Still, built as it is around big, dazzling action sequences and a terrific cast — which in addition to the charismatic Mackie includes Harrison Ford and Tim Blake Nelson — “Brave New World” still manages to scratch the “Avengers” itch.

The sheer depth of emotion at work in “Nickel Boys” — the palpable anguish, the infuriating injustice, the heartrending loss — more than compensates for any perceived stylistic flaws.

That is the kind of celebrity travelogue we could use more of — because, unlike many of its predecessors, this is a trip worth taking.

[Pierre] owns the role so fully that it’s hard to imagine anyone else in it.

In the context of COVID, Slingshot becomes something else, transforming from what would have been a decent but derivative sci-fi thinker into a stirring ode to the vital importance of others.

Does his film fishtail around narratively? Does it feel overly episodic? Does it lack any sort of stick-to-the-ribs substance? In order: Yes, probably and for sure. But it is also a fun and enjoyable summertime diversion, and sometimes that’s all the message a movie needs.

Fueled by driving beats, irreverent humor and stylish direction from first-timer Rich Peppiatt, it plays like an edgier, modern-day answer to 1991’s similarly rousing “The Commitments,” just with Irish-language rap standing in for American R&B.

It is, in short, a fun, diverting ride — which, come to think of it, probably doesn’t really need context at all.

Unfortunately, there’s just too much missing from the film to make it feel like a complete, coherent vision.

What we end up with is a rare treat: a midbudget movie for grown-ups — no capes, no magic wands, no kid’s stuff. In other words: pure Linklater.

It’s early yet, but “Challengers” is already among the best films of the year so far.

Messages, metaphors and micturation aside, the journey is the thing, and in this case, “Sasquatch Sunset” is a pretty good journey — and thus a pretty good thing.

Half-written, halfhearted and half-witted, it is characterized by the film’s marketing team as an homage to the best of 1980s cinema. Instead, it plays like an empty-calorie parody of the worst of the era, a rudderless cinematic pastiche that passes off random 1980s references as punchlines and which — in spite of its “Frankenstein” concept — never quite comes alive.

So, while “Orion and the Dark” is on one hand a fun and briskly paced fantasy-adventure, it also functions nicely as a smart, thoughtful and often trippy exploration of existential dread.

It is not uplifting and only marginally inspiring — and even then only as an ode to the amount of pain the human heart can endure. But in the sensitive hands of writer-director Sean Durkin (“Martha Marcy May Marlene”), it is also a well-told, smartly crafted story that can stake a realistic claim to being one of the more moving and compelling sports dramas in recent memory.

Admittedly, it won’t likely supplant 1971’s “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” in many people’s hearts as the definitive cinematic adaptation of Dahl’s “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” Still, it is a delight in its own right, a sweet, funny, colorful and suitably wondrous burst of family-friendliness.

It is strange. It is stylish. It is at once daring, funny, beautiful and surreal.

No one should mistake Scott’s Napoleon as an overtly political film. It’s true ambitions are to entertain and inform, in that order.

In Quiz Lady, the sum total is a heartfelt but uneven shrug that probably should have been better than it is.

As telegraphed by that inexplicably vanilla title, Domont’s film spends much of the previous two hours vacillating between unembraceable and downright boring.

What we’re left with is a well-crafted genre thriller that is ultimately tripped up by its art house aspirations.

It goes down far more easily than the budget-friendly tripe so often passed off as a romantic comedy here in the streaming era.

It doesn’t talk down to its young audience or hold up its teenage characters’ perceived imperfections for ridicule. Rather, as Hughes’ movies were so good at doing, Bottoms meets its viewers on their level, connecting with them and laughing with them about the absurdity of the modern adolescent experience.

While Nattiv’s film is a heartfelt tribute, it feels like a mere Polaroid snapshot of a woman who deserves a full panoramic portrait.

And while Simien’s “Haunted Mansion” might not entirely bury the memory of its predecessor, it sure throws a few shovels full of dirt on its grave.

A morality play, this is not. What it is, though, is a sturdy bit of the kind of well-formed, well-conceived regional cinema we don’t seem to get enough of anymore.

Between its penchant for melodrama and an absolute lack of warmth, The Lesson isn’t the kind of film that will connect with many viewers in a way that sticks to their ribs much longer than the closing credits. Still, between the work of its expert cast and Troughton’s well-played surprises, there’s enough there to make it a sturdy-enough, diverting enough bit of blockbuster-season counterprogramming.

