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).

Like the butterflies and pockets of natural beauty that Bailey is drawn to, there are glimmers of potential in Bird. But it never fully manages to take flight, leaving its provocative conclusion more jarring and confusing than revelatory.

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.

Fincher is adept at excoriating the darkness of the human soul, but he's missed his mark with a character so blindly determined to prove he doesn't have one.

The film does not valorize Ferrari, but it doesn’t complicate him either. And while its racing sequences are exhilarating, it should have spent more time looking under the hood.

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.

Queer is an exercise in cinematic smugness. It’s a shame because it does contain some truly fine performances and compelling imagery. But much like its central character, it can’t get over itself.

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.

It’s clear those behind The Idea of You hold a genuine affection and care for the story, rather than the ironic eye that a book like this could so easily invite from a lesser team.

Jurassic Park Rebirth is one of the more successful and satisfying entries in the franchise precisely because it, uh, finds a way to keep Loomis’ mantra close, foregrounding the film’s sense of wonder above a mere blatant cash grab.

[Coppola] crafts an elegy to a Vegas of a different era and the tarnished reality of once sparkling dreams.

In addition to committing to its sense of fun, Wonka reminds us that life is made sweetest by the people we share it with. If that’s not particularly novel, it’s still as comforting and scrumptious a notion as a chocolate bar.

Apart from the sci-fi element of the soulmate test, it's familiar fodder for romantic drama, but it's of the highest caliber thanks to its sharp script and devastating central performances.

From its Saul Bass-inspired opening credits to its callbacks to Saturday morning superhero cartoons, it practically vibrates with its sense of time and place.

The movie is well made and it’s a lovely celebration of a real-life hero. But the whole thing feels very predictable, which amounts to a general sense of mediocrity.

As with its predecessor, what elevates Gladiator II in the cinematic arena is the ways its themes and dialogue underpin its outrageous spectacle. David Scarpa's script is also fiercely intelligent.

With their abrupt violence, grotesque body horror, and mordant sense of humor, all three of the stories feel more aligned with Lanthimos’ earlier style, The audacity that has so defined Lanthimos and Stone’s work together remains, but here, it takes on a nastiness that becomes tedious the longer the film stretches on (and on and on to a nearly three-hour running time).

The Apprentice encapsulates the American Dream, revealing all the ways in which it can be subverted into a nightmare.

There are glimmers of insight here, often in the brighter moments (for instance, the sweet story of how Pharrell devised his massive hit, "Happy," and the emotional response triggered by its success). But despite touting an inventive concept, the whole thing remains fairly surface level.

It is quite the tale of heroism and courage in the face of adversity, as well as the importance of teamwork and never giving up. But that is all diluted with so many things at play.

This is a portrait of all that an artist must sacrifice for their work and the ways that is amplified further as a female artist. It's a fable of fame and control, but it's also an ode to a woman who could only find peace by singing her heart out.

Amidst all this, Venice is also just a heck of a lot of fun, from its eerie Venetian mask costumes to the intriguing ways in which its central mysteries unfold. With heaps of atmosphere and a general spookiness, it's the perfect choice for a Halloween party.

The film is not for the faint of heart, but it is viscerally compelling and unafraid to luxuriate in its own elegant weirdness. Its endless visual and literary layers will bring its ardent admirers back to it again and again, because it is a triumph of the cinema of excess, in all its orgiastic, unapologetic glory.

It's a wildly entertaining love letter to a night of television that marked a cultural watershed.

What makes Freakier Friday so special is that amid the laugh-out-loud humor and welcome fan service, there's also a beautiful film here about parenting, coming-of-age, loneliness, grief, loss, and sacrifice.

Costanzo wants to tell a story set in the past, but he doesn't spend enough time fine-tuning the particulars that make period pieces feel vital rather than stagey. Additionally, at 140 minutes, the film is self-indulgent in length.

Howard, working from a script by Noah Pink, has a lot of plates to keep spinning, including the story's wild swings between outrageous outbursts, sometimes played for laughs, and dog-eat-dog tension. Inevitably, with such an act, a few plates are bound to break.

As it did in 2004, Mean Girls is a playground for a melange of fresh, new talent for whom we hope the limit does not exist. Did we really need another film version? No. But it’s pretty grool that the one we got is such fun.

The visual effects and animation teams scale a monumental peak here, and their work, at least, is worthy of praise. But Nathanson’s screenplay is a spiral of ever-increasing peril.

It is piercingly honest, remarkably sardonic, and breathtakingly brave in the way it lays bare some of women's deepest struggles and truths. But it is not a film that is anti-motherhood. It celebrates it as well, in all of its primal, animalistic, savage contradictions and complexities.

Megalopolis grants Coppola a dubious honor. In addition to his being the mastermind behind two of cinema's greatest achievements, he's also now the architect of one of its worst.

It’s less a Hawaiian rollercoaster ride and more a winsome, feel-good flick about what it is to find one’s family— and to, in turn, be found.

Despite a trio of knockout performances, The Cut is a lackluster boxing drama.

There’s no desire to interrogate her artistry or to grant a portrait of what made her tick. In this rendering, Winehouse is made up purely of audacity, vocal theatrics, and addiction-fueled behavior. When it comes to this surface-level exploitation of Amy Winehouse’s life, just say no, no, no.