Sara Stewart

This comic biopic is a blast from start to finish.

Based on the book by Patrick Ness, the film belongs alongside “Pan’s Labyrinth” in the realm of darkly creative kid-centric films that are, at their core, not really kids’ fare at all.

A well worn trope that’s tough to elevate beyond eye-roll level.

A trove of home videos, vintage commercial and propaganda footage and black-and-white animation dress up this energetic if somewhat unfocused look at the birth of skateboarding in the German Democratic Republic.

You may feel echoes of “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” and “Starman,” but writer-director Jeff Nichols has ultimately crafted his own unique twist on the genre.

Pine makes a perfect foil for Gadot’s furrowed-brow sincerity, his Steve Trevor wry and comfortable enough in his skin to hold his own with Diana (even when she’s scrutinizing his naked form).

Director David Gordon Green (“Our Brand Is Crisis”) generally skips feel-good cliché to chronicle Bauman’s struggle with being painted as the face of never letting the terrorists win.

A real nail-biter of a monster movie. The question is: Who’s the monster?

Field, as usual, goes all-out; the film may be a comedy, but she attains a few moments of real heartbreak.

Yes, it’s the middle chapter and feels like it, but it’s never dull.

It’s all a delightful mess, executed with a deft touch by Jacobs.

Mistress America never falters in its case study of a complicated female friendship.

If Michael Fassbender wears a giant papier-mâché head for most of a film, is he still mesmerizing? Happily, yes.

Maggie Gyllenhaal goes from caring to creepy in this Netflix release.

If nothing else, the mere sight of two popes drinking brews and watching a soccer game together is one of the more surreal things you’ll see at the movies this year.

Reitman directs with an empathy for mothering that never shies away from its darker side.

It’s an exhilarating contrast to the weak-sauce caped crusaders who arrived at the box office last week. For a more convincing (if selectively edited) portrait in heroism, look no further than Darkest Hour.

Dan Stevens (“Downton Abbey”), as the Beast, has the heaviest lift. He’s emoting through a CGI veil that never quite feels real. But his cranky character is more engaging this time around.

The satire’s so meta that its whiny protagonists threaten to eclipse the joke.

It’s very funny and sweet and even a little weepy, and it has maybe the best scene ever filmed of dirty talk gone wrong. In other words, it’s a Schumer/Apatow production — may there be more of them to come.

The sweet-faced Kelly is a lovely and humble storyteller, and her enduring affection for John, Paul, George and “Richie” is palpable.

Bong Joon-ho directed one of the best dystopian thrillers in recent years — 2013’s “Snowpiercer” — and one of the finest monster movies ever, 2006’s “The Host.” You’ll find elements of both in his chilling, subversive new Netflix film, Okja, about a girl named Mija (Ahn Seo-hyun) and her enormous pet superpig.

Finally, a post-“Bridesmaids” film that lets Kristen Wiig shine — and brilliantly taps into co-star Bill Hader’s vulnerable side, too.

Overall, Gibney does a fine job documenting the timeless nature of Armstrong’s fall from grace. It’s undeniably satisfying to see the man himself lay it out: “It’s very hard to control the truth forever,” he says, awkwardly. “This has been my downfall.”

With its gray skies, moody ambience and ominous orchestral score, Thelma fits the cliché about Scandinavian entertainment being dark as hell — in the best way. It’s also gorgeous.

McAdams gives one of the best performances of her career as her character wrestles with the enormous question of whether, and how, to give up everything she’s ever known.

At its best, Love, Gilda intertwines the comic’s own narration — drawn from audiotapes, interviews and journals — with reflections from her current-day admirers.

With one slight wobble toward the conclusion, Ashe’s screenplay is terrific at letting its characters speak and act honestly: His dialogue is heartfelt and realistic. “Sylvie’s” is a love letter to the delights of a well-told love story.

After Tiller is groundbreaking in giving voice not only to the doctors, but to those who always seem to get overlooked in the high-volume political debate about this topic: the women themselves.

Jane's friendship with Sadie is the one thing that cuts through the numbness - though the film's so low-key, even emotional revelations feel pretty muted.

It’s a more somber companion to Marjane Satrapi’s 2007 film “Persepolis,” which explored life under the Iranian Revolution with dark humor: Here, the laughter’s mostly a prelude to tears.

Waititi emerges triumphant, but it’s a nail-biter.

Holy moly, Melissa Leo makes a scary Mother Superior.

Sometimes, it’s enough to walk out of a film with your heart warmed — even if your brain’s still craving a little something more.

In a time when climate news is near-uniformly depressing, this is a nature documentary that pays loving and hopeful tribute to the complex web of life — and it won’t scare your kids.

