Everything is always loud, from the music to the visual design to the emotions. It's an approach ensuring that Cameron's message will be heard by even the most distracted viewer.

For a film designed to spawn ancilliary products and sequels, Pets is not entirely without its charms

Babylon slowly builds up its wackadoo cartoon version of Hollywood to tear it down at its foundation.

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.

As Stefan might say, this movie’s got everything (you’d expect from a Sundance movie): A period coming-of-age story inspired by the filmmaker’s own life, broader political themes, known stars like Linney and Harrelson playing eccentric characters, and a weepy conclusion.

The film is relatively sparing in how it depicts said atrocity, but the horror of it still comes through, while never distracting from the delicate bond that emerges between Jacqueline and Callie (Alia Shawkat), another ex-pat working as a tour guide through the ruins.

While it flirts with some exciting and original concepts, The Map of Tiny Perfect Things is plagued with an uninspired story, flat characters, and a pair of romantic leads that have zero chemistry. It’s not overtly offensive, but it’s certainly the kind of movie we won’t remember two time-loops from now.

John and the Hole is more of a collection of memorably uncomfortable scenes as opposed to a cohesive (w)hole.

The problem is that, unlike The Big Short, he can’t seem to wrestle with the drama, and when Vice takes a more dramatic turn towards its manic third act, McKay’s preaching winds up feeling like Oliver Stone, Jr. All of those meta, tongue-in-cheek quirks start becoming self righteous and smug when they used to be clever and decisive. It’s a damn shame

An Ocean’s film should steal the breath from your body. Instead, it’ll draw some sighs, some smiles, and fervent hopes for a sequel more worthy of its cunning, charismatic thieves.

All of the events of Respect are to be expected. No new truths about the Queen of Soul are unearthed. But the film itself is well-crafted, and each performance brings storied characters to life.

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.

It’s the sort of odd curio made possible by the streaming age, and even if you’re not a huge fan of Lopez’s work, it’s fascinating to see just how much and how little she’s ready to say about herself; an experience more presentationally honest than truly honest about her life and her choices.

The Front Runner is a naively misguided product of panicked, desperate modern times. But perhaps even worse, at least for the type of film it wants to be, it lands somewhere between irrelevant and a woeful misreading of the room.

To watch it is to open a pizza box that’s been jostled a few too many times. Inside, the cheese clings to the cardboard, sauce splashes against the sides, and pepperonis drip with grease. It might be sloppy, but you’ll be damned if it don’t still taste good.

Like the superhero stories of the ’90s and 2000s that clearly inspired it, Blue Beetle feels like the scrappy origin story we need to get through in order to explore better things in the more exciting sequel. Hopefully, Gunn and Safran see fit to keep Jaime Reyes around for their version of the DCEU, and toy with the true potential of its hero.

Disappointing and confounding, Velvet Buzzsaw can ultimately be filed under What Could Have Been given the kind of talent involved.

What writer and director Kerem Sanga captures so well in First Girl I Loved is high school. What he captures even better is falling in love, or the naïve idea of what it means to be in love as a teenager.

It feels timely and relevant, and Eisenberg demonstrates clear aptitude both as writer and director. For as many questions as it raises, though, it’s a shame the movie itself isn’t quite sure how it wants them to be answered.

It’s well-paced, the kills are inventive, and the gags largely land, especially for hardcore Scream devotees. Bettinelli-Olpin and Gillett finally have a lock on the amped-up Scooby-Doo mystery tone of Craven’s era, and that’s a blessing.

While some viewers may get enough of a nostalgia kick out of Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark, the film doesn’t feel entirely fleshed out. There are elements that make for creepy experiences, keeping the viewer on the edge of their seat, but they often serve as short bundles of anxiety in a serviceable story.

The action scenes are tense and well-staged, and the performances are staggeringly effective. On a technical level, it’s a notable work of formal craftsmanship. But to what end?

It’s steamy and transgressive in a straightforward way, an in-your-face bacchanal of sex and violence of the kind Fennell so delights in depicting. But as the film barrels toward its bonkers but highly predictable twist, the shine on Saltburn begins to fade.

Director Matthew Vaughn’s latest film, Kingsman: The Secret Service, is an attempt at finding a balance somewhere between Austin Powers and James Bond that doesn’t quite succeed.