This is the kind of movie that makes you want to sit through the credits, and not for some “hidden” scene featuring superheroes eating shawarma. Rather, it’s because it’s so pleasant you won’t want It Ain’t Over to be over.

It has its scares — but it all also feels exceedingly familiar, right up to the obligatory set-up for what the studio clearly hopes will be a sequel.

It’s a lot of things, but Master Gardener is first and foremost a Paul Schrader film, and a Paul Schrader film can usually be counted on to deliver one thing above all else: a moody story about a tough man, adrift, who is thrust into a tough situation.

As character studies go, Monica is an especially timely one, determined to contribute to the current conversation about acceptance and understanding. At the same time, beneath it all lies a more universal concept.

For a movie about the value of memories, it won’t go down as particularly memorable. Ten or 15 years ago, its visual effects might have been something approaching stunning. Today, they — like the dialogue, the pacing and pretty much every other element of the film — are only just good enough to allow audiences to suspend their disbelief.

In short, this version of Barrie’s classic tale — which is all about the joy of childhood and the pitfalls of adulthood — feels awfully grown up at times.

Tempting though it might be, it’s not fair to say Ritchie’s film gets lost in translation. But by the same token, when it’s all over, it doesn’t quite feel as if it has entirely lived up to its covenant with audiences.

Blending old-school practical effects with computer-enhanced explosions of blood and viscera, Renfield tips its cap to the past without being overly reverential to it. Add in frequent outbursts of meticulously choreographed action sequences, and we end up with a film that is more fun than frightening.

A big-budget crowd-pleaser that avoids the pitfall of taking itself too seriously, it is well-cast, well-crafted and just plain fun, an old-school spectacle that makes a compelling case for sitting in the dark with a hundred or more strangers and just enjoying the show.

An oddly inert and even old-fashioned yarn, one that sleepwalks for long stretches, defusing much of the drama of what is an undeniably fascinating true-crime story.

Jordan manages to squeeze a decent amount of drama from the obligatory third-act showdown, but even then, his reach exceeds his grasp, with a display of misplaced arthouse ambition.

The result is an exhausting and ungainly mish-mash of a movie that pretends to have something to say but doesn’t really. Similarly, it doesn’t know what it wants to be or — consequently — who its audience is.

As outrageous and fun as Babylon can be, it feels even more self-indulgent than happy hour on Mardi Gras. Granted, excess is the point of it all. Even the film’s running time, at a bladder-busting 3 hours 9 minutes, tests limits. Making matters worse is that for most of the film’s first half, it’s all setting and no story. And, yet, I think I love it.

It’s beautiful, but it begins to fade, and fast — until there’s little, if anything worth remembering.

To be fair, del Toro’s “Pinocchio” does, indeed, get a lot of things right. It’s got a nice sense of humor, for example. It is ambitious. It has heart. Where it falters, however, is in its near-total absence of charm.

This is featherweight, family-friendly fare, through and through. But that doesn’t detract from its ability to distract, thanks largely to a fun, fast-moving script, rich production values and director Harry Bradbeer’s willingness to stand back and let star Millie Bobby Brown shine.

A small, wonderfully minimalist film that nonetheless packs an emotional wallop while delivering a beautifully heartbreaking portrait of the power of human connection.

Every narrative twist is telegraphed, every dramatic choice is expected, every character is one-dimensional, and every scene of heightened emotion is built around tin-ear dialogue.

The real reason Zemeckis’ Pinocchio works so well is because it doesn’t forget the emotion and humor.

It’s Buckles’ first film, and it’s an exceptional debut. Blending archival footage, singular animation and a wealth of interviews, he delivers a vital document that is at once intimate, honest, engaging and indelible.

A satisfying and briskly paced blend of creative carnage, strong visual effects and well-conceived action sequences.

Gray Man is colorful, lively and admirably self-aware of its place in today’s cinemaverse.

Pure cinematic fluff, the kind of film that tends to evaporate within a few hours of seeing it. That being said, Manville is so charming, and the rest of Fabian’s film is so well meaning, and so well realized, that by the time it hits its inevitable third-act moment, it’s hard not to be swept up by the joy of it all.

