Brandon has apparently inherited a great deal from his father both in terms of his filmmaking techniques and his taste in material. As science fiction, Possessor is a little disappointing – it does too little with a pregnant premise crying out for deeper inspection. As horror, however, it’s a rousing success – a shocking and disturbing gem that doesn’t betray itself by softening things during the final act.

As the title character, Millie Bobbie Brown shines in a way she hasn’t in her non-"Stranger Things" appearances.

The film’s characters are as recognizably human as they are oddballs and the narrative arc could be loosely described as a coming-of-age story for a thirtysomething woman who exists in a state of extreme arrested development.

The period detail is impeccable and The Devil All the Time gets high marks for its establishment of time and place.

Other films have told similar stories with greater power. Director William Olsson appears unwilling to fully commit to the darkness that a movie of this sort would need to embrace to be both ephemerally disturbing (which it is) and memorable (which it isn’t).

In short, although Blackbird is effective as a buzz-kill and features a few nicely choreographed scenes, too little about the film feels like real life and who wants a fantasy film that’s such a relentless downer?

The movie never loses sight of its twin objectives: maintain suspense and emphasize a message about the enduring, pernicious power of racism.

The Broken Hearts Gallery meanders through its fantasy island version of New York City with meet-cutes and complications-with-exes until it reaches the inevitable climax.

Kaufman once again reminds us that, without a Jonze or a Gondry to shape and prune the writer’s constructs, we’re destined to become stuck in a frustrating morass of eccentricity and self-indulgence.

By mixing slapstick humor, outright silliness, and a psychedelic edge, Doff trades tension for laughs. He also has a political point to make about class divisions and the haves-and-have-nots.

This isn’t a good movie in the conventional sense of the word but it may hit the sweet spot for those who have declared their affection for the slacker musicians originated by Keanu Reeves and Alex Winter more than 30 years ago.

This more lenient attitude toward the original 1998 film has allowed director Niki Caro to be less reverent in her approach. The result is satisfyingly fresh. 2020’s Mulan follows the same general trajectory as its predecessor but numerous changes – some small, some large – have given it a unique identity.

The film contains some of Nolan’s most ambitious action sequences to-date but one wonders whether the plot density – a not inconsiderable obstacle for some who prefer not to devote their undivided attention for 2 ½ hours – might prove to be problematic.

By taking a different road, Iannucci has provided something that captures the essence of David Copperfield without being constrained by every detail.

It’s an arthouse production made with arthouse audiences in mind but I found it to be a more compelling experience than the equally “important” (but entirely too safe) "Radioactive," which played in the same general historical era with less zest.

Although it would be fair to say there are “feel good” moments in the movie, the film as a whole seeks to dig a little deeper. It’s not as effective as the effervescently witty "500 Days of Summer," but there are times when it strives for a similar sensibility.

Underwritten yet nevertheless enjoyable.

Most of the movie involves Rogen interacting with Rogen and this is problematic on a number of levels. First, neither version of Rogen has a good feel for the shifting tone of the movie. Secondly, without another human to play off, Rogen is frequently stiff. Or, to put it another way, he has zero chemistry with himself.

With an abrupt and unwelcome shift in tone and a surprisingly ordinary resolution, The Burnt Orange Heresy falls short of its Hitchcockian aspirations.

Howard is an affectionate but unremarkable biography of Ashman that uses archived clips and new interviews to present an overview of the man’s life with a special attention on his later years.

In the end, however, it’s all a rather hollow experience (as is too often the case with existential horror).

For what it is, Summerland is solidly made, but don’t expect anything extraordinary from the production.

Although it does an adequate job of illustrating the reasons why history remembers Curie, it feels more like a Victorian/Edwardian era soap opera than the chronicle of a scientific pioneer.

Hanks’ script is an example of economical storytelling and the end result is a thrilling 75 minutes of the kinds of things one expects from well-made submarine movies.

While Palm Springs doesn’t stray too far from the idea introduced by "Groundhog Day," it’s the first derivative film to be more deserving of a commendation than derision. Or, to put another way, it feels more like an homage than a rip-off.

The Old Guard blends the intelligence of a well-written dramatic sci-fi/fantasy tale with the action/adventure of a big budget motion picture.

The Beach House is a middling horror film with aspirations of recalling The Fog or The Mist but lacking the screenplay to come close to either.

