While it's always a pleasure to see Yeoh kick butt and take names among the stars, Section 31 wastes her talents as well as its own premise on a middling heist movie devoid of anything that might actually identify it as a Star Trek movie.

Unicorns seems like a much older movie, torn from an era in which queer people were not allowed to tell their own stories, instead being reduced to secondary characters in straight plots.

Instead of burrowing into their differing ideas about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness and how they differ based on class and background, Anna and Jamie’s romance is based entirely on them exchanging progressively earnest platitudes, quotes taken from centuries-old poetry that the script dumbs down and shoehorns into every moment between the couple.

Most people are likely clicking on this film for Foxx and Diaz, and they, too, do their best with what they’re given, but the dull, exposition-heavy script never gives them the chance to flex any of their dramatic muscles, and they rarely get to be truly funny either.

There’s a fascinating and beautiful true story at the core of Ordinary Angels, but the bland way it’s told does it a massive disservice.

Old Guy looks the part of a classic, character-based action-thriller, but, ultimately, the script is far too flimsy for the film to coalesce into something interesting. It's too bad, as Waltz could almost certainly crush in one of these, given the right material.

The fate of fetch may be up in the air, but Mean Girls as a musical movie? That's clearly not going to happen.

It's a Frankenstein'ed monstrosity made of different horror approaches, except instead of bringing something to life, unrevivable ideas remain limp and useless.

Sarah Friedland's directorial debut is a visually striking but shallow exploration of dementia.

Ultimately, the concept behind The Virgin of the Quarry Lake might have embodied Mariana Enriquez's short stories, but it feels too jumbled and fails to meet its full potential.

As the film attempts to weave itself into a screwball comedy, it unexpectedly bobs into a weak character study, skewing situations and characters while never quite touching the ground or giving us reason to care.

Uppercut, by director Torsten Ruether, benefits from Ving Rhames' strong screen presence, but a lack of believability in both character development and plotting keep the character study from working.

Seinfeld has made a directorial debut that ends up feeling like a bowl of sugary cereal: not a terrible thing to eat, but not as fulfilling or substantial as you might’ve hoped it would be.

It all leads to a final fight that should feel epic but ends up being more disappointment.

Although the cast does what they can with a script that never cuts deeper than the surface, their performances aren't enough to give Regretting You the emotional resonance expected from a story like this.

The Gallerist is a disappointment, especially considering that Yan’s last movie as director was the vastly underrated DC film, Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) from 2020, a hyper-stylized, playful, and unconventional take on the superhero genre. It would’ve been wonderful to see that version of Yan here, creating an unhinged look at the art world that was experimental, spirited, and daring in the way that film was.

It's a film that you start desperately wanting to like, perhaps because it deceives you into believing it is something other than a violent power fantasy. As the film comes to a close, all that is left is a sour taste in your mouth.

I see dead people in this film, but their cause of death is simply boredom.

Dreams is probably the same old story for Michel Franco fans, but as a first-time viewer, I was in awe of how a film could go so wrong so quickly.

Mad About the Boy is the disappointing end to a franchise that should have never gone beyond its first sequel.

One or two jokes might cause a titter, but the other ninety-eight percent of this unfunny deflation has nothing to offer but hormonal awkwardness without the gut-busting payoff.

The pieces are all there for a perfect summer favorite, so it’s a shame that none of them really come together to form a cohesive whole.

The Mastermind vascillates between wanting to lean into the thrills of a heist and falling back on Reichardt's tried-and-true formula. The result is a confusing mix of tones with a fairly basic concept that rarely dips below the surface.

There are fractured elements that, with a little polish, could’ve been something much more, but this is just a generic, unremarkable horror film.

A lot is going on all at once, but little of it coheres into anything substantive, let alone actually memorable or meaningful.

'The Home' is a lame horror misfire saved only by its unhinged third act.

What saves this movie is Taylor-Joy and Teller. Though their in-person scenes aren't nearly as endearing as their scenes with each other across the gorge, the two do have great chemistry. They're interesting to watch together, especially during their action scenes.

Even during the fantasy musical numbers, which give cover to stray from the overall aesthetics of the film, Phillips is just incapable of delivering the genre’s requisite razzle dazzle that would surely complement Joker’s persona.