The Mule is a functional take on capitalism, work-life balance, and the creeping, overlong process that is aging. The tense moments click.

The Thanksgiving table is a perfect battleground for these heavily entrenched political lines, with Barinholtz’s smart, nuanced script pulling no punches. While the satire definitely loses some of its bite in its wild, unpredictable closer, the film still takes Barinholtz and Haddish to fascinating places as performers – neither of them have been as intense or vulnerable onscreen to date.

Sisters is made of pure, frenzied comic momentum.

Roman J. Israel, Esq. is sometimes a compelling movie and often a difficult one to keep with, but it’s a flawed challenge that you’ll be grateful you gave a chance all the same.

Fittingly, The Midnight Sky suffers from the same weightlessness as its astronauts — Clooney opens his big, wet soulful eyes, and Alexandre Desplat‘s overly-aggressive score lays on the emotion as thick as syrup, but none of it lands.

Although the movie is warm and affectionate enough, Dean is not very good, and at its worst the film treats its audience as if it is fairly stupid.

Creative Control ably captures the entitled narcissism of modern Brooklyn twentysomethings by way of a plausible near-future,

Waititi’s witty script and colorful supporting role as Adolf Hitler are the obvious comedic highlights of Jojo Rabbit. But the film only works because it manages to nail its balance of tones.

Jump scares are all Sandberg seems to have in his bag of tricks, and each is clunkily executed and met with an agonizing, ear-piercing shriek. Watching Lights Out is like standing next to an idiot with an air horn, never quite knowing when it’s about to blow in your ear. It’s a far cry from the freaky grace of his short.

One of Eastwood's most pleasing character studies since Million Dollar Baby.

Snowden is a film of sincere outrage, even when it strains to articulate that outrage in a less from-the-headlines manner.

What Skin lacks in history, context, or behavioral psychology, it compensates for with pure angst, dread, and guilt. It’s the human element, the bare skin as it were, that makes this film stand out. It’s a melodrama with characters that inspire interest, if not fondness.

Happy Death Day is a lot of fun when it allows itself to have fun.

Brahman Naman is like a crispy Samosa with nothing at the center. The Netflix release, directed by Qaushiq Mukherjee, pays homage to American sex comedies from Porky’s and Revenge of the Nerds to There’s Something About Mary, but lacks the heart to go along with the excess of raunch.

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 the fresher lines, not the repeats, which draw bigger laughs — in fact, in some cases it feels unfair to the actors, making them recreate scenes that were already stellar in the original.

Like a bullet fired by the Equalizer himself, this third film is efficient, effective, and entertaining, with a narrative that eschews twists on top of twists in favor of drawing the viewer into this small town where Robert’s found refuge.

The Finest Hours is exactly that. Fine, while embracing its studio aesthetic and morally true heroism.

While treating entrepreneurism like a classic Greek tragedy isn’t a bad idea in theory, Nguyen’s script is more than a little clunky, and the imagery nakedly self-serving. It’s a film about two people digging a hole so they can make ten more dollars per transaction, no matter how handsomely it’s presented.

Drew Pearce‘s Hotel Artemis...falls victim to much of what ails any ensemble picture — rushed plotting, forced coincidence, indulgence — but still manages to make a big impression.

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

Mangold’s steady direction doesn’t quite live up to Spielberg’s signature flair, but this is a solid entry in the franchise, solid enough to even inspire interest in future installments.

For Good doesn't successfully sell Elphaba's decree that "no good deed will I do again," one of the movie's many muddled moments. It does, however, reflect an age where every message feels muddled, no hero can be trusted. All we know is that something is rotten here.

Although the changes to the source material are guaranteed to polarize some Stephen King fans, Pet Sematary bucks the remake trap of simply paying homage to an iconic piece of horror. Instead, it makes drastic changes to the plot so it can ultimately go more complex with its themes. That’s a hell of a trick to pull off. Sometimes, different is better.

Regardless of its seemingly admirable intent and ambition, The Laundromat is not a good film. It’s sloppy, and self-indulgent, and in no way worthy of the self-satisfaction it brings to its big conclusion. It’s not without its amusing moments and solid performances, but it is, in the end, a thoroughly frustrating and tedious experience.

