I hated it, but reluctantly give it one star for whimsical sets and costumes, and there’s a minute sprinkle of suspense while you wait for a point of view that never arrives.

It’s a tearjerker at times, sure, but what remains is how much a person can endure under impossible circumstances. How can someone be this resilient? It seems unknowable, but movies like this help us to get closer to the truth of our existence. It’s a difficult watch, but an important one.

Not only is Rebel Moon — Part One: A Child of Fire a pale imitation of the George Lucas and Akira Kurosawa films that inspired it, but it’s a structurally unsound mess that fails to inspire any excitement for its planned second half, let alone the trilogy that’s supposed to follow. It’s a blunder of Hobbit proportions.

Wearing its references (if not its heart) on its sleeve, Finnish Oscar entry Fallen Leaves is a slight slice-of-life romance with more than enough deadpan charm to buoy its 81-minute runtime.

Gorgeously photographed by Linus Sandgren, it’s both beautifully directed and cleverly written by British Oscar-winner Emerald Fennell, who follows her highly regarded Promising Young Woman with a film of even more staggering impact.

The point of this overwhelming film—that depraved insanity sometimes goes undetected because of its unexpected mediocrity—has a chilling impact that seems, in the terrifying power politics of our world today, more egregiously relevant than ever.

While it is done well enough, the more complicated family story it eschews feels rarer and more valuable.

Leave it to screenwriter Alice Birch—who has brought Normal People and The Wonder to the screen, among her other credits—to adapt Hunter’s delicate brush strokes into a fully-realized painting that leaves an emotional and philosophical impact.

The film is charming and warm-hearted, much like Paddington and its sequel, and the onscreen delight is infectious.

Leave the World Behind is a dumb movie disguised as a smart movie, a middling thriller whose decorated cast and tricky camerawork can’t compensate for its undercooked, overwritten script.

This time, Godzilla is a powerful symbol of the addictive pull of destruction, and how once unleashed, weapons of mass destruction can never again be contained.

It all combines to make for quite the adventure, enjoyably uncanny if overly broad.

Maestro is the movie of the year. Amendment: not to slight the amazing Oppenheimer, make that one of the two best films of the year. But Bradley Cooper’s warts-and-all biopic about volatile conductor-composer Leonard Bernstein has more passion, tenderness and heartbreaking resonance—and it’s a lot more fun.

The result is a colossal bore that is never passionate, exciting, sexy or entertaining, with an ill-fated titled performance by Joaquin Phoenix that borders on catatonic.

Amidst this dull rendering of a genuinely great true story, García Bernal shines. The actor is nothing if not charismatic, and his lasting screen presence brings much to Cassandro—both the film and the Lucha Libre wrestler.

Despite its protagonist, voiced by British actor Stephen Fry, the film feels oddly disjointed, as if there’s not enough story to sustain 90 minutes of beautifully-made stop-motion and hand-drawn animation.

May December is not for people who aren’t willing to engage in works about awful people. The film is daring in its subject matter and its characters, and the actors bring just as much of a deft, disagreeable touch. It is a deeply messed up movie, and it’s all the better for it.

It’s as scary as a pumpkin pie left in the oven too long. Instead of horror, it’s pretty funny.

The Treasure of Foggy Mountain is not Please Don’t Destroy’s answer to Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping, and it won’t cement them as the next generation’s comedy saviors. They may well have such a masterwork in them, but this isn’t it.

The perfect actor with the perfect part at an ideal moment in his career, Domingo doesn’t simply embody Rustin, he liberates him.

Next Goal Wins is an empty quasi-comedy, filled with cliche jokes and tired bits.

The Killer is a simultaneously hollow and profound meditation on the numerous ways identity has been swallowed up and voided by the various demands of commerce and brand.

At the Gates is a noble film that forces you to think about both sides of a controversial issue in a new light. Not exactly a masterpiece, but highly recommended.

Dream Scenario might have worked better as a character study, which is clearly what Cage wants it to be.

The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes is long, which means that it sometimes lags, but its cast and the well-crafted visuals keep it as entertaining as possible.

Here’s the main thing you need to know about The Marvels, the 33rd movie in the Marvel Cinematic Universe: It’s fun. That shouldn’t be revelatory since comic book movies are supposed to be uplifting blockbuster entertainment, but it’s both a surprise and a relief that Nia DaCosta’s MCU debut is genuinely enjoyable.

It’s been years since either Meg Ryan or David Duchovny appeared in a feature film, but now that they’re back, co-starring in a two-hander called What Happens Later, it’s fairly obvious that neither has forgotten anything about charm or how to keep a mediocre movie alive. They’re still appealing. This film is not.

Based on her one-dimensional book Elvis and Me, the movie is a superficial chronicle of minutiae in the life of a naive girl, blinded by phony illusions of glamour, longing for affection from a child-man who never grew up, and trapped behind closed doors of toxic fame from Hollywood to Graceland. In the darkness beyond the klieg lights, it wasn’t much of a life—and it’s not much of a movie, either.