Here’s a franchise you’d think had been done to death (wasn’t the last webslinger reboot, like, two years ago?), and yet Spider-Man: Homecoming feels fresh and new, an endearingly awkward kid brother to the glamorous “Wonder Woman.”

It’s a feel-good film with a somewhat curdled legacy: You could clip just about any piece of sexist dialogue here, label it 2017 and pass it off as plausible.

Being a lesbian period piece, the film’s earned inevitable comparisons to last year’s “Portrait of a Lady on Fire.” Sure, it’s similar, minus the chemistry, humor and joy. There are definitely corsets in both.

These dynamos don’t need a screenplay to hold anyone’s attention.

Domino, though, is the dregs: This thriller may be randomly set one year in the future, yet it’s hopelessly regressive — a parade of lame stereotypes that feels directed by an out-of-touch Old Hollywood old guy (De Palma is 78).

Though most foreign films are best seen subtitled, the nonstop overexcitement of these anime performances can be exhausting. I’d have welcomed the dulcet tones of Pace, who voices Mr. Suga.

Only the Brave is at its best at two extremes: in the middle of the action, as the firefighters do things like improbably light fires to contain bigger fires; and at home in the midst of banter between Eric and his wife Amanda.

You may well emerge from The Search for General Tso with a hankering for the titular spicy dish.

Not since “American Movie” has there been such an entertainingly clumsy, warts-and-all documentary about making a movie, this time courtesy of Cincinnati filmmaker Tom Berninger.

Under the generous debut direction of Damon Cardasis, there’s enough heart and raw truth here to uplift the moments that falter.

On the whole, though, you couldn’t do much better than Monkey Kingdom to get kids invested in learning about, and protecting, the natural world.

Author is one of the most entertaining documentaries in recent memory — and, possibly, the origin story of catfishing.

Grim but worthwhile.

Midsommar is no slouch on chills, but they creep up slowly, like a bad trip from one of the Swedes’ festive glasses of hallucinogenic tea, and are leavened with an occasional dash of humor.

At the start of Insidious 2, a young woman opens her mouth to speak and someone else’s voice comes out of her. Demonic possession? Nope, just some inexplicable dubbing to kick off this clunker of a horror sequel.

With a mischievous, metaphysical flourish, Doctor Strange administers some much-needed CPR to the flagging superhero genre. It doesn’t reinvent the wheel — a power-hungry villain (Mads Mikkelsen) tries to unleash hell on Earth, blah blah blah — but it’s a heck of a lot more fun than I’ve had at a Marvel movie lately.

Subtle, sometimes really sad and honest about the struggles of adolescence, Marnie is a worthy last entry from Ghibli before the studio reportedly goes on hiatus.

The idea of combining creature-feature invisibility with domestic-abuse gaslighting — playing with someone’s reality to make them think they’re going insane — is inspired. This middling horror film, regrettably, is not.

In a move sure to infuriate “nanny state” critics, director Stephanie Soechtig names the US government and food corporations responsible for a campaign to get Americans addicted to junk food — particularly, and most dangerously, sugar — as early as possible.

Daunting though it may be for the aspiring pick-up entrant, this is a fun and worthwhile ode to one of New York’s greatest summer pastimes.

Director Luca Guadagnino pirouettes far from the easy-living, Italian-countryside romance of last year’s masterpiece “Call Me By Your Name” for an arthouse-meets-Grand Guignol reboot of one of the freakiest horror movies to come out of the 1970s. And he pulls it off in delicious, gut-punching style.

Hard to say what percentage of Haynes’ adult audience will dig this one. I found it lovely to look at and emotionally underwhelming.

A first-rate example of good storytelling and well-timed — while not excessive — gore. Its disgusting, hilarious conclusion left me eager to see what’ll be next from director Jim Mickle.

White excels at writing dislikable protagonists — topped by Laura Dern on the HBO series “Enlightened” — while giving his characters enough humanity not to be monsters, and the potential for change.

Still, the proceedings move so quietly and thoughtfully as to be occasionally somnolent, though they’re punctuated with spasms of the violence that marked the Troubles.

De Wilde has a good grasp of Austen’s sense of humor, and she plays it up with some amusing bits

Vinterberg aces the metaphor-heavy scene in which Troy demonstrates his swordsmanship for an inexperienced, dazzled Bathsheba.

Will Forte continues his transition into serious actorhood with this indie.

Its double-barrel satire is aimed both at those who curate their lives through merrily sun-dappled photos, and their followers, who drink it in as reality.

Now this is how you do a female raunch comedy. Equal parts crass, heartfelt and goofy, Girls Trip manages to hit all the right notes.

