Ross McIndoe

For a film that’s so well versed not only in the genre but in its tendencies to recreate and recycle itself, it’s disappointing to see Faces of Death do so in such slavish fashion.

The film is lean, mean, and feisty, even if it doesn’t quite stick the landing.

The film is a witchy mall comedy that mostly keeps you under its spell.

While it isn’t an overt examination of it in the manner of The Moment, the film does feel like a natural cinematic extension of Charli XCX’s melancholy party-girl persona.

The film struggles to bring its non-zombie characters to life.

Nuisance Bear is at its most powerful when its message has been condensed down into a single image.

With so many engaging voices on offer, Suzannah Herbert wisely chooses to let the locals tell the story rather than providing any explicit narration of her own.

Sam Green’s documentary has a knack for finding moments where we can feel the broad sweep of a supercentenarian lifespan, condensed down into a single, everyday occurrence.

There’s a thoughtful zombie tale with its own distinctive personality lurking somewhere within We Bury the Dead, but it’s overridden by the film’s more generic elements, and that identity ultimately gets lost among the horde.

The film’s writing is the sort that begs you to find it cute and quirky, which makes it quite grating if you don’t.

This is an overtly political film that’s hesitant to express its own political views.

The film is sensitively attuned to how people’s feelings are shaped by cultural norms.

This is a historical drama with a handsome enough period setting and a couple of pleasant musical moments but whose roteness keeps it from resonating.

The film pokes fun at the conventions of detective stories but never becomes so self-aware that you stop taking it seriously.

Every segment passes the basic scary-movie smell test of showing you something that you haven’t seen before, and that includes a truly depraved death involving a large quantity of gumballs.

A horror tale told from the perspective of a dog, Ben Leonberg’s Good Boy is the sort of film that was always destined to live and die by the strength of its central gimmick.

Swiped’s story sits right at the center of so many vital issues, and a smarter, braver rendition of it—that is, one interested in actually probing beneath the surface of things—might have yielded a film truly worthy of comparison to The Social Network. Instead, we get a piece of corporate hagiography that sweeps all those issues aside to celebrate another tech billionaire.

The film effortlessly melds its sadcom properties with more predictable rom-com traditions.

As the plot progresses, the film appears increasingly adrift, discordantly sliding between farce, satire, and murder mystery.

A Samurai in Time isn’t just having fun with fake swords and chonmage wigs, as it also provides a lot of gentle reflections about history, modernity, and our place in it all.

Nick Rowland’s film doesn’t seem to have faith in the story the novel tells.

It seems unsure whether it wants to be a campy slice of macabre in the vein of Dexter and American Horror Story, where the religious imagery and bloodletting are played for both chills and thrills, or a genuine rumination on death, faith, and the morality of doing bad things to bad people.

40 Acres continually finds clever ways to either subvert familiar story beats or to make them land with extra impact.

Charles Williams’s feature-length directorial debut, Inside, centers on a trio of dangerous men who are forced into each other’s orbit, leading to an outcome that’s both violently chaotic and tragically predictable.

Eli Craig’s film works precisely because it plays things straight.

The first film was divided against itself—half a typically broad Paul Feig comedy, half imitation Gone Girl—and the sequel doesn’t fare much better as a genuine thriller.

The film is far from original, but it successfully translates game logic to the big screen.

The film’s strength is that it knows how to keep things moving.