Something of an intriguing curio (the first feature film about a subject treated in song, poem, television and theatre), Lizzie has some memorable pluses and significant minuses.

At its core, the film is the story of a man who has outwardly achieved everything that most of us imagine any artist or ambitious individual would want but still has to face himself. As we all do. The film captures that with real poignancy.

Let’s just say the film — scripted by Bader’s nephew Daniel Stiepelman with the Justice’s blessing — successfully splits the difference between capturing Ginsburg as a contemporary folk hero and as a fiercely ambitious intellectual competing for footing in an era when mixing a killer martini was the very height of wifely prestige. No one will mistake it for a documentary.

To give Noé’s credit, he used the Saint Laurent fashion money to practice the split-screen technique which is employed far more movingly in Vortex. He also made the only fashion ad I won’t instantly forget.

It’s an exceedingly black comedy threaded through with intense drama that completely deconstructs the rom-com, casting it as both a shiny and sinister thing… and one frequently inducing vomiting.

McDonagh’s sumptuous version of the novel —which premiered at TIFF last year — is utterly faithful and thus note perfect, capturing its resonant ruminations on social inequity, racism, and cultural tourism in a sweeping Moroccan desert Sheltering Sky novelist Paul Bowles would recognize.

In the end, Nobody 2 is about gratification. The fantasy that the bad guys never stand a chance. That justice is swift, brutal, and delivered without hesitation. It’s not subtle, but then again, subtlety never gets a standing ovation. And maybe, this summer, we need that more than ever.

For viewers of this doc, Strike A Pose, though perhaps overly long and repetitive, is a touching reminder that we all occupy the same world and are vulnerable to its pitfalls… even those lucky (or unlucky) enough to have briefly dwelled in the shadow of the almighty Madonna.

Horror fans will find that Paxton's film is not a straight-ahead feast of digestible thrills and chills. Others might perceive it as an acquired taste. A Banquet requires a deliberate decision to watch as it doesn't pair well with distractions and traditional expectations.

Possibly, no sane person could truly explain Dalí — who could account for the painter of Atmospheric Skull Sodomizing a Grand Piano? — but Harron’s film maintains a wry compassion for these mad love birds, who have spent their lives defying convention and perhaps reality itself.

What works as edgy comedy is determined by what you can get away with. Having introduced depression and virtual incest, I Love My Dad just isn’t adroit enough to find a credible happy ending escape hatch.

There’s more than an echo here of The Client, the 1993 John Grisham adaptation which saw Susan Sarandon playing a maternal role to Brad Refro’s 11-year-old Mafia witness. But the surrogate mother-child bond barely develops here, as Hannah and Connor leap from one near-death experience to the next in this relatively brisk 100-minute film.

There are scenes of explosions, gangland killings, car chases, and more explosions. Still, the film strives to be more than just a mesh of Bay-inspired blow-ups and easy to reach jokes.

In short, Ballerina is as close to a John Wick 5 as you are going to get without calling it that.

Joker has what may be the best lead performance of the year, but it is not for the faint of heart. Director Todd Phillips digs deep into the shadow side of society for one of the darkest movies in recent memory.

Carmen, the debut film from French dancer-choreographer Benjamin Millepied, is an example of a work that flagrantly colours outside the recognized lines, blending melodrama, myth, dance and stagey spectacle. The result doesn’t coalesce into a neat bundle, but at moments, it’s peculiarly exciting.

It’s a fact of life that a novel about the right to die can’t be represented in depth in 105 minutes. But a compelling essence remains in this story about two sisters from a Manitoba Mennonite community - one with a mess of a life who nonetheless wants to live, the other, blessed with a seemingly perfect life, who wants the opposite.

The Retreat’s premise is as effective as it is disconcerting. The violence against its gay characters is horrific, but the film’s gimmicks and twists eliminate it from adding much to a conversation about hate crimes. And the surprisingly comic elements that arrive in the third act suggest there was never any intent to be political.

Despite its winks at its source material, Cruella is very much a fun, stand-alone movie that lets two formidable actresses fly while everyone else stands back.

Whatever authenticity the film hopes to build through its natural-horror premise is occasionally undercut by a visual distortion that pulls us out when it should be dragging us further in. And yet, despite my quibbles, annoyances, and perhaps unreasonable expectations of chimp-centric emotional realism, Primate does deliver where it counts.

This is a brisk, blackly comic film about love, marriage and the exigencies of adult life.

It’s messy. It’s excessive. It overstays its welcome. But like any good dysfunctional family gathering, you don’t leave early.

A raucous, non-stop, full-throttle slapstick comedy that makes an episode of The Three Stooges seem like a production of Swan Lake.

Despite Parker’s apt depictions of the atrocities of war, including but not limited to misogyny, harassment, abuse of power, and crimes committed without accountability, it is a story weakened by allowing the audience to know more than the characters. Careless reveals render a potentially suitable thriller into a merely passable one.

A little distance — and considerable trimming — would have served the story better.

American Sweatshop is an anxiety-soaked story, but it’s not a thriller — it’s smarter than that. Director Uta Briesewitz has created a character study set in a kind of cautionary tale. Lili Reinhart’s understated performance is what keeps the story intriguing. American Sweatshop falters in its third act, but Reinhart will keep you watching regardless.

It’s predictable but entertaining. Unrealistic, but it doesn’t affect the story too much. The relationship between Braxton and Christian has changed from the first film, but it’s a welcome, feel-good change in a story with lots of guns and an epic battle.

In between the long patches there are some scary turns, though with diminishing returns, and director Andy Muschietti and screenwriter Gary Dauberman frequently turn to fears first cousin, humour, by wise-cracking through their peril. This too gets tired. But almost anything would after nearly three hours.