Peninsula combines components from I Am Legend, Mad Max, and the Fast & Furious series for a nonsensical joy ride that, while entertaining, lacks the sharpness of its predecessor.

Skin certainly has its blemishes, but it’s occasionally excited and secure in its willingness to build an off-the-cuff alt history for an under-discussed facet of filmmaking.

The One and Only Ivan always “feels” like a movie without actually being compelling enough to be truly entertaining.

Project Power is a hard-R action flick with a neat premise, inventively handled, and a winsome cast to coast us through the creakier bits of the screenplay. More crucially, it’s also got a sense of humor about itself.

The Pool is easily one of the best single location, high concept thrillers of the year. While its social commentary on abortion feels a tad old-fashioned, the action sequences and the escalating threats make for a great time at the movies.

Spree works better as a performance piece for Keery, who never eases up on the pedal. He’s legitimately haunting as Kurt, and like the best sociopaths in film, there’s a subtle guilt that comes from wanting to see what he’ll do next. Oddly enough, that feeling speaks louder than anything actually said in the film.

Black Water: Abyss is a low-stakes rollercoaster arriving at a time when we’re being barred from theme parks. If you’re looking for some thrills — and maybe even a little adventure — it’ll do the trick. The drama is exhausting, but the situational horror offers a nice distraction, even if we’re admittedly tired of watching people make stupid decisions.

It’s tough to recommend She Dies Tomorrow given the high levels of stress and anxiety so many of us are currently experiencing. Seimetz uncannily mirrors the pervasive unease of 2020 in a way that hits a little too close to home. Full disclosure: watching triggered a near existential crisis and multi-day bad mood for this writer.

An American Pickle is cute — nothing more, nothing less. It’s not laugh-out-loud funny; it’s folksy funny. This is chicken soup for the soul, arriving at a time when Americans could use a balmy parable on family and tradition.

It’s not difficult to lose sight of the future when you can’t properly account for the past. Beyoncé’s direction and influence looks to change the narrative and to reinforce the fact that Black Is King … and queen.

Host is so clever, so creepy, and so effective. At 56 minutes, this is a lean and mean slice of horror, a fitting opening salvo for the spooky season ahead.

Franco exercises so much restraint, especially during the frenetic final act, that you’re always left on edge. There’s hardly a single gratuitous shot to the entire film.

At two hours, it can drag, and the mid-budget nature of the thing can leave it feeling less than ambitious. But there’s just enough inventiveness here to make it stand out in a packed field, and to cement Prince-Bythewood as a director who can handle bloodshed as adeptly as character.

The conclusion of Relic is haunting, beautiful, and cathartic.

The Beach House won’t be for everyone. Those coming in expecting a doozy of infections and balls-to-the-wall, gross-out horror will likely leave nursing a sunburn. But if you can appreciate those moments within what’s essentially a pandemic survival story, then you’ll walk away with a nice tan.

Greyhound is the bare essentials when it comes to war films. With little character development on paper, the narrative finds victory through Hanks’ patient physical performance and the craftsmanship within the battles.

Save yourself from this disaster of a movie.

Historical weightiness aside, Hamilton is simply fun.

Fire Saga manages glimmers of fun through its laborious two-hour runtime when it sits the hell down and plays some fun Eurovision-y songs, but there are too many false notes in between to justify trucking through the tedium to find them. Just hit up the soundtrack when it comes out and bop along to some goofy songs.

Yes, Irresistible is a farce about political theater, and an often painfully funny one, but it’s also a deeply unnerving manifesto on the pundit economy, campaign financing, and the narcissism, ego, and collective amnesia it all fosters.

The film is a friendly, warm, and inviting documentary that dances and shouts without ever shaking its body down to the ground. There aren’t any revelations, there aren’t any demons, and there’s zero drama. It’s simply another rolodex of talking heads — including David Byrne, speak of the devil — that want to talk about Michael Jackson.

You’ll only lose 90 minutes of your life to this misbegotten mess.

The slow build of Da 5 Bloods leads to as powerful a finale as any you’ll find in Lee’s arsenal. And it’s one that should hit rather hard as it arrives in the middle of a summer where race will be discussed at volumes.

There are a handful of laugh-out-loud moments throughout Staten Island, and one screamingly-funny extended sequence that winds up influencing a great deal of the plot, without spoiling too much. Having said that, your enjoyment will depend on whether or not you find Davidson charming and/or funny.

Patton tells a tighter, less well-heard, and necessary tale of being gay in an era where that could still destroy a career (which to be frank, is still an issue that should be better addressed…), nestled carefully within a re-read of an oft-maligned horror sequel. He’s a deeply appealing subject.

Decker succeeds in transporting viewers inside the mind of a tortured genius. With its mesmerizing cinematography, a deliciously waspy script, and fantastic performances, Shirley is a smart and intricately woven look at a woman’s struggle to create in a world telling her to be something else.