Spinal Tap II holds onto the real sense that these men, despite everything they've been through, have loved each other almost their entire lives. Guest and McKean in particular met in college in the late 1960s, and they've been playing music together ever since; there's something beautiful about the fact that they've found their way to this moment, after so many decades — one where the only laughter they care about is each other's.

Like in fighting, there are some movies of a certain caliber, which excel because they know exactly what kind of movie they’re meant to be. Road House is definitely a fun watch — because it doesn’t punch above its weight class.

You know the characters, the beats, and the general arc. You know how it will end before the first act concludes, and that’s fine. The journey’s pleasant enough.

Fey delivers the performance like the super-capable talent she is, with range and authenticity. She’s a character with a fully expressed arc, foibles and all. She’s the dramedy’s best weapon.

Snyder’s momentum starts to lose steam around the 90-minute mark, and there are too many kooky concepts left frustratingly unexplored. But as a showcase for Snyder’s deft command of action and ink-black sense of humor, Army of the Dead is an exciting piece of brain-chewing fun.

Simply put, Elle Fanning is Teen Spirit. This is a performance piece, nothing more and nothing less, and those invested in seeing Fanning soar in her career have every reason to watch.

If you’re going to tackle serious subject matter, maybe don’t run it through tacky fluff that amounts to a fleeting sugar high. Sure, this movie will get all the right oohs and aahs, sighs and sobs — it certainly won over the freebie test audience at my screening, good god — but it won’t linger.

It’s a pleasure to report that Happy Death Day‘s unexpected delights were in no way a fluke, and Happy Death Day 2U builds on its off-the-wall concept to even greater effect.

It’s visually sumptuous, a heady blend of Burton’s usual broken-doll aesthetic and some seriously impressive visual effects. And most importantly, while long, it’s rarely boring. The bad: It simply doesn’t add up to much.

The surface-level delights are pretty damn delightful, as is Waititi's ability to just let things be strange for no clear reason other than, well, it's fun or cool or hilarious.

The little beats throughout Cold Pursuit are distinctive enough to cover for this gory caper’s periodic misfires.

Liman is no stranger to tense, effective thrillers – his last outing was the criminally undervalued Edge of Tomorrow – and on that level, The Wall surprisingly works.

Murray and Wever are as attuned to their roles as Smith is awkward and miscast in his. But perhaps that’s an appropriate fit for Harron and Turner’s divisive-yet-gripping take on this story: at the end of the day, the Manson women are deeper, more fascinating, and more worthy of exploration than the insecure man that connected them.

As an extended aesthetic exercise with purposefully cheesy jokes, it might be nice if The Munsters had anything to say, anything at all.

It might be a lesser addition to the Guest oeuvre, but it’s a welcome one nonetheless

The Ritual is rich, meaty horror that, despite your feelings regarding its twists and turns, offers up a gripping balance of psychological terror and physical revulsion.

It’s vacuous, ugly, unfunny, and, somehow, not a satire. It might be the worst movie of the year.

Despite its flaws, the film still manages to win you over, even if it never actually surprises you, making it quite an assured debut.

Schwimmer’s great in a role that’s very much in his wheelhouse, but the second half never quite lives up to the first half, and the first half feels incomplete as a narrative, which leaves the whole film feeling like a disappointment.

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.

As the latest installment in what has become its own subgenre at this point, The Commuter serves as a fine example of the kind of tightly-coiled thriller that Neeson and Collet-Serra can do together in their sleep.

Like the real figures at the center, all the schemes and tricks and traps are just the way these men express their sincere affection for one another. That’s sweet enough, but the way their loved ones also get wrapped up in the game as well makes Tag, as corny as it might sound, a testament to the transformative power of play.

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.

Race is a film best enjoyed for its mild ambitions and accomplishments, which easily beat out its missteps.

Deadpool & Wolverine is serviceable in its worst moments and a lot of fun when it's really cooking. Yet if your expectations for Deadpool & Wolverine include a clean explanation of where the Marvel multiverse stands following the Disney/Fox merger (and other related deals), perhaps lower them.

