Thanos is the most interesting, and most complex, character here.

What really saves Super Troopers 2, to the extent that it even wants to be saved, is how gleefully the Broken Lizard bunch goes about its work.

At the beginning of the film, you want Hong to work through the scenes faster. By the time it’s done, you’ll wish they lasted longer. That’s a kind of magic, too.

The ways in which Love After Love is successful at portraying the grief process is also what makes it at times wildly unpleasant to watch.

At times his film is genuinely absorbing, offering insight into the madness and euphoria of artistic creation, along with the sometimes-crushing doubt. Other times it’s just Armie Hammer sitting there. Nothing horrible about that. Just not great, either.

I Feel Pretty is a good idea that never quite clicks the way it should

It’s a really good film, but it’s certainly not an easy one to watch.

At times the film threatens to become relentlessly bleak, but never fully so, thanks in large part to Plummer’s performance. And cinematographer Magnus Nordenhof Jønck finds beauty in the most desolate places; even flashing police lights set against nightfall are inviting.

Pfeiffer may be stripped of her luminosity, but she is vivid onscreen.

Metz does a really nice job of shooting the final match, of ratcheting up the tension. Then again, the five-set marathon does a nice job of that all by itself. Gudnason is good as Borg, but mostly he’s a portrait of tightly coiled silence, occasionally lashing out. LaBeouf is the best thing about the movie.

Aardvark, while it has its moments, never lives up to the potential the cast would suggest.

It’s a lame, scare-free film that wants really badly to work in the vein of “It Follows,” but has none of the intelligence.

Seriously, the movie is pretty awful, but Johnson, as ever, seems to be having a ball, even when he’s all serious and concerned and shot up and beaten up and building-dropped-upon.

Beirut is inoffensive in its familiarity, a handsome enough thriller to pass the time. What it’s lacking are stakes.

Foxtrot is far too interior to be called flashy, but there’s something striking in director Samuel Maoz’s visual confidence, the way he translates his characters’ states of mind into images.

This gently humorous, fiercely honest indie film is a step forward in the quest for a move inclusive Hollywood, which seems to one of the themes of the cultural moment. Some may dismiss it as identity politics. But movies like this prove that it’s about broadening our scope and deepening our understanding.

As mysteries go, writer-director Aaron Katz hasn't really created an effective one. Gemini is entertaining, but Jill isn't much of a detective, and the big puzzle at the center of the film just sort of falls together. You never completely check out of the plot, but don't feel fully invested, either.

There’s nothing self-serious about it. Blockers has all the brashness and irreverence that any comedy fan of the Apatow era could ask for, even as it represents a more gender-balanced future for Hollywood.

There is not a lot more to the story other than the effort to stay quiet and, thus, stay alive. But the pregnancy, along with a couple of other squirm-inducing set pieces, is enough to keep you on edge.

Chappaquiddick is a study of arrogance, of power and influence wielded corruptly to cast facts into doubt.

The Miracle Season is a pleasant surprise, the rare inspirational sports movie that actually earns its tears.

If the cast wasn’t so talented and so committed to doing some heavy lifting, Finding Your Feet would be a gigantic misstep.

Sherriff doesn’t offer any great answers here. It’s not like his play ended wars. But it’s a timely reminder that for all of the talk and negotiation and blustering and posturing, war means death, and “Journey’s End” brings that message home.

Wes Anderson’s Isle of Dogs is delightful, giddy fun, but it’s more than that. It’s also insightful and relevant, all while existing inside one of the signature wildly creative, self-contained worlds Anderson creates.

Visually, the movie is amazing — jaw-droppingly so. This is as technologically impressive as anything Spielberg has done, if not more so. The story, on the other hand, based on the bestselling novel by Ernest Cline, doesn’t just allow for narrative shortcuts; it practically demands them.

For 90 minutes we’re presented with idiot characters who do terrible things to themselves and each other, and in its final gasp the movie tries to retrofit them into heroes.

Lots of movies mix comedy and horror. But Armando Iannucci’s The Death of Stalin makes real-life horrors the source of hilarity — and it is hilarious — while never making light of the insanity that inspired it.

Foy is terrific, as is Pharoah.

It’s better than a “Transformers” movie. Is that damning with faint praise? I’m not sure it’s praise at all. But it is true. Pacific Rim Uprising is, at least for about half the movie, better than a Michael Bay exercise in eardrum shattering. The sequel isn’t as good as the original, however, which probably isn’t a surprise.

It’s disheartening that it took until 2018 to get a gay version of this adolescent staple from a major studio. But at least it was worth the wait.

All the action leads inexorably toward the unavoidable destination.