At 90 minutes, Becky should be a taut, hair-raising thriller, one that keeps you at the edge of your seat. It doesn’t. Instead, the thing ebbs and flows, peaking when you expect it to, and sinking when your heart’s just beginning to race.

Fortunately, the fourth and final installment of the series, The Trip to Greece, packs plenty of pathos to match its sights and silliness.

The Lovebirds is exactly what you want right now in quarantine. It’s a city-scrolling adventure with two catchy leads and romance to boot. It’s the perfect date movie.

If you’re able to ignore the franchise’s 50-year history, you’re probably going to have a blast. After all, Scoob! is a fun, colorful, and funny movie that not only sends several great messages to younger viewers, but also proves to be highly entertaining for adults.

Trank’s had to suffer a lot to get to make his art, and Capone is one of the most bravely singular and uncommon films you’ll see this year.

Z provides effective scares and at least one moment that made this parent scream in horror. It’s doing so many of the right things, but like a puzzle with a few pieces missing, it’s hard to see the full picture.

A lot of people are going to judge the film based on its success as a horror movie, and others will judge it as a political statement. Not that I think there’s a deficiency in any part of its personality, but I also think the panache with which it is both of those things and more — without looking to the history of genre or the future of civil rights for permission to say some pretty bold stuff — is why the film is a success.

Great performances but not enough revelations.

If you’re looking for a lean-and-mean action picture where Chris Hemsworth absolutely bodies dozens of disposable henchmen, Extraction might fit the bill, at least for its first hour.

To be sure, the concept of Spike Jonze directing a Beastie Boys documentary conjures up flashier results than this. But taking it for what it is, Beastie Boys Story remains an entertaining, insightful, and unexpectedly fun look back at three of hip-hop’s most iconic voices.

It’s a thrilling rollercoaster designed for the theatre made by one of the few working directors who truly knows how to make movies for a theatre.

The Platform does away with any sense of coyness, launching immediately into its brutal tale. This focus on the captives in their cells is wise considering the few frolics it takes into backstories only distract from the action at hand.

Bloodshot accidentally calls out the hollowness of every superhero movie by trying to beat them at their own game. It admits Vin is a tool to be deployed in very specific circumstances, it comes so close to self-awareness but drops the ball. In order to actually play as auto-critique, it would have to be a much better movie with a real director, but I admired the attempt, as I always do whenever Vin’s on screen.

Scoff, roll your eyes, and shrug all you want, but the hyperbolic nature of The Hunt is all part of the fun, and whether you take this literally, or metaphorically, rhetorically, spiritually, whatever, it all boils down to a big ol’ sensationalized portrait of a very heated country.

Even if the message is clear, and the vibe can be a little movie-of-the-week, The Way Back does find an interesting set of ways to present itself.

A boilerplate action-comedy, that, while not wholly original, provides enough memorable two-fisted tough guy action and likable characters to waste a Wednesday night with on the fly.

When the leads are drawn this terribly thin, and Onward is so hopelessly focused on the dad narrative that it can’t help but ignore its creativity in favor of mawkish afternoon special, the product stinks of a bad Amblin ripoff.

While not particularly subtle or probing, The Invisible Man manages to do what many of our greatest horror movies have done before it: address a real-life, everyday nightmare in a heightened, bracing, and even cathartic way.

It feels special, like a kind of prized trinket, a sun-dappled sexual fantasia, chased by the specter of death in pursuit of a life of leisure. The Jesus Rolls is a touching and singular work, a louche fantasy.

By simply putting forth Emma as is, with little argument or persuasion in either direction, de Wilde takes Austen’s long-storied notion that her protagonist is “a heroine whom no one but myself will much like” and antes up, highlighting the tarnished parts, the Emma Woodhouses if you will, in us all.

While The Call of the Wild is silly, and never completely pulls the wool over the eyes with respect to the CGI, there’s enough meat on the bone to gnaw on before burying it in the backyard.

Ultimately Fantasy Island’s four-for-the-price-of-one narrative and its excruciating hour-and-50-minute runtime doom it. The film is visually bland, lacks charismatic characters or interesting backstories, and long overstays its welcome with an egregiously protracted third act that feels interminable.

This wasn’t a movie, it was a boardroom meeting with some poor hapless dreamer strapped to the “directed by” credit like a keelhauled sailor punished for his idealism.

This is a comic book movie that feels adapted from a bunch of Bazooka Joe strips rubber-banded together. It’s a big ball of candy, mushed together and flung at the wall, and we’re all invited to happily take a bite out of crime.

Think of Timmy Failure like a food truck: the best ones do one or two things really well, and commit to just doing those things. With McCarthy et al., Timmy Failure‘s virtues are an expertly-delivered dry wit that works for kids and adults alike, and a series of adorable performances, from Fegley and the rest of the kids to the all-too-game adults.

