Robert Daniels

Stowaway is shrewd in its decision-making and even better in its execution.

Wachowski’s The Matrix Resurrections, a fun, albeit messy metatextual sequel that struggles to find its narrative footing, soars whenever Wachowski focuses on sci-fi’s best power couple.

Kelsa and Khal are a winning duo with dynamite chemistry. They move around each other with a palpable physical freedom that softly kindles romance. The twinkle in their eyes, flashing above their knowing smiles, is the kind of awkward, teenage swooning made for comfort viewing.

A Jazzman’s Blues is a passion project that climbs close to the edge of becoming self-indulgent fodder. The film is never as deep as it thinks it is. Nor is it terribly original either. But for Perry, this is a massive change. And while you shouldn’t praise a director for merely trying. Perry does more than try with “A Jazzman’s Blues.” He finally shows that he’s not a one-trick pony.

Goodrich is the type of rewatchable adult-minded comedy that feels like a welcome sight.

It’s a fairly predictable thriller with few emotional moments apart from anxiety, and even fewer revelations.

It’s all pastiche; all surfaces with nothing below. And it leaves one cold.

While this installment isn’t nearly as woeful as Beverly Hills Cop III, it doesn’t have the charm or energy of the first two films either. It’s a limp, desperate action comedy with few memorable moments.

This epic, crowd-pleasing adventure, one of the funniest movies of the year, needn’t be as good as “The Truman Show” or “Wreck-it-Ralph” to be entertaining. It just needs to emotionally feel real, as real as Guy feels himself to be. In that regard, “Free Guy” is a winner.

Charm City Kings is beautiful and important, unabashedly Black, yet rarely traumatic, and almost always determined statement. Soto has crafted an incredible empathetic narrative, one mile of road at a time.

Ansari’s screenplay makes the most of the comedy talents of himself, Palmer and Rogen, with each getting their fair share of jabs and zingers. Yet Reeves is the star of the movie, givig the best comedic performance of the year.

If These Walls Could Sing never feels as comprehensive as it could be about the subject. It operates as an addendum to better Beatles documentaries like "Eight Days a Week," "George Harrison: Living in the Material World," and "The Beatles Anthology," and that lack of an identity prevents McCartney's film from being a well-earned tribute to one of the world's iconic studios.

The preceding two-plus hours of this 145-minute slog — Tommy’s threadbare hodgepodge of bad impressions, gratuitous filmmaking, and even worse depictions of mental health — isn’t even a shadow of the real natural woman.

Despite the tantalising set up, Immaculate is a dull, predictable affair, composed of far too many inconsequential jump scares in lieu of sturdy storytelling.

Port Authority isn’t a transgender-led love story. But another short-sighted film using Black folks as a lesson for ignorant white outsiders.

Apart from a few quippy anecdotes, the only thing holding Elton John: Never Too Late together is the songs.

Directed by Ángel Manuel Soto (“Charm City Kings”), this heartwarming, crowd-pleasing comic book flick is less serious and more colorful than the tonally dour mood of many contemporary superhero films.

Halverson is too far on the deep end to provide us with digestible storytelling, and Cowperthwaite, who spends the movie jumping in nonlinear fashion from one year to the next, is in no rush to make the larger picture easier to see.

The Lost City might not be as majestic or breathtaking as its loftier influences, but it is the swooning stuff that great romance novels are made of.

Bitch Ass can lack the grounded political context of the genre, merely wearing the clothes of style for an unfulfilling slightness. Even so, even as each member of the quartet is picked off by Bitch Ass, the revenge plot’s appeal lies on more wholesome ground. Amid an absurd twist, partially and intentionally played for laughs, is a story about maternal love and the ways cycles of generational trauma can lead to greater pain.

Even for fans of this animated universe, New Gods: Yang Jian can’t turn its viewers into believers.

The Choral is a narratively jumbled film whose unrestrained sweetness and adept ensemble tie up some of the film’s looser ends.

Den of Thieves 2: Pantera isn’t groundbreaking, but it delivers what it promises: lovable scoundrels trading bullets and traversing borders.

While this slick film wants to use their stories to put faces to the fentanyl epidemic, Swab’s genre instincts get the better of him.

Being the Ricardos isn’t a total disaster, but it’s not a grand triumph either.

Cooper doesn’t try to tie neat bows either. He allows this superstar to be flawed and damaged, but not in a cheap melodramatic way, in a relatable way that actually gives you strength to find a reason to believe in seeking help. Springsteen becomes as raw and as frank as the characters in his songs.

Hartnett and Chandran’s laid back chemistry steady the film’s turbulent tonal shifts, adding a punch that the shakily choreographed action lacks.

Even if this rom-com never completely coalesces, Showalter’s The Lovebirds does ultimately deliver a worthwhile conclusion