In some ways, it feels like an indie meditation on the eternal “When Harry Met Sally” question: Can men and women be just friends? Here, though, the focus is on the small, often unsaid moments that define a friendship — and a murky attraction.

They’re the ditziest, most solipsistic protagonists I’ve seen outside of a Neil LaBute project.

The facts (including Protess’ eventual resignation) still make this a worthwhile examination of a narrative that actually may have been too good to be true.

What the film lacks in plot twists it makes up for in sheer amazement.

This Belgian drama is the real deal, an alternately wrenching and ecstatic viewing experience, adapted from a play by lead actor Johan Heldenbergh.

Elisabeth Moss is a primal, predatory force in Her Smell, a female-centric spin on the classic debauched rock star story.

There is a limit to the redemption Nicolas Cage can grant a terrible movie, and Primal is it.

The film spirals steadily downward through humanity’s worst impulses as the guards, led by Angarano’s character, explore the free rein they’re given to torment the powerless.

Ultimately, Sleep Tight makes a sounder case for nocturnal Webcams than the "Paranormal Activity" franchise ever could.

If you can handle the glacial pacing and lack of dialogue, there is a certain squirmy satisfaction to watching this well-worn story of love, cruelty and madness play out minus the long-winded speeches and romantic catharsis.

As they’re akin to spectators at a magic show, viewers ought to keep an eye out for what the Merchants of Doubt don’t want us to see.

Would you rather . . . watch this movie, or spend an hour and a half having your arm hairs plucked out with a rusty pair of tweezers? I’d have chosen the latter if it’d been on offer.

Color Out of Space is full-bore, glorious B-movie Cage: Cranked up to 11, spattered with gore and bellowing about alpacas.

Aloft is less like a story than a dream, populated with gorgeous people and symbolism you can interpret any way you like.

The result is a thoughtful, dreamlike (at times, nightmarish) tour through the day-to-day lives of several suburban California teens.

The very German lack of emotion is so acute it can be hard to tell when Hausner’s playing for laughs, but Friedel is hilariously — if morbidly — tedious as the tortured writer whose pickup line is, “Would you care to die with me?”

The literal ghouls here take a back seat to the subtler ones, which are really where It shines darkly.

Per Swanberg’s signature style, the dialogue is largely improvised, the performances loose and funny. This may be his most star-studded cast yet, but the work is as intimate (“mumblecore” is so passé) as ever.

Q Ball is a moving and dynamically shot portrait of the Northern California prison’s basketball team, which is sponsored by the NBA champion Golden State Warriors.

In the film’s most visceral scene, as the trio stands on the site of a mass grave in Lviv, Ukraine, von Wächter still can’t bring himself to admit his father’s direct culpability.

The film fails to represent how singular and influential the late Giger is in popular culture.

The many silences in Hide Your Smiling Faces don’t speak quite loudly enough, and the film ultimately gets bogged down by its own ponderousness.

If the plot becomes a bit scattered in its third act, a generous interpretation might be that it’s a reflection of the chaotic cultural backdrop. Chon directs with style and a humane eye for all parties; he’s a dynamic young director to keep your eye on.

This Disney sequel to 2013’s “Planes” is a lot like flying coach: serviceable, but not trying that hard.

Weirder and more contemplative than many of its time-traveling brethren, Predestination is a stylish head trip. It also marks Australian actor Snook as one to watch, as she demonstrates some serious gender-bending range.

There’s not a bad performance in the bunch. Hendricks’ and Fanning’s Brit accents are nicely un-showy.

Watching Schenck and McBath campaign to fellow Christians for a dissociation between God and guns, you suspect their words are falling on deaf ears.

Tonally, Happiest Season is a bit uneven; it can move from broad hijinks to high emotion a little too quickly. But it also delivers wonderfully heartfelt moments.

This featherweight comedy from director Ben Palmer (“The Inbetweeners Movie”) is a lot more fun than many heftier, supposed rom-coms, thanks to the timing and chemistry of its leads.

It's sort of like last year's "Blue Valentine" on Prozac -- the giddy highs and the despairing lows are muted, and a well-known side effect of that antidepressant pops up, too: Palpable lust is all but nonexistent.

Though its resolution is a bit pat, most of The Girl in the Book is a smart and pointed look at abuses of power and roles women too often play in the literary world.

Like most of Eastwood’s work (with the exception of last year’s disastrous “The 15:17 to Paris”), it’s a tightly paced feature, with strong performances all around. It’s also one of the season’s most politically polarized films.

American Animals takes an appropriately wild approach to its subject, biting off a little more than it can chew, but nevertheless coming up with a truly novel entry in the overcrowded heist genre.