Sara Stewart

The real treat here is the science, not the fiction. The film’s sleek aesthetic was developed in consultation with NASA about what such a mission would actually require, and look like as viewed on surveillance cameras.

All the past decade’s Marvel movies have been heading toward this showdown. Turns out the payoff was worth the wait.

The film manages to be both hopeful and devastating — and recommended viewing for anyone who subscribes to the facile notion that abused women should “just leave.”

Profoundly moving and, at times, almost unbearably sad.

Natalie Portman is captivating as a damaged electro-pop star known as Celeste in Vox Lux, a flawed, flashy drama from actor/director Brady Corbet (“The Childhood of a Leader”).

Jeremy Allen White (“Shameless”) and Maika Monroe (“It Follows”) shine in this dramedy.

Feels like an homage to the early work of Wes Anderson with its plinky soundtrack, solipsistic banter and emphasis on uniforms.

The upstart Sapphires are a smash to watch as they cover soul tunes like “I Heard It Through the Grapevine,” “What a Man” and “I Can’t Help Myself.”

It’s blessed with an ace comic foil in Theron, who out-snarks Rogen in scene after scene. The duo makes a terrifically fun on-screen couple, with the kind of zingy banter (thanks to Dan Sterling and Liz Hannah’s screenplay) found in black-and-white movies pre-dating the term “rom-com.”

Despite James Wan’s capable direction and very game cast, the whole thing goes increasingly wobbly like a bad axle, until it’s just a tangle of metal and bullets and yelling.

If it’s overstuffed in the way of most sequels, well, at least it’s stuffed with good cheer.

As an addiction memoir, it works well enough; there are a handful of deeply felt moments.

Garbus’ film is at its best when giving voice to the female relatives of these victims, who come together to pressure the cops — who’ve been instructed to downplay the possible connection between the killings — to do more.

Just in time for Mexico’s Day of the Dead holiday comes this gloriously colorful animated musical, which almost (but not quite) makes up in visuals what it lacks in snappy dialogue.

This Cinderella is all dressed up with nowhere very interesting to go.

Perhaps faithful to the spirit of the man, but frustrating if you’re actually curious about the facts.

Seth Rogen’s raunchy Sausage Party contains occasional flashes of satirical brilliance. But in true stoner form, it also thinks a lot of stuff is funnier than it actually is.

The Report, true to its no-nonsense name, does the admirable work of trying to interest viewers in the way that bureaucracy can be used to hide the most terrible truths. Alas, the movie gets as buried in paper-pushing as its characters do.

Chastain and Wasikowska take center stage while Hiddleston flutters around like one of Allerdale’s huge black moths. Watching the women square off within del Toro’s eye-popping, painterly palette is a feast for the eyes, if not particularly substantial fare for the mind.

Capping off the year that transgender stopped being transgressive, the story of artist Lili Elbe (Eddie Redmayne) makes for one of the year’s finest films.

No matter how well you know “Over the Rainbow,” you may never hear it as heartbreakingly performed as Zellweger sings it here.

Though deeply well-intentioned, director Kasi Lemmons’ film never really breaks free of conventional biopic mode.

Unfortunately, the cast of characters you’ll find here is a pale imitation of her Hogwarts heroes.

If you’ve got comics-movie fatigue, with frequent fourth-wall breaks to point out lazy writing, blatant foreshadowing or heavy reliance on CGI for fight scenes, Deadpool 2 is here for you. That doesn’t mean those things aren’t there (they are) — but the eagerness of Deadpool to call out its own shortcomings earns this trash-talking franchise a lot of goodwill.

By the time its credits rolled, I was ready to forgive Rogue One any imperfections. Its last 10 minutes are spectacular and dark, with a final flourish that should give any “Star Wars” fan goose bumps — and a new hope that the next main installment will be this good.

Good-looking but tonally dubious feature debut from Elizabeth Wood.

Gore and supernatural comeuppances ensue in a haunted-house flick that mostly eschews jump scares for more satisfying psychological and erotic twists.

As apocalypse scenarios go, this one feels both retro and commendably topical: Nuclear bombs, remember those? (Also: Edward Furlong, remember him?)

Disney, take note: This is how to do a winning live-action update of a cartoon.

Entertaining particulars aside, this trope is pretty well-worn — the game everyman who finds making illegal money easy and fun, until it isn’t.

Bening forgoes vanity and digs into the humiliation Grahame felt as she aged out of the vampy roles Hollywood typecast her in. Bell brings a sturdy humanity to Peter, a low-key stage actor and nice guy who’s completely unfazed by their age difference.

The third and weakest book in Suzanne Collins’ trilogy should never have been split into two films, but since that’s become money-grubbing standard practice for young-adult adaptations (“Twilight,” “Divergent”), here we are.

This documentary, a love letter to their sisterly bond, gives a reasonably engaging look behind the scenes.

Dreadful, misogynist slog of a film.

Naz & Maalik does what all great New York movies do: ground unique, engaging stories in the middle of the glorious chaos that is our city.

Clearly, the elder Scott’s aim is on the scares — and oh, what satisfying, terrifying, screams-echoing-down-a-ship’s-corridor scares they are. All the philosophical debate here belongs to the robots — which is possibly even more chilling.

