While the story starts fast and furious, it sputters in its second half, not so much running out of gas as just turning into a completely different film which becomes increasingly more convoluted as it becomes less engaging.

Ferociously subversive and trippily beautiful debut feature from director and screenwriter Coralie Fargeat.

Cooper acquits himself as the main character, but between the pratfall/character-building montages and the endless platitudes imparted by the wise, old mentor, Measure of a Man does him few favors, and the film becomes a tedious haul through to the redemptive third act.

This is no Disney mermaid, not least because the conventions of creepy in Japanese culture are very different to what would pass standards and practices in the U.S.

All three principal actors – Weisz, McAdams, and Nivola – give effectively constrained performances. They work as a team here, consistent with the delicate balance in their characters’ complicated relationships with one another.

It’s mildly entertaining while also masking criminal deceptions as romantic foreplay. Yet this remake has little of the real-life sizzle that Hawn and Russell added to the story.

Dissent – or a remotely critical eye – doesn’t have any place in RBG; this is an entirely admiring doc.

A charming, touching, and deeply compassionate depiction of modern middle-class motherhood.

Little Pink House is not one of the great civil rights movies (it's no Loving or To Kill a Mockingbird), but its slow, steady charm never lets go of the fact that these are people's homes on the line.

Unfortunately offers up the same old recipe, with a soupçon of variation to make those jump-scares not feel like day-old bread.

Working from a script that lacks the visceral ingenuity of a "Don't Breathe," Devlin's Nineties crowd-pleasing instincts end up holding him back.

Kings is a confusing and far-fetched story in which good intentions outweigh good storytelling.

The Rider is a stunning piece of fiction played close to the bone.

Feels feverishly dreamlike while keeping its subject firmly rooted in the present. If you desire a female empowering musical manifesto with both claws and kisses, here it is.

The Marvel films have been accused of being repetitive in their structure; Infinity War bursts any conventions wide apart. This is a vast, truly epic endeavor, one that both brings the current MCU to a near-climax (wait for the so-far-untitled follow-up, due May 2019, for the ultimate resolution), and sets the future in motion.

Noble intentions, ignoble results.

Super Troopers 2 is a movie out of time and out of sync with comedy in 2018. It might have managed the success of its precursor, if only it had been released in 2002.

Sometimes the screen goes completely black as the film focuses solely on the audio component (Wilkerson’s voice). It has the sense of a confession, and made me wonder if this project is somehow an act of penance.

Not every aspect is as exquisitely structured as Terajima's bittersweet performance. An underlying subtext about reinvention never truly develops, and the idea of Lucy as Setsuko's alter ego stutters. But her performance, especially when matched by Minami's hard-sighing world-weariness, is nothing less than transfixing.

Lowlife is also far more bloodstained than Tarantino’s normal fare. Grisly isn’t the word: The entire effects and makeup team work overtime for some of the most splattertastic effects in any non-horror film since the bone-shattering, skull-squishing glories of "Brawl on Cell Block 99."

Lean on Pete is a methodical and memorable film primarily because director Haight, adapting from Willy Vlautin’s novel, keeps a distance from his characters, never taking the easy route, and never, ever letting the movie enter the killing fields of the corny or cliched.

What ultimately disappoints here, however, is the conventionality of the movie’s narrative arc, its mushy characterizations (as the cosmetic company heiress who befriends Renee, a squeaky-voiced Williams is utterly dispensable), and a rushed conclusion that ties up the loose ends with a sloppy bow that diminishes the movie’s message.

The familiar narrative gambits of Finding Your Feet aren’t the problem here as much as their heavy-handed execution.

The magic of the film lies in Tucci’s eye for a sense of place – Paris in the Sixties.

If there's such a thing as observational comedy horror, this is it.

The influence of executive producer Alex Gibney is clear in the photography and editing (making Gibney-esque now officially a term of art), but he has his own adept, incisive skill in linking a truly global economic crisis in the making, threading the narrative all the way from rural China to Flint, Michigan.

Baja is just plain bad.

If Ramsay's 2011 melancholy masterpiece "We Need to Talk About Kevin" was about the consequences of caring too little, You Were Never Really Here is its polar opposite – a story of a man who cares so much that his soul is bleeding out of every pore.