The resulting film is lacking in subtlety at times, but the world-building offered up some fascinating details, especially in a time when we’re seeing real-life human professions be reconsidered as potential tasks for artificial intelligence.

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.

Because that’s ultimately what Reitman succeeds at with Saturday Night — capturing the allure that’s kept audiences tuning in for what will be 50 seasons, come September 28th, 2024. The sense that something magical is going on in a little studio called 8H. No one knows what will happen. But they want to find out.

The Light Between Oceans is an effective melodrama, but the lingering sensation the film leaves after its end is that it might have been much more.

Directors Adam Nee and Aaron Nee manage to find just the right balance between action, comedy, and romance to make all three work harmoniously together, while playing with a team of all-stars who make the material sing.

Paul Feig’s Ghostbusters is sturdy summer entertainment, at once a freaky comedy and an unexpectedly effective action film.

Multiverse of Madness isn’t wildly unconventional in its story choices, but the fun it has exploring the possibilities of this narrative makes it a treat.

See How They Run feels like it was designed in a lab to please fans of this genre, with Mark Chappell’s script keenly identifying the most beloved tropes of classic murder mysteries while playing with them just enough for freshness.

Wolfs is classy, smart, fun, and engaging storytelling, a solid film that plays great in a full theater and could have offered audiences a nice grown-up night at the movies.

The film is more than an accumulation of shocking twists and surprises. It’s a tawdry but perceptive meditation on the ways that victims of abuse build walls to protect themselves from harm — and the great lengths that someone would have to go to knock those walls down.

Sopranos superfans will find plenty to love about the prequel film.

If you walk into Mary Queen of Scots looking to be dazzled by some great performances and rich art direction, you’ll walk out satisfied, no question. If you want something more than that, it’s likely the reaction will be more mixed.

Unlike similar thrillers cut from the same antihero cloth, Katz and Blair aren’t too concerned with frivolous and expected dalliances like redemption or honor. Instead, they run Coster-Waldau through the ringer, capitalizing on an unforgiving narrative that may be too bleak and uncompromising for some.

Misdirection, tight spots, intimacy as danger. Allied is a paperback thriller’s greatest hits compilation. But the film’s plotting is lively and sincere, gussying up the staid tropes of intrigue into immediate pleasures and perils.

The series moves forward with the succinctly-titled Scream, the first without Wes (this new film is dedicated to his passing), and one that goes full-tilt into horror movie metacommentary, perhaps to its detriment.

If Lightyear is a spaceship heading to infinity and beyond, it's a little bit stuck in its own solar system for now — but that doesn't mean it's not worth the ride.

There’s little camp or gimmickry to be found, which is refreshing for a sub-genre whose films so often resort to bad jokes and kitsch violence.

Even if the rapid-fire pace of the jokes keeps a tiny handful of them from landing, the film gets bonus points for not being afraid to get emotional.

Much of Family‘s humor comes from the juxtaposition of Kate and Maddie’s bonding with moments of pitch-black selfishness.

The direction suffers because Aronofsky is so enthralled with the grotesque potential of the body at the heart of his film that he’s often unable to focus on anything else.

This is precisely the type of movie we expect to see at the summer box office; an incessantly entertaining and dangerous adventure that will leave you breathless.

Take away the delusions of grandeur, and the film is a perfectly acceptable – even enjoyable – tour vlog of a particularly interesting set of shows.

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 pleasure of good company is Robin’s occasionally winning quality.

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.

The messy plot will lose some, and others will find its over-saccharine emotions a reach, but to paraphrase Steve’s description of flight: If you can catch the movie’s uplifting wind, it will transcend the sum of its parts.

It’s vital in the sense that there aren’t enough third-party chronicles of this undeniably potent force in the online world, but it’s sloppy in how safe it feels — it’s easy to imagine the stars agreeing to speak so long as certain topics were either breezed over or avoided entirely.

Though not as unpredictable as the preceding two hours (and nowhere close to the dizzying final act of Cabin In the Woods), the resolution is still a lot of fun, straight out of a thrilling dime-store novel you’d keep by your bedside table.

It makes for a deeply unconventional sort of fairy tale, but this is George Miller we’re talking about. What else did we expect?

