There’s something sad, frightening, or even disturbing around nearly every corner. Still, there’s delight in the world, and it’s hardly in short supply.

Armstrong’s dialogue flows like no one else’s, but there’s something just a little bit unbearable about listening to stupid people talk like they’re smart, and Armstrong doesn’t pull away from that aspect.

Deadpool 2 likes to situate itself as the subversive alternative to so many bloated X-Men films, with all their grave self-importance and bombastic action, but even more of this go-around resembles those movies than its predecessor, and if it reads to you as more than a bit hypocritical, just know you’re hardly alone.

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.

While I Care a Lot has a lot to say about capitalism, feminism, and the current political landscape, it’s also a thrilling dark comedy. The pacing is occasionally slow and some plot points admittedly defy logic, but the film effectively channels the collective rage many of us feel after a year of watching systems catastrophically fail those most in need of their protection.

Furman’s film paints in various shades of gray as opposed to the blacks and whites typical to this genre, and for that he and Cranston deserve praise.

That said, Marshall is particularly well-served by Blunt and Miranda, who seem to be having such a good time together — both as characters, and as two movie starts making a sequel to a freaking classic in really cool getups — that even when floating through the sky on the tail of a balloon looks kind of dull, their charms are nearly impossible to resist.

As a mood piece and character portrait, 6 Balloons is a strong debut for Ryan. But though it doesn’t overstay its welcome, by the time the credits roll, 6 Balloons feels like it still has more to say.

Rabe’s performance here is nothing short of stunning.

For a film that’s all about hope and rebellion, it’s kind of ironic how it’s such a conflicted mess in and of itself. The Force should have been stronger with this one.

A United Kingdom hits all of the necessary emotional notes and political intrigue of a solid historical figure drama.

Anyone who has a heart for 1960s London and its cultural output will find something to appreciate in this sleek and stylish love letter to the era. Anyone who likes either of the types of films that Last Night in Soho is trying to be will probably find something worth watching in it, too. Few will get any proper satisfaction from it, though.

Thomas Andrews in Titanic and Spy Daddy Jack Bristow in Alias, sings so sweetly and wears his suspenders, goofy face paint, and guileless enthusiasm so well in the film that it’s easy to see both why he was plucked from the Canadian theatrical cast for the role. And why a bunch of similarly-minded hippies would want to follow him around an empty New York City and sing about love for a hundred minutes.

Mortimer and Wilson fill their predecessors’ shoes well enough, though the overall presentation is perhaps less theatrically done compared to the expansive, storybook directing in the first two films. The most intriguing additions, however, arrive with this film’s enjoyable pair of guest stars: Olivia Colman and Antonio Banderas.

Flanagan’s scares are so precise, so exquisitely timed, that they’re able to imprint the mind as much as quicken the pulse.

As expected, the real flexes come from the four principal stars. Winter seamlessly slides back into his flannel as Bill, wisely dialing things down to address the years. However, Reeves dials it down too much, coming off as nearly geriatric as he shuffles around as his buddy Ted.

American Made speaks in shorthand, in its visual and narrative language alike, and it’s less the ribald ripped-from-the-headlines commentary it aspires to be than a cynically breezy take on an ugly, unduly buried chapter of American history.

Clemons’ performance is a subtle, warm wonder.

It’s a treacly slog that’s regretfully forgettable.

It’s slick and stylish to the point of distraction. This isn’t horror; this is exaggerated carnival fare.

The ideas tend to be pretty interesting, even when Novak can’t resist the temptation to indulge in certain tropes.

Even when the narrative strays or lingers a few moments too long, it is Kier that reels it back in. Ultimately, Swan Song succeeds and proves that fabulousness has no expiration date.

Caught Stealing is a very different vibe, the furthest thing from an Oscar play but still a surprisingly enjoyable time, a movie where even the end credits have real life and spontaneity to them. And in many ways, it’s still recognizably an Aronofsky movie — which is perhaps its most remarkable achievement.

The cinematography's warm lamp-lit hue also stands out, and Lambert proves to have a solid grasp of tone, building a quiet yet casual intimacy between Noah and Rebecca that leads to some of the film's best scenes.

The Warriors is a gangland fantasia, cut tighter than a snare drum, made for maximum impact.

The movie is like a second verse, sung a little louder and just a little bit worse.

It’s not that the film doesn’t have an opinion on Lewan, it’s that the opinion seems to change every few scenes.

In one corner, you have Scott, fighting to tell an existential thriller about gods, creators, and evolution, and in the other, you have this obvious insistence to pay an ungodly amount of fan service to the past.