More than a metatextual look at the struggles of indie filmmakers to gnaw at their own emotional wounds, Black Bear is an astounding showcase for its leads, and way more than it says on the wrapper.

Both here and in the real world, Tesla is more legend than man, and we can only ever really comprehend him through that warped lens. Almereyda understands this fundamental hurdle in the biopic formula, and leans into it with refreshing candor.

For its unconventional structure and occasional flights of fancy, The Glorias all too often reads as a bog-standard biopic more interested in recounting history than telling a story.

Try as it might to blend the music-conscious idiosyncrasies of Portlandia with the varied persona of one of our weirdest, most valued artists, The Nowhere Inn ends up going, well, nowhere.

The most important thing is that it’s funny and charming in all the right ways, a slight but sweet meditation on the viability of long-term relationships.

Whether as an amped-up look into a great singer-songwriter’s musical process from page to stage, or a deeper dive into the psyche of America’s most frustratingly composed artist, Miss Americana feels insightful and hypnotic.

The glory of Hittman’s film is in finding those moments of beauty among the brutal silences, and the magnetic grace that can be found in a person’s most difficult days.

Gretel & Hansel updates a classic fairy tale with impressive results. It’s a gorgeous and moody film that trusts the intelligence of its audience.

Zola‘s not without its faults. The script is a little too loosy-goosy for its own good, and the last 10-15 minutes are admittedly a lackluster resolution to the high-tension hijinks on display. But until that point, it’s downright thrilling to watch a film breeze through its grimly funny energy with such exuberant confidence, especially with such a new, vibrant voice in Paige.

Whether a treatise on the complexities of family dynamics, or the transformative power of love, or a dollhouse exploration of weird, broken people flailing for meaning in an uncertain universe, Kajillionaire carries plenty of rewards for those who are willing to succumb to July’s particular set of skills.

Whether you like Wendy will depend almost entirely on your continued tolerance for the baby-Malick stirrings of Zeitlin’s style: roving, evocative camerawork; the unpolished roughness of unknown child performers; treacly sentiment pouring from each horn blast of Romer’s score; or France’s storybook narration. At nearly two hours, that’s a lot of syrup to pour down your throat, and the unapologetic mawkishness of it all can rankle after a while, even if you’re attuned to the film’s wavelength.

In turning Force Majeure from a sophisticated tale of broken masculinity into a thunderingly-obvious marital drama, Downhill unfortunately lives up to its title.

It doesn’t always work, and the results are more than a little misanthropic (especially given the cruelty of its opening and closing moments). But if that’s your jam, and the prospect of body-swapping assassins coated in guts, gore, and neon appeals to you, Possessor‘s Argento-soaked atmosphere ought to fill that need.

Barely seen or even heard of since it was made, this “lost” Romero film doesn’t disappoint, and even though it’s not technically a horror film, it will scare you into spending any and all free time tending to anyone over 70 for fear of karmic retribution.

In something as herky-jerky and convoluted as The Gentlemen, the viewer has enough to worry about keeping the whole story straight without dreading the next tone-deaf thing to come out of an esteemed character actor’s mouth.

The mood and atmosphere is appropriately unsettling, and the stellar cast never stops trying to elevate the material, all of which makes it even more upsetting to watch as it slowly unravels and botches the landing.

Weathering With You’s remarkable animation and delightful characters come together for the perfect storm of creativity, inspiration, and romance. Yet, for all its exploration of the supernatural, the film carries such a profound universal feeling. Sure, it’s another solid love story, but it’s the film’s messages of hope and of keeping one’s head up in the rain that will endure.

At 100 minutes, with just enough digital chutzpah to keep everyone reasonably amused and never quite annoyed, Dolittle is tolerably fine.

Bad Boys for Life thrives from stellar action filmmaking and could be an affecting closer to an action film trilogy, even if there are moments that feel like an attempt to build a cinematic universe of sorts (including a misguided post-credits tag).

Underwater is a solid creature feature that isn’t afraid to acknowledge its sub-genre predecessors. Kristen Stewart shines amidst a mostly likable cast, anchoring a film that moves at a relatively brisk clip, particularly in its bombastic opening and closing sequences.

Sadly, The Grudge is an underwhelming entry in the long dormant franchise. This cursed production — delayed from release last year — hardly feels worth the wait, and is certainly not worth the price of admission.

VFW delivers the goods—tough-guy dialogue, memorable characters, and so much splatter— and audiences will be giddy as adolescents as the gore literally explodes on screen.

While the cabin seemingly offers a rural respite, the endless snow and the situational horror of it all adds agoraphobic washes to any space. Couple that with captivating uses of grey and silver — seriously, the gradient factor in those two colors here is awe-inspiring by itself — and the dread becomes suffocating.

