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.

Most thrilling are the stage sequences. Cooper often films Ally’s thousands of screaming fans from her point of view — putting us in her lucky shoes for a minute...It’s that feeling of exhilaration that makes A Star Is Born the best film of the year so far.

In a perfect world, Tea With the Dames could be a series. Let us be flies on the wall for this posse’s weekly gathering for tea and convivial cackling. And I say this with the delighted surety that they would tell anyone who proposed this idea to go straight to hell.

At its best, Love, Gilda intertwines the comic’s own narration — drawn from audiotapes, interviews and journals — with reflections from her current-day admirers.

French director Yann Demange doesn’t clean up the story or make a hurting neighborhood look pretty. The film stays foreboding, gritty and honest. Merritt’s no-frills style is the film’s greatest asset, while McConaughey brings an authentic paternal concern to his usual trailer-park persona.

Racially offensive quips, flagrant sexism and Tourette syndrome gags all contribute to this witless, scare-free junk.

It’s a lot of fun . . . until it becomes a mystery thriller so convoluted and tonally wacky, Angela Lansbury would have quit in a huff.

The upper-crust British characters in The Little Stranger, the new horror film from “Room” director Lenny Abrahamson, are so rigid they make the Crawleys of “Downton Abbey” look like the Osbournes. The effect is occasionally spooky, but more often snoozy.

Support the Girls is one of the sneakiest bait-and-switches at the movies this year. You come for the cheeky title and stay for the relevant, empathetic story about working-class women.

The story is far less gripping than the consistency of the hunky lead actor’s facial hair. For most of the two hours or so, the beard is perfect. Frozen in time.

The son of Muppets creator Jim Henson has delivered a cliché-ridden, laughless bore that wastes lead actress Melissa McCarthy’s prodigious comic talents and beats well-trod territory with a mallet.

The tale is so bizarre that it’s sometimes comical, and often disturbing. The unrelentingly intense BlacKkKlansman can be very hard to watch.

These dynamos don’t need a screenplay to hold anyone’s attention.

The rom-com ain’t dead yet. Crazy Rich Asians is a defibrillator for a genre that flatlined ages ago. This heartwarming, well-acted — and decadent — film takes you back to the greatest hits of Nancy Meyers, Richard Curtis and Nora Ephron.

She also doesn’t satisfy. At all. After experiencing Meg, you’ll crack open your Little Shark Book and call up Jaws.

I was surprised to find “Cameron Post” a sweet indie film in the tradition of John Hughes. Calmly directed by Desiree Akhavan, the movie doesn’t get tangled in the weeds of politics, but instead focuses intensely on its lovely characters.

Don’t be fooled by its awful title. The Spy Who Dumped Me is the rare secret-agent spoof that doesn’t double-O-suck.

In Hot Summer Nights, Chalamet proves he’s learned Hollywood’s most important trick of all: consistency. His performance here is every bit as good as those past credits — more so, in some respects, thanks to his comedic chops — even if the film’s prestige is dampened by, well, tons of pot, cocaine and gnarly murders.

Writer and director Christopher McQuarrie borrows just the right amount of familiar spy tropes in his second “M:I” outing, and his film, while intelligent and witty, never becomes too self-serious or chatty. It’s the best night out at the movies so far this summer.

“The Equalizer” should be locked in a room with “The Terminator.” Then this lousy series would finally be killed off.