There are moments of true terror to be found among the silence and the encroaching existential dread in which the film deals most prominently.

Hughes has seen his fair share of dramatizations on film (The Aviator, Melvin & Howard, The Hoax, even The Rocketeer), but Beatty delivers a fresh, idiosyncratic take, about the figure and the people in his orbit of oddity.

Its aesthetics alone are enough to sustain interest over its two-and-a-half hour runtime, but its hefty length also leaves a lot to be desired in its messaging, if only because Mitchell actually does begin to flirt with a grander purpose at a certain point in the film.

It’s the kind of new-macho action picture that wears its cornball heart on its sleeve — one where the misfit leads learning to work together is literally, mechanically, the way to defeat the bad guy. It may not have Dom and the gang, but Hobbs & Shaw is as self-indulgently silly and giddily earnest as its fellow Fast brethren.

It’s a feel-good film that honestly feels good, and even when it rings a bit hollow, it doesn’t stay that way for long.

By all means, watch it for Gaga doing The Most, or Leto pulling out the most eye-poppingly bad performance of the year with every falsetto lilt of his voice. But be ready for Gucci to try in vain to steady the ship and Get Serious about the all-consuming power of greed, and to yawn when those moments seem to linger too long. Believe me, I wish House of Gucci had a greater share of Lady Gaga death stares and pointed sips of espresso.

It’s just one symptom of the disease afflicting Being the Ricardos, which tries too hard to pack too much in, and ends up incapable of saying much at all as a result, which is baffling, because it’s such a talky movie. There’s a great film to be made about these two iconic television talents and their respective egos. Unfortunately, Sorkin’s own ego casts too large a shadow here for us to be able to see it.

If Lucas and Moore do their six stars...a disservice with their muddy script, it’s nothing compared to the problems heaped upon the film by their direction.

Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again is one of the most batshit crazy pieces of outright nonsense this writer has ever had the pleasure of encountering, and while calling it an excellent film would be going way too far, I enjoyed every single goddamn second of it.

True Romance is for the most part a delightful relic of its era.

Metal Lords, though it hits some nice high notes, never quite grabs you like the best coming-of-age movies thanks to Peter Sollett’s flat, uninspired direction.

The Immortal Man is very much not a jumping-on point for newcomers to the Shelby gang. But it does capture what made the original series so watchable: The grand scope of history as seen from the ground, the daily grind of crime in sharp contrast to world events, and the everyday men and women just trying to survive it all.

Voyeur leaves its viewers with more questions about what happened in the Manor House and what it meant than they’ll have coming in. If that’s hardly the note of finality that many will want or expect, it’s the aspect of the film that perhaps feels the most authentic and honest.

White Boy Rick is a collection of interesting enough scenes in desperate need of a more cohesive framework.

At its core, it’s a simple and triumphant tale of sisterhood, but with so much ladled on top of it it begins to feel as though it’s grasping for a grandeur it doesn’t need. Sometimes, even the most intense emotions can benefit from a light touch.

The film’s belief in and commitment to the simplicity of its premise takes it a lot farther than it might otherwise go.

Outlaw King is like watching prog versus metal. When it’s prog rock – folksy and wooden ­– it’s at its worst. Muted, draggy, earnest, with wee traces of carefully placed humor or commentary on a bygone era? It’s Moody Blues, and even a little Jethro Tull? Hardly worth putting on, unless you like your history slim and bone-dry. But at its best, it’s heavy metal, with swinging axes and church slayings and all sorts of grim goodies.

Lemon remains wholly original throughout, rendering old themes fresh with its bold perspective. It’s also incredibly funny, even when it’s dunking our heads into the darkness of the human psyche.

Little Monsters oozes with heart and soul, making for an ultra likable, last-minute addition to a genre that should be buried 12-feet under in the near future.

Galifianakis delivers a reminder of just what makes his brand of comedy so unique, special, and even a little daring.

Smiles will surface, regardless, as Godzilla vs. Kong is pure escapism and tremendously fun. Legendary clearly took constructive criticism to heart by tinkering with the pitfalls of its Monsterverse, all of which makes for a stylish theme park ride that rarely loses steam. Granted, the smash ’em and mash ’em action may not be for everyone (you have our sympathies), but for those starving for a rock ’em and shock ’em blockbuster, step into the ring with Godzilla vs. Kong.