For all of the faults one can find with Kiet’s film, she’s also exactly the kind of hero many American women probably need right now.

Mr. Malcolm’s List, like “Bridgerton,” is a highly enjoyable, low-calorie bit of cinematic frippery.

From a filmmaking standpoint, capturing so successfully the spirit of such a multi-faceted celebration sounds like a logistical impossibility. But here it is.

Charming as it all is, don’t expect A New Era to win many awards or break box office records. But it’ll definitely hit a sweet spot for those eager to visit with these old, familiar characters once more.

Heartwarming, beautifully shot and more English than a basket of fish-and-chips with a side of mushy peas, it’s an easy-to-watch, easy-to-love crowd-pleaser.

As his character’s cognitive abilities decline, Neeson’s repeated on-a-dime transition from killing machine to stuttering, doddering pawpaw — and then back again — feels eye-rollingly, almost offensively contrived.

From “Dazed and Confused” to “Boyhood” to “Everybody Wants Some!!,” [Linklater's] become one of Hollywood’s chief purveyors of nostalgia, mining it for both humor and poignance. What’s more, he does it consistently well. With "Apollo 10½," he’s done it again.

I Want You Back is sweet and enjoyable enough while it’s playing. At the same time, it’s not nearly memorable enough to earn a spot in most moviegoers’ annual Valentine’s Day rotation.

It might not be as glossily produced as the others. It might not be the kind of animated movie Junior will watch on repeat. It doesn’t have an uplifting, show-stopping anthem. But it has something better than all that: unforgettability.

You want to introduce your kids or grandkids to the undeniable pleasures of I Love Lucy? Then I’ve got one word for you: re-runs. Because Being the Ricardos doesn’t do Lucy justice or suitably celebrate her career.

It is, in its best moments, an interesting exercise for Bullock — and a just-passable diversion for audiences in the mood for something a little more gritty and somber than a repeat airing of It’s a Wonderful Life or some other feel-good holiday standard.

This isn’t your run-of-the-mill character study. It is a smartly conceived and beautifully executed meditation on the co-existing pain and pleasure, complexity and fragility of human existence.

Marking the Oscar-winning actress’ feature directing debut, it’s unquestionably a formula film, telling the story of a talented but troubled fighter whose must overcome long odds, crippling self-doubt and tragic life circumstances to achieve in-the-ring redemption. Familiar though that plot might be, it’s the way she fills in the blanks that gives her film a sense of something new.

it plays more like a drama kid’s fever dream. Overly self-aware, unfailingly melodramatic and very, very pleased with itself, it’s not half as clever — or a third as entertaining — as it seems to think it is.

Taken all together, Branagh’s film is in its own special way like a cinematic equivalent of the Irish brogue that fills it: It’s lovely, it’s lyrical and it’s next to impossible not to be swept up by its charms.

While Villeneuve’s film boasts a certain trippiness, for the most part it lacks any sense of joy, adventure or fun.

Even though Blue Bayou could have been set anywhere, Chon is smart enough of a storyteller to leverage the personality and textures of New Orleans — just as he did with southern Los Angeles in his 2017 film Gook — to lend his film a very specific and very authentic sense of place.

A humor-laced, richly produced adventure benefiting greatly from the charisma and rapport of its lead actors, it's built in the mold of the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie, which was also based on a theme park attraction.

Granted, nobody should expect Black Widow to unseat Spider-Man as the world’s favorite arachnid-inspired superhero. But between Shortland’s storytelling chops, the cast’s charm and Eric Pearson’s solid screenplay, this “Black Widow” has plenty of bite of its own.

While Crisis can fairly be criticized as emotionally cold, with its heavy and humorless story generating more sympathy for its characters than empathy, there’s no denying its timeliness, offering a compelling look at what will certainly be remembered as one of the most underplayed tragedies of our time.

Rarely have New Orleanians looked so ugly, but given current events, rarely has a film felt so essential.

Granted, Luca might not go down as one of the more profound entries in the Pixar catalog. Don’t expect it to make you well up the same way Up or Toy Story 2 did. Still, at a time in which international travel is mostly for the bold, it’s an undeniably pleasant summertime trip.