As a cinematic diatribe set in a stark moral universe, Goldstone comes in loud and clear.

There is an engrossing, important story at the heart of 7 Days in Entebbe. Unfortunately, it only shows up intermittently.

It’s weird, sometimes challenging and surprisingly engaging, thanks in large part to Terajima, who is outstanding.

The Erwins pound home their message, but they do with such skill and accomplished filmmaking the movie never becomes heavy-handed or too preachy.

Paolo Virzi’s film, based on a novel by Michael Zadoorian, holds few surprises, leaving us with some enjoyable set pieces in a disappointing movie.

It’s an expertly directed, slow-burning psychological horror film filled with outstanding performances.

Gringo dabbles in several genres, none particularly well.

There are some scares here, in the same way that there is some pain when you hit your thumb with a hammer. Blunt force carries a lot of power. But there isn’t a lot of thought. It’s the same idea as the first movie, just not as well-done.

There are moments of real power and beauty in Ava DuVernay’s film, based on the much-loved Madeleine L’Engle novel. You just have to work too hard to find them.

The film, much like Willis' performance, never flatlines, but it never delivers the thrills you expect from this type of genre piece.

Andrea Pallaoro’s frigid portrait of a woman in crisis is more a calculated exercise in formalism than an achievement in storytelling. His well-composed images of loneliness are cerebrally satisfying but lack emotional heft.

It wants to be oh-so-serious, and it never lets us forget how hard it’s trying.

Certainly the details have been known and written about here and there, but director Alexandra Dean assembles them in an entertaining, and at times heartbreaking and infuriating, film.

Potter’s sense of timing is terrific. She never lingers on one character too long. It’s the same with the movie — you’re in and out before you realize what hit you.

The film doesn’t need to make a case for Marina’s basic humanity and smartly avoids clichés of persecution storytelling, instead ceding the floor to Vega’s magnetic presence and soulfulness. She is a marvel, and if one doesn’t come away loving her as Orlando did, it’s no shortcoming of the film.

The movie is as gorgeous as it is disturbing, and that’s a powerful combination. It may be about the beginning of the end of the world or the beginning of something else entirely. I’d be lying if I said I understand every aspect of the film, but I was engrossed trying to.

It’s ridiculous, far-fetched — absurdist, even. Some, or even a lot, of the jokes are stupid. But thanks in part to a terrific cast, expert timing and an all-in aesthetic, it's really funny.

It’s not quite the triumph that the exquisitely excruciating “Listen Up Philip” was, but it’s another example of Perry’s behavioral alchemy that’s well worth checking out.

In the Fade is a tragedy in three acts, their varying tone and effectiveness held together, however tenuously, by a powerhouse performance.

Early Man is smart, funny, clever — and a bit of a disappointment.

It is a terrifically entertaining film, alive from the start, following its Marvel mission (for good and bad) while rising above it.

It’s a genial, pleasant farce that grows more enjoyable once it calms down and stops being so frantic.

Every now and then you run across a film in which a really talented cast takes a crack at a well-worn genre entry. For the most part, that’s what Permission is, though writer and director Brian Crano tosses in a couple of wrinkles.

If Eastwood wanted to use the real men, a documentary would have been just as powerful and more dramatically satisfying. Instead, the acting is distracting. The film’s intentions are sterling. Its execution, not so much.

For anyone familiar with the original Peter Rabbit, it’s a little depressing to see its storybook charm reduced to slapstick. You can only see a person get electrocuted so many times before the gag wears thin, and with it the movie’s welcome.

Johnson and Dornan retain the chemistry of two mannequins knocked into each other in a department-store storage closet; the actual sex scenes play more like aerobics videos than anything actually steamy.

As statements go, it’s somewhat compelling. But really, the look of Like Me is the big draw here, and it’s what makes the film both interesting and well worth seeing. As for Mockler, it’ll be fascinating to see what comes next.

Overall The Insult is a compelling, timely movie. Doueiri is doing what artists do: Making the personal universal, while at the same time showing the impact a few poorly chosen words can carry.

Regardless of politics, it’s fascinating to see how the White House works.

That Freak Show is not the joyous gay party it aspires to be is a testament to squandered opportunities. For all the aces up its sleeve, Freak Show never quite lets its freak flag fly.

It’s a fun effort in a genre that hasn’t gotten much of a workout recently, and that’s worthwhile in itself.

The narrative is so diffuse that putting together the pieces is beside the point. You feel no closer to knowing or understanding the Laurents, and their collective unpleasantness gives one little reason to want to. It’s a skilled ratcheting of discomfort – but to what end?