Little Women is made with so much love and enthusiasm — both behind and in front of the camera — that even the deeply sad scenes still fill you with joy and longing. It’s an explosion of emotions, from loss to love to everything in between.

A tightly constructed narrative, which examines the role of forgiveness,The Two Popes is a lowkey buddy comedy that simply follows two actors at the top of their game.

It’s hard not to see the parallels between A Hidden Life‘s setting and the modern-day world in which it’s released. In an era where nationalism reigns high, and people’s loyalties are questioned when they refuse to defer to a leader they cannot support, its abstractions feel universal enough to graft onto the world stage of 2019.

As an adaptation, Cats is declawed, never delving fully into the possibilities offered by its proportion-manipulating trick photography and its animated cast. As a big-budget spectacle, it’s a triumphant disaster, if one at least born from a unique idea.

It’s a breakneck conclusion to what’s been a breakneck restart.

Bombshell is at its best when it’s an amusing behind-the-scenes look at Fox News and how the entire operation is setup to enrage your parents. But the film’s at its worst when it’s trying to tell a story of empowering women via problematic real-life figures.

The real horrors of campus assaults should be examined, and horror makes for a perfect vehicle for that discussion. Yet this remake’s ambitions are too lofty for its own good. The messaging forgoes finesse and grace in favor of blatant lecturing, cramming patriarchy, rape culture, toxic masculinity, and white male rage all in an unsatisfying Christmas horror package.

While Howard Ratner is undeniably Adam Sandler, one of the most famous actors in the world, you’ve definitely never seen him like this before. He’s working with non-actors, some of them literally off the street because this is a Safdies production, and there’s just a sense of authenticity and rawness that you don’t see in mainstream cinema.

Make no mistake, this is a film made for frivolous consumption with car chases, swooping crane shots, cheesy one-liners, and crass humor. Sure, there’s some political commentary lurking underneath, but it’s not particularly savvy.

As a political or journalistic statement, Richard Jewell does have the unfortunate tendency to come across like a rant. But that does not greatly detract from the film’s rich biography of Jewell: Here’s a man that was perhaps doomed to be part of an inquisition.

The Next Level just feels like more of the same, and some of its bigger swings might just even border on the irresponsible. As kids’ fare goes, this series remains weird enough to not totally write it off. But for the next version, they might have to work out some of the bugs.

It’s probably best to view the film as a cypher, an opener of questions, with the red dress at its center a door to whatever might lie outside daily routine, however violent that passage might be.

Daniel Isn’t Real is exploitation that eschews the trashier elements of the genre. As a director, Mortimer frames a great shot and pulls gangbusters performances out of Robbins and Schwarzenegger. It’s minded, but also massively entertaining genre cinema.

The long-shot is hardly a novelty — as it so often tends to be wielded in Hollywood — but a point of view — a feeling even. And rarely, if ever, has that style been so affecting and executed so beautifully.

Queen & Slim is a traditional road movie with decidedly untraditional inclinations, a romance framed against stark realities. But it’s equally a political act, a film whose very existence demands questions about the ways stories like it are typically told, from whose perspective, and perhaps most valuably of all, for what audience.

On the surface, we get a rough-and-tumble action film from the bygone era that serves up the middle-of-the-road divergences that play into a larger scheme of police corruption. However, the plotting gets tripped up by too many self-imposed obstacles that cause this otherwise breezy romp to feel weighted down by its own design.

While the film’s intentions are noble, and its story worth retelling, it struggles throughout to lend a lasting weight to its straightforward plotting.

This version of Lady and the Tramp actually lacks the thematic complexity of its ’50s inspiration.

As legal dramas go, it’s quite good; as a Todd Haynes film, you struggle to see the talent for which he’s known.

In holiday gift terms, it ain’t coal, and it ain’t a new car. It’s holiday socks, with a big ugly candy cane and some wavy text on it. Noelle’s cute for a minute, but you’re not going come back to this thing after January.

It’s got twists without being tawdry. Attitude, with sincerity. And Banks offers a reasonable rebuke to past ickiness, playing up the best elements of an old TV show’s original idea. Charlie’s Angels 2019 flies in the face of its tricky franchise past, and makes for a solid evening’s entertainment.

Even its ornamental excesses become beside the point, because the core conceit actually works. Boy, those George Michael songs bind the scenes together like Gorilla Glue. Nothing says quaint like Tom Ford storefronts, too. But these things fade into something warmer, grander, and even a bit telling.

The film is certainly worthy of a legendary metal band like Slayer. The inclusion of Live at the Forum makes the package even sweeter, documenting the band’s latter era as they approach the end of their touring career. Thanks to Johnson and Isham, the band finally has the proper visual supplement they deserve.

It’s handsomely made, and Erivo carries the film on her shoulders, but its movements are too clumsy to give Tubman the actualization she deserves.