Which is why Antibirth feels more like an anti-film, a piss-poor assembly of remarkable cult actors and brazen narratives that start off divorced without ever being married.

Even as Fate has its fun and chases its highs (a few of which are pretty satisfying), it’s hard to shake the growing sensation that the bloom might be coming off the rose.

Underdeveloped characters and a mishandling of their queerness make the film feel both exploitative and disappointingly flat – and while all the whimsy, color, and dance-punk needle drops are welcome, they’re only brief distractions from Drive-Away Dolls’ speedbumps.

French Exit is sure to divide — it’s got great performances and a confidence in its atmosphere that the gods could envy. The struggle, then, is whether you’re prepared for the sheer amount of deliberate aimlessness Jacobs and deWitt are willing to throw at you.

The humor and the indictment of the warrior mentality win out. Michôd’s better instincts take over, many of the crude jokes land with force, and Pitt is hilarious in this mode.

Frank and Lola is an electric modern noir that thrives from indelible characters and a palatable style.

Fast X, when it comes to the stunts and cars, delivers to some degree, but definitely seems to be feeling the strain of striving for the next jaw-dropping moment, to the point where it all just blends together. Only thanks to Momoa does it feel at all memorable.

Any sense of mystery or suspense quickly dissipates as the film returns again and again to repetitive and terse exchanges between Claire and Allison, whose revelations aren’t as surprising as they’re probably intended to be.

The Running Man does also offer a more anarchic message than we might be used to from our standard Hollywood blockbusters, but that message gets drowned out, leaving behind a loud violent romp that's almost a bit too on the nose for these loud violent times of ours.

Here’s a film with all the right ingredients and a few too many wrong moves, yet one that’s admirable for trying as hard as it does.

The intangibility of Jamojaya‘s storytelling is both a blessing and a curse: it keeps things streamlined, but also prevents us from really being able to dig into just what makes James and Joyo tick. But that’s what’s so intriguing about the picture, even in its flaws.

Watching Twilight, I was floored by how earnest all of this was, how seriously everyone involved took what is clearly a horrible, unhealthy, doomed relationship. And is there anything more teenage than that?

Concussion tries to “tell the truth!” but its filmmaker feels compelled to surround the truth with tales of a man whose life is just not that interesting.

Moondog’s antics aren’t all that funny or captivating, even when divorced from their assholery.

Despite the bait-and-switch of Chan’s limited presence in the film, The Foreigner is slightly better than it appears on paper. Chan and Brosnan offer believable, intense performances, and Campbell coaxes Chan’s style into an abrasive brutality with moments of occasional invention.

What the doc explores [is] the divide between the personal and business halves of Bob Ross, and which one should be allowed to occupy his legacy. Is he a face on a logo that sells increasingly kitschy merch of the man? Or is he the father of a son who loves him and wants to determine how he's remembered?

While American Fable isn’t without its share of flaws, it’s the type of inventive production that hints of happier endings to come.

It’s worth watching for its disorienting and intoxicating atmosphere, but there’s not much narrative substance beyond that.

Although "Wuthering Heights" remains a deliciously horny film, it does summon a certain degree of pure romance, especially in the few moments when its leads are able to see past their misunderstandings and actually connect.

It’s a shame to see a movie this ambitious and well-cast turn out so wobbly, but The Devil All the Time inevitably sinks under the weight of its self-importance.

It’s a film in which provocations are punchlines and treading into potentially offensive territory is an end in and of itself. It consistently pushes every boundary it comes across, and then just sort of stands there and shrugs about it.

Old, for its part, is quintessential Shyamalan of The Happening mold, a slick, amped-up B movie that hardly ever gives away that it’s in on the joke.

The direction and editing are slick and workmanlike, letting the performers do the work without overplaying the limited setting in which most of the film takes place.

Yesterday is too trusting, too confident in its silly dream, and not fun or passionate enough.

Ambulance tightens the story’s frequent ridiculousness into genuine tension; it’s just retro enough to feel like an old-fashioned thriller done up with some newfangled tech that doesn’t choke the images with overly obvious CG.