Nicolai Fuglsig’s film does a nice job of capturing the fish-out-of-water nature of the American combatants. Chris Hemsworth is suitably heroic and Michael Shannon suitably intense. But if this movie was the only context you had for the U.S. response to the 9/11 attacks, you’d walk out of the theater thinking that we won a quick war without suffering any casualties, that American gusto and bravery saved the day.

Den of Thieves isn't a masterpiece by any means, but it's fun, exciting and hard-boiled, and the actors are doing solid work.

Forever My Girl is a bad movie, pure and simple. And pure and simple is just how writer and director Bethany Ashton Wolf likes it.

Annette Bening is so good in Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool that it makes up for a story that’s slighter than it should be.

If you’re making a movie about someone with exacting standards, Day-Lewis is your man. Yet what’s so exciting about Anderson and Day-Lewis’ collaborations is that while the actor is always superb, they’re very much the director’s movies. They feed off of one another, creating collaborative works that show off each other’s strengths.

Paddington 2 is a winsome confection. More than just a movie, it’s a necessary mood corrective, a temporary escape hatch from negativity. The world does indeed feel right in the company of this kind and polite little bear.

The Commuter doesn’t stand above or below most of Neeson’s action-hero fare. But you dependably get what you pay for.

The title Acts of Violence has less to do with the storyline of the movie it graces and more about what’s perpetrated against the audience watching it.

This is a story about taking risks, about putting the good of the country before your own. It sounds corny and clichéd, but even in Spielberg’s hands it doesn’t come off that way.

The film’s intentions are noble enough, but its story doesn’t always live up to them.

It's not a total wash. Shaye's performance is reliably good and the sequences set in The Further (the netherworld of the "Insidious" films) have a kicky charge.

It’s got a great beat and you can dance to it (or Jackman, Efron and the rest can, anyway). And Barnum would have loved it.

It’s a lazy, thoroughly unoriginal bit of storytelling, but it has just enough cheeky humor and bass-thumping action scenes to be a potential crowd-pleaser.

Alexander Payne has a lot of fun — and has some serious things to say — in Downsizing, a film that goes from fascinating to sometimes merely functional, but never truly loses its way.

Call Me by Your Name is a lush, heartbreakingly beautiful film about first love, but also the glories of youth, when everything is new and any number of paths open before you.

Most of the complexity in the film comes from its structure, as we go back and forth in time with Bloom. It’s an entertaining journey, especially if you like to listen.

It's sometimes compelling, sometimes frustrating, and usually chaotic.

Everyone here has been better, and funnier, in other things. This is a lazy story, wholly dependent upon the likability of its cast which, while considerable, isn’t enough to make it worth the trouble.

There is a hollowed-out gravitas to his Getty, the perfect example of someone for whom having almost literally everything is just not enough, and Plummer captures this magnificently. No matter how he got there, it’s impossible now to imagine All the Money in the World without him.

While Star Wars: The Last Jedi is a good movie and a worthy entry, it would have been stronger if Johnson didn’t telegraph those new directions before leading us to them.

An affectionate documentary.

The dialogue is agony.

Thelma treads the line between the psychological and supernatural, gracefully at first, and then with increasing abandon.

The Shape of Water is a fantasy, a myth, a fairy tale, all that.

You don’t lose yourself in the film the way you might like, but there is never a second in which Oldman is not riveting.

In The Disaster Artist, James Franco proves himself a good director, a really good actor and something of an alchemist.

The course of the film's story is somewhat predictable and played broadly. But where Volpe's work really shines is when it makes the bigger issue personal.

Aida's Secrets starts out as a fairly straightforward documentary about reuniting two long-separated brothers, but directors Alon and Shaul Schwarz don't stop there.

For all its heart and beauty, The Breadwinner sputters a bit to a close. Its themes are undeniable — one walks away feeling angry and empowered. But with the story’s soft focus, one soon forgets why.

Frank Serpico doesn't supersede "Serpico," and it isn't meant to. Instead it serves as an interesting companion piece, one well worth watching.

Roman J. Israel, Esq. is a surpassingly strange, often frustrating movie.

It lays on the pathos, moralizing and forced whimsy thicker than figgy pudding, but it’s still entertaining, heart-warming family fare, thanks in large part to charmingly sincere performances.

Yes, the latest Pixar offering involves a journey to the Land of the Dead, which by definition requires people to, you know, die. That's always sad. But there's joy here, particularly in the animation and the cinematography; the Land of the Dead is a beautiful place, which is kind of comforting

"Three Billboards" is a really good movie filled with terrific performances, but what McDormand is doing here surpasses them all.

Wonder will make you cry — that’s one of the main purposes of its existence — but it’ll also drive you a little crazy.