison, Baker has found a perfect conduit for his ideals, making Anora a culmination of the themes that have dominated his work for years.

Grief is a funny animal; it tangles itself in our organs and sinews, permanently altering how we love, how we see ourselves, and how we make sense of our identity. That's what Haigh is unraveling here, with a bittersweet emphasis on the power of love and its ability to transcend even death itself.

For all its hilarity, explicit sex — which, for the record, is a) extremely sexy, b) earned, and c) hysterically funny — and foul-mouthed dialogue, Poor Things is a romance about a woman learning to fall in love with herself, no matter what others think she should be.

With stellar performances and the foundation of a beloved novel, The Color Purple should be as lush and beautiful as its titular hue. Instead, it’s just… here.

Films (and novels) are meant to reflect our lives back to us, to hold up a mirror and give us a way to engage with the more thorny issues of our existence via storytelling. Triet is both inviting us to do that with Anatomy of a Fall and warning against putting too much stock in the stories we read and tell ourselves (or is she?).

Anchored by three arresting performances and playfully experimental direction, Challengers is fresh, exhilarating, and energetic.

Life is messy, and The Holdovers never loses sight of that truth. But the film never becomes self-indulgent either.

There are interesting concepts at play in the ways Fingernails explores loneliness and desire. Notably, the test doesn't account for long-term compatibility but the more intangible presence of love. But the film doesn't go far enough in the ways it questions the science and accuracy of the test.

Conclave is packed with unexpected twists and its final reveal is one viewers will never see coming, an increasingly rare occurrence in modern movie-making and the mark of an impeccably crafted thriller.

Priscilla is incisive in its portrayal of its central relationship, but it needs a little less conversation, a little more action when it comes to its heroine's path to self-determination.

While it is so over-the-top as to verge on camp, it is also a chillingly pointed expression of the madness that ensues in pursuit of impossible standards — and the self-loathing and hatred that emerges when women are pitted against each other and themselves.

Better Man is beautifully emotional and engaging, and it’s an admirably big swing. But it would have a greater shot at making audiences go ape if the primate concept were used more judiciously.

The film is also a chilling slice of historical memory in the ways it studies one of the earliest iterations of the version of white nationalism currently insinuating itself into American politics — and its haunting understanding of the insidious creep of such beliefs.

Key Largo is heaps of fun if you’re willing to go along for the ride, but perhaps slightly more silly than audiences might expect (or creators intend).

The Fall Guy offers a potent blend of action and romance, as refreshing as one of its touted “spicy margaritas.” Sure, it’s got a little kick, but mostly, it exists to ensure that anyone who consumes it has a fantastic time.

Without Ronan's towering talent, The Outrun could easily be a trite addiction drama. But Ronan, cast against the backdrop of the sublime, evocative Orkney Island landscapes, elevates the film to a moving tale of overcoming one's demons and learning to savor life as it comes.

Never has pondering theology been so devilishly entertaining — and amen to that.

Even with its preoccupation with death, The Room Next Door is not a dour film. In fact, it’s rather optimistic, celebrating the beauties of life and meaningful connection in the face of death with a thoughtful, pensive tone.

Bathed in a pink-pop glow, its pastiche of romance and horror collide in a viciously mischievous parable of technology and control that speaks to these most anxious times.

Though the panoply of accents the actors choose could easily fill out a Midwestern grocery store checkout line, there's not a performance here that isn't admirable for its sheer chutzpah. Nichols has assembled an estimable ensemble, and they bring to life the antics and erratic violence of their characters with great authenticity.

It gracefully captures the remarkable, singular relationship that human beings share with their pets, tapping into the poignancy and warmth that comes from such a bond.

Despite a slow start and its wildly varying tones, Emilia Pérez works best when you give yourself over to its harried, shaggy magic. It's an ambitious, provocative, big swing of a picture — and if it's not always a home run, at least it manages to consistently get on base.

Materialists doesn’t offer any easy answers despite delivering on its romantic premise.

There’s honestly no real reason for this iteration to exist. At least, though, it doesn’t cheapen its source material, trusting in the good (dragon) bones that have always been there.

August Wilson is a poet of the American stage. In the hands of this remarkable cast and Washington's assured direction, Wilson's work finds its best conduit to the screen yet.

With a cast this excellent, there's a capacity for something truly super in a future film — if only Gunn chooses to put the characters' humanity first.

The broader recognition of Rustin's efforts may be long overdue, but that doesn't mean a cinematic rendering of his life should feel as dated as our nation's own historical shortcomings.