It’s no surprise that this is one of the best films of the year (and would have retained that distinction in any year it was released, not just this one).

For those who appreciate the genre, this is a better-than-average merging of technical craftsmanship, narrative coherence, and competent acting.

The Truth is layered and offers a treat for those who savor acting on the highest level, but it is a step down from his best films and may hold its strongest appeal for those who label themselves cineastes and art house movie-lovers.

Wages of Fear is the kind of motion picture for which commonplace phrases like "white-knuckle tension ride" have been coined.

A high-concept, low-brow romantic comedy that overstays its welcome by at least a half-hour and can’t decide whether it wants to buy into or satirize the incomprehensibly popular European singing contest.

This isn’t a hard-edged or particularly nasty film. Its political satire is even-keeled, attacking the system as an entity rather than either party in particular.

The movie does an effective job with all the expected horror movie tropes – things that go bump in the night, shadows that don’t move the way they should, images in mirrors, etc. – but the basic narrative loses its way around the time that Amanda Seyfried is sent packing.

Unfortunately, following a key narrative inflection point, the suspense starts to leak out like the air from a slightly punctured balloon as the screenplay stumbles through minefield of hostage movie clichés on its way to a predictable and moderately unsatisfying conclusion.

Is Lee preaching to the choir? Perhaps but those not already in the fold who give the film a chance may discover that the things Lee is saying are hard to disagree with regardless of your race, creed, or color.

Although the problem lies primarily in the difficulties associated with condensing an epic tale into a short-ish movie, the lack of elegance with which that is accomplished makes Artemis Fowl a failure for anyone hoping for the next great fantasy film.

Simultaneously funny and touching with elements of pathos to go along with the raunchiness. However, The King of Staten Island runs too long and, as result, it loses steam while chugging toward the ending.

Put this one squarely in the “guilty pleasure” category. And keep in mind that if you can’t be entertained by a thirteen-year old girl ruthlessly dispatching evil-doers in ways that will make a horror film fans tingle with glee, this may not be your cup of tea.

Although the narrative trajectory may be familiar, the specific path taken by director Andrew Patterson feels fresh.

Playing the love interest, Kelvin Harrison Jr. does as much as he can with an underwritten character. Ice Cube, as is increasingly the case for the veteran musician-turned-actor, steals every scene in which he appears.

The Lovebirds stands out as a worthy opportunity for home entertainment.

Despite a few effective “gotcha!” moments and Pegg’s performance, the movie is too artificial and undercooked to work. Logic and consistency are often overlooked qualities in today’s cinema but when they’re ignored to this degree, their absence is noticed.

There are some jokes no one under 10 will get (a few of which are pretty funny) to go along with the visual diarrhea that clutters the screen with needless “action” sequences. The resolution to the emotional component of the climax feels like an unearned cheat, but I suppose it’s okay when one considers it will probably work for children.

Everything about director Rachel Lee Goldenberg’s film is bright, garish, and peppy. Although watchable as a sort of mindless flashback, it doesn’t work as a movie.

Those who enjoy gritty, angry Westerns (especially those set in the Australian bush rather than along the American frontier) will find much here to their taste, none of which is in need of additional seasoning.

There’s a tiny problem, though: Clementine is neither erotic nor a thriller.

Without question, Extraction is the best action-oriented film released during the first third of 2020. One could argue that such a statement is damning with faint praise.

Robert the Bruce is too long by at least a half-hour for the surprisingly slight tale it has to tell.

For roughly the first two-thirds of its 109-minute running length, To the Stars is an effecting and effective tale of female bonding. Unfortunately, the wheels come off toward the end as melodramatic contrivances result in an unlikely climax and unsatisfying denouement.

It’s closer to horror than the usual lightweight fare one finds in the genre.

One note portrayals, skin deep characters, and a glacial pace all combine to prevent The Quarry from succeeding either as a slow-burn thriller or a message-oriented drama.

We’ve seen this kind of thing before but it’s done with sufficient schmaltz to work on its own terms. Damning with faint praise? You betcha, but that’s all I have.

The movie is handsomely mounted and consistently engaging. Yes, the story is familiar but part of the charm is seeing how key scenes have been re-envisioned by the filmmakers.

The film maintains a light tone and, although that creates a breezy, unforced approach, it also undercuts tension. (If they were trying to replicate the delicate balance achieved by Wes Craven in Scream, they haven’t completely succeeded.)

