This is a film that challenges moviegoers in a way that a Marvel movie or rom-com will not, and it is worth taking the time and concentration — and, if possible, the trip to the theater — to view a true master of the craft at work.

In this new, totally unnecessary version of Dr. Seuss’ holiday favorite, the mean one (voiced by Benedict Cumberbatch) isn’t all that scary or cruel.

The climactic scene, in both story concept and design, is too complicated and peculiar for my tastes. But until that short blip, co-directors Phil Johnston and Rich Moore’s (“Zootopia”) film is supremely intelligent, and Reilly and Silverman once again give deep-feeling vocal performances.

If the sequel is a notch less than its astounding predecessor, that’s because — like Adonis Creed does during moments of doubt — the filmmakers are overcomplicating things.

The latest labored take on the old British legend, Robin Hood is little more than a pitch-black war film, complete with rudimentary medieval bombs and blood spatter on the camera lens.

The lighthearted drama, about a road trip by two men — one white, one black — is unflinchingly optimistic.

A gritty romp that makes the cliché-prone heist genre feel fresh again. It runs far deeper than any “Ocean’s.”

With The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, directors Ethan and Joel Coen venture to the frontier once more, after “True Grit” and “No Country for Old Men.” But this time, there’s only a little grit in this very slow country.

A slow trudge devoid of suspense and adrenaline.

Grindelwald gives us a proper villain and a purpose for this series of — gulp — five eventual movies.

Jackman’s turn doesn’t have an Oscars wow quality; nor does the movie itself. The script’s zingers can occasionally come off as store-brand “West Wing.” But it’s a fun, endlessly fascinating watch in which the big questions outweigh the tiny problem.

Boy Erased is the second gay conversion therapy movie of the year, after “The Miseducation of Cameron Post.” Both are worthwhile. Where “Cameron” was an intimate charmer focused on the importance of camaraderie to get through hard times, the more dramatic Boy Erased is about accepting our family for who they are, in whatever condition they arrive in.

This dramedy, which began filming in 1970, is more than just a museum exhibit for film geeks. It’s a solid, entertaining, complex story packed with eccentric performances.

Some of the powerful characters you thought were good are evil and vice versa. It’s like “Wicked,” but wretched.

Director Luca Guadagnino pirouettes far from the easy-living, Italian-countryside romance of last year’s masterpiece “Call Me By Your Name” for an arthouse-meets-Grand Guignol reboot of one of the freakiest horror movies to come out of the 1970s. And he pulls it off in delicious, gut-punching style.

"Rhapsody” has a shallow script, oversize performances and looks like it was shot in a sauna.

Gyllenhaal and Mulligan are in fine form here, but too much of the screenplay, written by Dano and Zoe Kazan, doesn’t ring true.

Can You Ever Forgive Me?, based on Israel’s 2008 tell-all memoir, has a lot of laughs and a delicious setup, but it hits hardest as a drama about human desperation and survival.

Most importantly, Halloween recovers its long-lost gravitas and self-respect. It makes us remember why we loved Carpenter’s original in the first place: It was artful, frightening and supremely well-acted — not “Scream 4.”

Maggie Gyllenhaal goes from caring to creepy in this Netflix release.

Jeremy Allen White (“Shameless”) and Maika Monroe (“It Follows”) shine in this dramedy.

Carell’s niche right now isn’t awkward anchormen, but parents going through hell. He makes a believable dad to the equally moving Chalamet, who writhes, screams and cries, but never showboats. The perfect pair is better than this movie.

Private Life gives us an intrusive and often funny look into a couple’s struggle to conceive. If only director Tamara Jenkins’ dramedy stayed as grounded as its relatable premise.

This British sci-fi thriller is like the violent offspring of “Black Mirror.”

“Venom”? More like cyanide. The latest movie off the Marvel assembly line is a disaster on every level, from the hatchet-job writing to the horrid performances. Like so many recent superhero movies, Venom has put its focus on juvenile humor instead of heart or action.

First-time feature director Clare Niederpruem gives it her very earnest all, but falls short both on continuity issues (a smoldering curling iron, for example, is dropped to the floor and immediately forgotten) and on making her gradually aging cast match up.

The movie succeeds thanks to director Damien Chazelle’s superb visuals, which land somewhere between the quiet indie look of his previous flick, “La La Land,” and the epic sweep of “Apollo 13.” Space has never looked so sexy, or felt so claustrophobic.

“Old Man” isn’t hilarious or sleek. It’s mellow, like a campfire tale, or your grandpa’s stories set to whiskey. Redford’s voice never becomes louder than your average therapist’s.