Odie Henderson

Dear Mr. Brody does a fine job of showing how the financial chasm between rich and poor people is as wide and insurmountable today as it was in 1970.

Dillane is onscreen for the entire film, and he gives a performance that will stick with you long after the symbolism-laced last scene.

Though the last third of the film feels rushed, and Bennebjerg’s performance hews dangerously close to mustache-twirling-villain territory, there is much to admire and enjoy here. Arcel has made the kind of cinematic spectacle Hollywood used to excel at, but doesn’t make anymore.

The screenplay tries to say something about female autonomy and male selfishness, yet the film plays like an overlong, 108-minute riff on the old reliable stand-up routine subject “girlfriends be crazy” that never subverts the trope.

Imitation and musical enthusiasm are all there is to this performance; in the dramatic scenes that make up the majority of Maestro, Cooper is the weak link that drags everything down.

For all its bells and whistles, “Project Hail Mary” is also a lovely, bittersweet character study, a pas de deux between man and alien that elicits a surprising amount of emotions by the time the credits roll.

Even as a standalone feature, this installment falters by keeping its main character at arm’s length. We never get close enough to Alex Wheatle to feel as if we know him. Despite my mild dissatisfaction, I believe that distancing is on purpose, a part of the film’s design.

This is one of the year’s best films, and the most fun you’ll have at the theater this summer.

I generally love noir, gore, kick-ass women, the 1980s — but “Love Lies Bleeding” ladled out a visual stew I did not enjoy consuming.

It runs out of story about midway through, and spends more time attempting to make these guys look cool than showing us the importance of their acts of linguistic civil disobedience.

The cast is uniformly good, and the stories are intriguing.

For the first 90 minutes, the film has a light touch that centers its story and makes us identify with Shayda.

A typical biopic buoyed by its unrelenting hilarity, its affection for its subject and commitment to the time and place it is set. And yet, something still nags at me about its lead performance. Don’t get me wrong, Murphy is very, very good, and on the basis of this, I’d love to see him tackle Pryor next. I just buy him more as Rudy Ray Moore than I do as Dolemite.

Despite the film’s tendency to drag, Vicky Krieps remains compulsively watchable, as always. She almost saves the movie.

The perfect movie to curl up with on a rainy day, Flora and Son tells us that music is the tie that binds people together, whether they’re ex-lovers, potential partners, or a scared mother reaching out to her equally skittish son hoping he will reach back.

“A place is the people,” a closing screen credit tells us. It’s a lovely sentiment, but “We Grown Now” feels more like fleeting memories of those people rather than a fully formed reminiscence.

It’s an acting dream part and Moura’s more than up to the challenge.

Williams keeps the pace quick and tight, the wrestling scenes are fun, and the costumes are delightful. With its message of acceptance, “Cassandro” is preaching to the choir, but it’s a good sermon nonetheless.

Throughout the film, we know as much as ABC does and nothing more. Filled with scenes of process, it’s as suspenseful as any thriller.

King Richard is half sports movie, half biopic. As such, it hits the sweet spots and sour notes of both genres.

If you asked an AI program to create a Wes Anderson movie, you’d get Asteroid City, the latest — and worst — film from the writer-director of “The French Dispatch” (2021) and “Isle of Dogs” (2018).

Nouvelle Vague succeeds in giving you a feel for the films it’s documenting and paying homage to, without the pretentiousness and snobbery those films are accused of conveying. It’s a welcoming gateway drug for newcomers curious about its subject.

The Truth doesn’t have very much of a plot. What little there is serves as a clothesline for its two excellent leads to hang their performances out to dry.

The climax of The Amateur is one of the least satisfying meetings of hero and villain I’ve seen in a while.

What makes “The Fire Inside” so powerful is the uncomfortable questions it poses: How responsible is a person for their family’s well-being?

A documentary that inspires long, gauzy gazes back to the carefree, youthful past of viewers of a certain age.

Hemsworth’s character has more action movie clichés than Carter’s got liver pills.

As it adds extraneous characters, “Oh, Hi!” becomes so frustrating and unbelievable that I wanted to yell advice at the screen.