Mitchell Beaupre

Carry-On keeps you on the edge of your seat with its myriad turns, always being sure to ground itself in realistic characters who offer the opportunity to question what we would do if presented with a similar scenario. It’s a welcome return to Collet-Serra’s sweet spot, a throwback to ’90s thrillers and a new Christmas crime classic

There’s something unexpected about the way Anaïs in Love pulls you in, with its airiness making it exactly the right film to watch at this moment as the sundresses are coming out and few things feel better than reading a good book in the grass. Some movies just feel like spring; Anaïs in Love is certainly one.

There’s a sense of this being more of a first draft of a stronger picture, one that could have built out those concepts into something more substantive, as opposed to merely scratching the surface. Nevertheless, it’s an entertaining watch, with plenty of peculiar touches.

In 2022 it’s a true gift seeing a film so unafraid of being as lurid, provocative, and unabashedly horny as Deep Water. Perhaps it took a seemingly retired master of the genre to resurrect the erotic thriller, and hopefully this somewhat buried release won’t cause people to miss it, or for its cultural footprint to not stand the test of time as it deserves.

There’s something so hollow about a production such as this, where it feels Netflix simply maneuvered parts of its algorithm into a choose-your-own-ingredients food dispenser to churn out whatever they thought audiences would click on if they saw it on their homepage for one week before the next one drops. Ryan Reynolds? Mark Ruffalo? Vague sci-fi imagery? Sure, sweetie, let’s put that on while we scroll our phones as dinner’s cooking, and fall asleep right before the kid in the movie starts using his video game skills to pilot drones that attack people.

You Mean Everything to Me often feels like the first draft of a story that had more potential than what we see.

There’s a lot going on in Bigbug, yet at the same time it can feel like there’s too little meat on the bone here, particularly when stretched about two hours. It is nice seeing the filmmaker back behind the camera; you also can’t help the wish his return after nearly a decade had been with something more substantial.

What makes Here Before so much finer than its initial premise is the soul Gregg and Riseborough lend.

Though Alice is bringing up a part of American history sadly under-discussed, and not present anywhere in high school history textbooks the way it should be, it struggles to find a voice, never able to capture the right rhythm to bring itself to life.

While her aesthetic may boast some grander flourishes than Hittman’s neorealism, there is nevertheless a vérité style to Diwan’s approach that places us right up against Anne for the majority of the film — a tight, boxed aspect ratio leads to the feeling of the walls closing in, her panic setting in just underneath the surface, observed in oft-used closeups of Vartolomei’s expressive face.

From the opening act, the film reeks of well past their expiration date cliches regarding toxic men in our modern dating culture and the ways they commodify women to be conquests rather than people. The trouble is that FRESH doesn’t treat any of its characters as more than commodities either.

There’s no panache, no cinematic sensibility at all to make this come off the page and excite the viewer. As his script struggles to keep things on their feet, the complete absence of personality in Sorkin’s direction sinks Being the Ricardos to the point of no return.

The final fifteen minutes are some of the most grueling ever put to screen.