It’s almost impossible to resist The Lego Movie 2 for its continued everything-is-awesomeness, even if it does fall back on the trope of playthings terrified of being relegated to the storage bin.

Director Ben Wheatley (“Kill List”) is masterful with arresting imagery set in a dystopian spin on the ’70s; less so with a compelling narrative.

Antarctic Edge will make good viewing for science classes of all levels, and ideally inspire a new generation to continue this hardy mission.

This reverential documentary, crammed with insidery art-world anecdotes, seems unlikely to convince the average viewer why it was so important that several male artists ventured out of New York at that time to push dirt around with shovels and bulldozers.

Writer/director James Ward Byrkit, in his feature debut, achieves effective chills with only eight actors and a living room, intermixing quantum physics (shout-outs range from Schrödinger’s cat to “Sliding Doors”) with the very mundane human tendency toward bad judgment calls in a crisis.

Schwartzman is perfect as Kurt, simultaneously compelling, ridiculous and creepy.

Bennett, who’s been largely off the radar for a while, is heartbreaking and, eventually, fierce as her character begins to crave change.

Plus One is the latest evidence (see also: “Always Be My Maybe”) that the romantic comedy is making a long-awaited comeback, with some overdue modern tweaks.

Despite Mulligan bringing her A-game, the film falls short of its potential.

Daniel Radcliffe continues to propel himself further from his Harry Potter past, this time via straight-up flatulence: Swiss Army Man nearly makes up with juvenile glee what it lacks in plot and coherence.

In one of Hugh Hefner’s least creepy moments ever, he describes how they became friends later in life; with his help, she finally obtained the legal rights to her rampantly used image.

Wiig and Adebimpe give appealing, naturalistic performances — it’s Silva’s character who grate.

Squanders its big ideas in record time.

It’s substantial food for thought, but too scattered for a two-hour running time.

Davidson expertly plays the role like he’s playing . . . well, Pete Davidson, which is how I imagine his career will go.

As much fun as it is, this all-star tribute is awfully one-note, never questioning Gordon’s seemingly casual habit of befriending only the ultra-famous.

Kelly & Cal is at its best when focused on Lewis and Weston.

This is the kind of movie that gives art-house movies a bad name. Seeing as it’s about lobotomies in the 1950s, it is also ripe for “ice-pick- through-the-eye” jokes about the pain of watching it. But I would never stoop so low.

My main beef is with Spielberg’s choice to leave out his own work, both as producer and director: “I didn’t corner the ’80s market,” he told Entertainment Weekly. But yeah, he kind of did.

Keough is riveting as the vulnerable Grace.

Niccol’s film may not be perfect, but it shines a light on a subject many viewers will know vaguely by name — and not much more.

Without a humanizing element like Blunt’s character, this whole grim affair is just a race to the bottom in which everyone loses.

Based on the graphic novel “The Coldest City,” this film keeps its comic-book aesthetic front and center.

Men are pigs! Women are psychos! One-percenters have it coming! Pick your moral in this nasty, single-setting thriller that’s ultimately quite tame by the standards of torture-porn director Eli Roth (“The Green Inferno”).

The dark side of pregnancy and motherhood has long been fertile filmmaking terrain; this queasy, quiet horror film tips its hat, inevitably, to the genre’s standard-bearer, “Rosemary’s Baby,” but comes up a bit short.

If there’s a flaw in Unsane, it’s that the screenplay by Jonathan Bernstein and James Greer doesn’t play its hand closer to the vest. The pleasure here is in watching and wondering what’s real and what isn’t, but all too soon it’s spelled out for us. Nevertheless, it’s great fun to watch it all come together — or, more accurately, fall apart.

Unfortunately, you could probably improve Split by editing out everything around McAvoy and making it an experimental one-man show.

Lee may not want to let anyone in, but it’s hard to engage fully with a film that doesn’t seem to want to, either.

The best thing about the film – which is true of most of his roles – is Rockwell.

A funny, shambling buddy comedy that mostly serves as a vehicle for our two stars to do what they do best, which is riff on race and pop culture.

Too much of the film is taken up by creaky plot devices and one sibling vowing to track down and talk to another one to resolve a problem.

Ultimately, for the show’s fans, it may not matter if “Sponge Out of Water” shows a hint of mildew. After all, my co-critic’s most enthusiastic note — “Hilarious!” — was written before the lights even dimmed.

The film begins by telegraphing impending doom (and wraps up, underwhelmingly, with thriller clichés).

A warm-hearted and ambitiously honest look at the pros and cons of monogamy, but it tends to be understated to the point of underwhelming.

As in the original “Despicable,” masterful physical comedy is what raises this animated pic so far above most of its competitors.

Maybe my favorite thing about this About Last Night, though, is that it’s proof romantic comedies don’t have to be so predictable.

As a snarky, stylish Santa Fe couple, Paul Rudd and Steve Coogan deploy a wit drier than the sprawling landscape surrounding their desert mansion. If you enjoy your comedies devoid of easy sentimentality (as this reviewer does), this one’s for you.

Tatiana Maslany (“Orphan Black”) is nearly unrecognizable as Petra, Silas’ longtime girlfriend caught in Bell’s roundup, and Bradley Whitford shows up in the latest of his silver-haired villain roles as a sketchy lawyer.