The film’s comical bluntness could also be construed as off putting, but to criticize that is to deprive yourself the joy of such pulp. And this is pulp, from the brazenness of its violence to the dull bite of its clunky dialogue. What Election Year offers isn’t nuanced satire, but rather a kind of catharsis, a release that’s not so far off from what the Purge itself purports to provide.

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.

Really, the madness of Megalopolis is the kind of thing where you actually do kind of have to see it for yourself. Especially because there are moments that feel audacious in the way that Coppola’s The Godfather shocked audiences back in the day, choices that confirm this is not a filmmaker playing it safe. That’s an instinct to be admired. Even if it results in this.

Aquaman is a pure piece of bright, ridiculous spectacle, hammering its Saturday morning cartoon sensibilities down its audience’s throat with a huge, cheesy grin on its face.

While the best thing about this movie is its clarity of intent, the worst thing about it is that it uses blunt force to call out its reference points, name-checking both Die Hard and Home Alone repeatedly.

There’s an immense amount of baggage weighing down what proves to be a vaguely competent superhero adventure, albeit one that fails to add anything significant to the genre by the end.

As with most Duplass-produced films, Rainbow Time perhaps ambles a bit too awkwardly into its ending. But, if it weren’t already clear, this is a messy movie about messy people, unique in both its character dynamics and worldview.

Despite failing to offer much in the way of freshness or originality, fans of the original will still find this new adventure a suitable companion piece. If nothing else, Double Tap should help to raise the public awareness of Zoey Deutch’s greatness, which is reason enough for the film’s existence.

Bitch‘s third act is an improvement upon its second, mainly in that the movie allows itself to be weird again.

Although the film lacks his absurdism, there’s a musicality to Wain’s direction that’s addicting, and the emotional punch in the final five minutes proves there’s a future for the filmmaker that goes way beyond the yucks.

It’s true that few movies are this aw-shucks nice these days, and for a short while The Fundamentals of Caring finds ways of retaining that kindness without lapsing into platitudes.

The Prom would be glitzy, high energy, and for the most part, harmless — if not for James Corden’s laughably cliched performance, and the film’s inability to figure out which narrative should take priority.

In the end, it’s less the Circle of Life and more the Line of Indifference.

Put simply, Song to Song lacks the soul of Malick’s best work.

It’s genuinely funny at times, but at two hours, it drags on for far too long, and Chastain suffers from having to hold up too much of the film’s weight on her thickly padded shoulders. It’s a killer performance looking for a movie to support it, and it’s just not here.

The truth of the matter is that even a subpar Ryan Reynolds movie features a crap ton of Reynolds Reynolds-ing it up in every scene, and that can be a pretty enjoyable flavor of ice cream, in moderation. The problem is that like ice cream, there’s not much nutritional value here; there are far worse ways to spend 106 minutes of your life, but The Adam Project seems likely to fade from the memories of Netflix viewers relatively quickly — meaning it’s pretty in line with most of the Netflix original films that have come before it.

The terrors put forth by the film are at once specific to the era of its production and timeless in their direct connection to the American experience.

The latest Hellraiser is a massive step forward for the franchise after over 20 years of low-budget, half-hearted misfires. Old fans of the franchise and newcomers alike will no doubt rejoice in Bruckner’s respectful, albeit updated approach to the series, and of course its entertainingly extreme violence.

I might not be able to tell you what exactly Assassination Nation is, but the one thing I can confidently say is that it’s not easy to forget or dismiss.

Life on the Road ultimately makes good in a way that few comedy films based on television characters do. Perhaps part of that owes to Gervais’ not-so-subtle, yet still powerful, insights into David Brent.

Life is like a box of mediocrity. You more-or-less know exactly what you’re gonna get. But for what it’s worth, Daniel Espinosa’s space shocker, while totally born from the same stars as many other films, still lands about half the time.

It’s rough, messy, and overlong, but may well capture the well-intentioned spirit of what it’s trying to do better than the compromised version we got at release. It may even be something I revisit in the future — just maybe not all in one sitting.

There’s a good movie hidden somewhere inside 12 Strong, probably tucked between the many explosions and the endless exposition. Unfussily directed by Nicolai Fuglsig, this is a film that’s all business.