Michael Roffman

Scoff, roll your eyes, and shrug all you want, but the hyperbolic nature of The Hunt is all part of the fun, and whether you take this literally, or metaphorically, rhetorically, spiritually, whatever, it all boils down to a big ol’ sensationalized portrait of a very heated country.

As expected, the real flexes come from the four principal stars. Winter seamlessly slides back into his flannel as Bill, wisely dialing things down to address the years. However, Reeves dials it down too much, coming off as nearly geriatric as he shuffles around as his buddy Ted.

It’s good to see Black and Dekker offer up something so boisterous and stupid as The Predator. Is it messy? Absolutely. But, is it fun? It’s popcorn, baby.

It: Chapter Two doubles down on the exhausting jump scares and CGI that plagued the 2017 original. Yet for all its faults—and there are many—it’s still an enthralling and emotionally affecting piece of blockbuster filmmaking.

Revenge is one big fuck you to a genre that has treated women like meat — often literally — and she takes back the reigns with incredible muscle. But what makes the movie riveting is how Lutz’s transition from damsel to destructor is filled with all kinds of tumbles.

The problem is that, for all of its cinematic merits, there’s something strange about this particular vampiric parable.

Creed 2 is a commendable chapter in the franchise, thriving from a strong commitment to character, mostly thanks to Stallone’s reverence to his own legacy and the new one being created for Jordan.

Despite its flaws, the film still manages to win you over, even if it never actually surprises you, making it quite an assured debut.

A lot of it’s funny — especially any scenes involving Powell’s admittedly charming Finnegan or Hoechlin’s testy McReynolds– but hanging out with these guys eventually becomes a chore.

Things move at such a breakneck pace and the film is so manic tonally that Rough Night winds up feeling more like a series of vignettes than an actual movie.

The problem is that something never adds up to much of anything. Even thematically, the whole picture feels all over the place, oscillating hazily between half-baked meditations on man vs. nature and unfinished portraits of family values. Even so, Saulnier’s scope and visual endurance is admirable, to say the least, and it’s clear that he could do something this brazen eventually with a much stronger script.

Spree works better as a performance piece for Keery, who never eases up on the pedal. He’s legitimately haunting as Kurt, and like the best sociopaths in film, there’s a subtle guilt that comes from wanting to see what he’ll do next. Oddly enough, that feeling speaks louder than anything actually said in the film.

While some viewers may get enough of a nostalgia kick out of Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark, the film doesn’t feel entirely fleshed out. There are elements that make for creepy experiences, keeping the viewer on the edge of their seat, but they often serve as short bundles of anxiety in a serviceable story.

What really hurts the film is its messy screenplay and boilerplate direction.

The film is a friendly, warm, and inviting documentary that dances and shouts without ever shaking its body down to the ground. There aren’t any revelations, there aren’t any demons, and there’s zero drama. It’s simply another rolodex of talking heads — including David Byrne, speak of the devil — that want to talk about Michael Jackson.

For a film that’s all about hope and rebellion, it’s kind of ironic how it’s such a conflicted mess in and of itself. The Force should have been stronger with this one.

Black Water: Abyss is a low-stakes rollercoaster arriving at a time when we’re being barred from theme parks. If you’re looking for some thrills — and maybe even a little adventure — it’ll do the trick. The drama is exhausting, but the situational horror offers a nice distraction, even if we’re admittedly tired of watching people make stupid decisions.

There’s a same ol’, same ol’ wash to X-Men: Apocalypse that wasn’t quite as apparent in the previous two entries.

There’s just no subtlety to any of the proceedings and while there’s an argument to made in how the film’s fairly transparent about these intentions, none of it rises above being anything more than an average historical recap.

At 90 minutes, Becky should be a taut, hair-raising thriller, one that keeps you at the edge of your seat. It doesn’t. Instead, the thing ebbs and flows, peaking when you expect it to, and sinking when your heart’s just beginning to race.

There’s just not a lot of weight to this sequel, at least not enough to dissuade anyone from seeing this as anything but a limpid cash grab.

Juliet, Naked could have been great. Hawke and Byrne do have a chemistry, but they’re always on a separate bill, to crib from the musical theme. Even worse is the ensemble of supporting characters, which tends to be the strongest facet of any Hornby adaptation.

It’s a treacly slog that’s regretfully forgettable.

Despite Pazienza’s own pitfalls and perils, the film never registers as anything more than a boilerplate boxing drama, which is a shame because the material is all there, it’s just hamstrung by a flimsy screenplay that refuses to let its characters exist on their own.

There isn’t much to love, there isn’t much to hate, there’s mostly just indifference.

Disappointing and confounding, Velvet Buzzsaw can ultimately be filed under What Could Have Been given the kind of talent involved.

In one corner, you have Scott, fighting to tell an existential thriller about gods, creators, and evolution, and in the other, you have this obvious insistence to pay an ungodly amount of fan service to the past.

Farahani is quite liberal crosscutting between the story’s varying point of views.... This manic style offers the film all of the necessary intrigue to make its story captivating, but it’s at the expense of being incredibly manipulative to its audience.