Audiences won’t likely find it Pixar-profound, but it’s not direct-to-DVD forgettable, either — or “My-Little-Pony”-cloying. Plus, it’s got horses. And, if you’re younger than 13, that counts for something.

But the way [Stone] elevates things in Cruella, taking what is a mediocre, fairly formulaic script and making it sing — making us eager for the next scene, just to see what she’s going to do — isn’t something a lot of people can do, and it’s thrilling to watch.

Aside from the “you-got-your-zombie-thriller-in-my-heist-movie” element, there’s nothing here that’s strikingly original, but Army of the Dead is still fun in its overblown, unapologetically violent way.

As effective as it is, The Djinn won’t conjure up nearly as many eyeballs as Spiral, but those who watch it won’t be disappointed — although they might never look at I Dream of Jeannie the same way ever again.

Rarely, however, are such stories as emotionally laden as that told in Lucy the Human Chimp, a documentary ostensibly about a science experiment but which quickly evolves into something both heartwarming and heartbreaking all at once.

From the blow-by-blow ticktock of the efforts of Secretary of State James Baker during Bush the elder’s administration to Bill Clinton’s failed Camp David summit, they push The Human Factor into surprisingly suspenseful territory, even if we all know how it ends.

If your definition of a good story is one that keeps you on the hook, wondering where the heck this particular journey will take you, then French Exit certainly qualifies.

The good news is that when the monkey and the lizard start fighting — which, let’s be honest, is really why we’re all here — brother, it is a sight to see. Between the chest-beating, fire-breathing and general mayhem, Godzilla vs. Kong is, if nothing else, a visual feast.

If nothing else, Cherry proves Holland has a lot more to give us when his web-slinging days are over.

If there’s a knock on the first Coming to America, it’s that its two-hour running time often felt a touch padded. But that’s better than the entirely forgettable Coming 2 America, which is pretty much all padding.

Raya isn’t without its formulaic plot points, predictable turns or lazy dialogue. Still, on the whole, it’s a reasonably diverting family-friendly showcase for Disney’s characteristic blend of humor, heart and artistry.

The United States vs. Billie Holiday presents Holiday as a victim and little more. Ignored is the fact that the self-destructive Holiday bears at least some culpability for the slow-motion tragedy that was her life — and for her all-too-early death at 44 years old. Daniels, who seems to have made the classic mistake of falling in love with his subject, apparently doesn’t have time for such nuance.

This is the kind of movie that will take different people on different journeys. The one common thread is that, for most people who take the time to truly consider it, that journey will be a thoughtful and meaningful one.

Palmer is a tiny film, but it’s got a big heart, and that helps make it a pleasant and uplifting diversion at a time when many of us could use one.

It’s a movie with the sort of resonance, thoughtfulness and universality that audiences of all descriptions will enjoy — and, more importantly, connect with.

Mank is repeatedly brought back from the brink by its uniformly top-shelf craftsmanship, including some wonderful bits of dialogue.

There’s more than enough deranged originality there — and Christmas spirit, when all is said and done — that it gets the job done, in a cheap thrills, guilty pleasure kind of way.

As mesmerizing as the acting often is, Wolfe’s film is imbued with a certain staginess. Even if you didn’t know coming in that it was based on a stage play, you’d realize it fairly quickly.

Admirably, though, Gibney resists the temptation to climb on his soapbox to deliver some pointed political message. He gives his audience more credit than that.

This isn’t just a film. It’s a cultural treasure – and, given its unlikely journey – a minor miracle.

Frustratingly, whenever it begins to get going and pulses begin pounding, Harper brings things to a screeching halt by introducing flashback sequences to tell us the backstory of Jones’ invented character.

Uncut Gems boasts a kinetic energy that, by the time the closing credits roll, will make you feel like you went to the gym rather than the movie theater.

It’s an impressive cinematic accomplishment and a dandy bit of storytelling to boot.

It does enough things right, and generates enough powerful moments, to make it an effective social-justice drama.

A freshly drawn slice-of-life drama inspired by Perrier’s own real-life experiences as an online “cam girl,” it deals with decidedly uncomfortable subject matter — the introduction of a 19-year-old young woman into sex work — but it doesn’t approach any of it with judgment or shame.

Burning Cane is all about Youmans and his uncommon vision, which would be impressive coming from a filmmaker of any age. Making it all that much more exciting is the fact that this is just the beginning.