No Hard Feelings ends up belonging to Andrew Barth Feldman, who very soon may be one of Hollywood’s go-to leading men (following his year-long stint as the titular role in Dear Evan Hansen). Despite the script’s slightly jumbled ending, Feldman aces his character’s transformation, and finds dozens of moments to truly shine.

This is sharp blockbuster filmmaking, coming at a time when IP is seemingly the only thing that gets any door open in Hollywood these days. Rather than churn out something cynical or pandering, though, Flanagan has instead taken that IP and instilled it with heart. Not just the chummy heart he’s hallmarked in past efforts, but the kind that comes from a creator who’s offered a chance to truly honor his influences and run with them.

The presentation and little tweaks along the way make Sing far less grating than you’d expect. There are dozens of great moments, beats, and tunes.

Lizzie isn’t exactly an exciting film, but it’s absolutely a compelling one. Much of that, again, emerges from Sevigny’s work, who finds the notes of delicacy that the film around her occasionally lacks.

It’s a committed portrait of an artist, with White’s devotion to capturing Bruce’s soul almost overcoming the lack of physical resemblance… And you do eventually get used to that. For he’s not trying to be the definitive Bruce Springsteen, either — just a ghost of a man who was lost, and found what he was looking for in his music.

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.

The most surprising thing about Bridget Jones’s Baby has nothing to do with the perennial singleton’s offspring or the tropes of romantic comedies. What’s surprising is that, despite all the contrivances and stale conventions, this movie’s not half bad, and occasionally better than that.

Elvis & Nixon will not go down as the best movie you’ll see this year, but it very well may be among the most purely entertaining.

It’s a movie made of brief chuckles and obvious but well-meaning lessons, and if it lacks the grander ambition of some of the studio’s best and most memorable work, it’s still an enjoyable watch.

Jakob’s Wife is a fun throwback to gory vampire horror, but its gory surface covers some troubling implications. The problem lies in presenting two oppositional arguments and not fully interrogating either of them.

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).

Eve’s backstory proves relatively trite, and the character is given nothing to connect with before or after she sets off on her quest.

Neither Todd Phillips’ hollow script nor his hey-check-this-shit-out direction offer much to work with, but Phoenix still manages to wring enough out of Fleck to make Joker almost work as a character study.

Bailey is genuinely great in the role. But the changes added to the original story feel superficial, only giving the narrative an illusion of depth.

Stone, Thompson, and the gang are all having a ball wearing incredible costumes and living up a squeaky-clean version of ’70s punk fabulousness, and it’s hard not to let that infectious glee take over for a while.

Something’s missing in Complete Unknown, and it’s a spiritual issue. The problem is that for this situation, the unlikely reunion, a natural approach restricts any and all sensationalism, which is why the ending neither bruises nor squeezes — it just lingers.

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.

If you’re willing to lean into the movie’s complete and utter stupidity, Jumanji might just stumble through its languorous two-hour runtime on sheer charm.

While The Accountant 2 isn’t a wholly successful movie, or a wholly successful depiction of autism, it does at least spotlight an autistic character who lives a full life and seems content — who does, in fact, date and do his taxes. It’s not a triumph of representation, but it’s got a better understanding of the subject matter than some government officials do.

It: Chapter Two doubles down on the exhausting jump scares and CGI that plagued the 2017 original. Yet for all its faults—and there are many—it’s still an enthralling and emotionally affecting piece of blockbuster filmmaking.

As the film reaches its conclusion, it seems that the finale needed a more complex foundation underneath the surface for its impact to fully resonate.

There’s just not a lot of weight to this sequel, at least not enough to dissuade anyone from seeing this as anything but a limpid cash grab.

Nerve is refreshing and frustrating in equal measures, mining a genuinely inventive concept for some memorable, Mean Girls-esque pathos about the ways in which the Internet is changing and magnifying social structures for young people today.

It’s a valid mission, one supposes, but rendering Bonnie, Clyde, and their cultural impact in such a one-dimensional fashion doesn’t add weight to its subjects. It only serves to strip dimension away from their own story.