Trolls World Tour is better suited to watching at home than in a theater. It’s a shadow of its predecessor, a regurgitation of some of the elements that made the first one popular but without the sense of spontaneous fun.

The beating heart of Never Rarely Sometimes Always isn’t Autumn’s struggle with terminating her pregnancy; it’s the way the two girls discover companionship and the strength it offers.

Weaknesses in the movie’s final 15-20 minutes don’t detract from how enjoyable the rest of the film is with its over-the-top gore, wild misdirections, surprising twists, and unsubtle stereotype-based lampooning.

The movie demands a willing suspension of disbelief and, for those who can accommodate, it opens a portal into a hellish, allegorical nightmare about the placid myth of suburbia gone wrong.

The humor avoids becoming too outrageous. This is like an indie version of Olivia Wilde’s "Booksmart," which was filmed after Banana Split despite being released earlier. Both films offer complex perspectives of high school-oriented female friendships without demanding a happy ending for the happy ending.

Although there are some structural and pacing issues, the film as a whole works by doing David Lynch’s favorite trick: finding the rot underlying the seemingly placid exterior of small town America.

Bloodshot suffers from a world-building failure. With too little time and emphasis placed on crafting the setting and exploring some of the rich possibilities of the milieu in which events transpire, the movie turns into little more than a ho-hum Vin Diesel action film.

Spenser Confidential is a perfect Netflix movie – a mid-budget action/thriller featuring a recognizable star and not requiring much in the way of attention or dedication from a viewer.

Despite narrative issues, the film is overall affecting and effective with Ben Affleck’s powerful performance being a driving force.

It’s solidly entertaining, contains an element of emotional resonance, looks and sounds great, but isn’t special.

For all his passion to tell this story, Heckler doesn’t seem sure of the best way to conclude it.

Whannell fails to address how easily the power of invisibility can be foiled in today’s world where anyone can buy cheap (less than $200) infrared goggles for overnight delivery.

Watching 63 Up as a stand-alone endeavor may not seem remarkable. In fact, it may even be a little boring. But watching it as part of the larger picture imbues it with immediacy and power.

Harrison Ford gives as dignified a performance as he has managed in many years. And the cinematography (by veteran Janusz Kaminski) is glorious. But the tonal shifts threaten to cause whiplash and the “improvements” made to London’s book (presumably to make it more cinematic) undermine both the thematic and narrative integrity of the tale.

The chief problem with Seberg, as is often the case with biopics, is that the filmmakers never really find the character underlying the historical figure.

The biggest shock of this new movie re-imagination is that it makes the original seem fresh and smart by comparison. Perhaps that makes this whole endeavor nothing more than TV producer Aaron Spelling’s posthumous fantasy.

It’s a 99-minute commercial designed to drive sales of merchandise. Okay, it’s not as bad as "Super Mario Brothers," but that’s damning with faint praise.

Taken as a whole, the approach doesn’t work and ultimately comes across as more off-putting than successful.

The movie starts with a series of kaleidoscopic, high-energy scenes that prove to be Birds of Prey’s high point. Even in these early moments, there’s a sense that narrative isn’t going to be a big selling point for this movie and those misgivings prove to be correct.

Unevenly paced and with a miscast lead, the movie fails to get us to care about its automaton main character as she goes through the motions in a generic spy thriller.

Ritchie’s strengths as a filmmaker don’t include developing complex female personalities so Dockery’s Rosalind is more like a male fantasy caricature of a strong woman than an actual character.

So, for Bad Boys for Life, we avoid a trip into the lowest depths of hell in favor of a dead end.

Even the characters with the most screen time are (at best) slightly developed – there’s just enough humanity for us to be interested in whether they survive, although any emotional attachment is minimal.

The movie stands out as one of the year’s most memorable experiences.

It’s a big-screen cartoon and, although it may work for its target audience – video game-consuming pre-teen boys – other viewers may find the production to be lacking in anything beyond a little visual razzle-dazzle.

Jamie Foxx, compelled to take the role for personal reasons, turns in what could arguable be the best performance of a varied career. (Others might say that the distinction belongs to his work in Ray.)

Gerwig is trying for something a little different, juggling the time frame and creating a “meta” ending to make the story’s feminist themes overt and incorporate an ambiguous “twist” that some will see as clever and others may find heretical.

With Bombshell, thanks in large part to the contributions of his actors, Roach has crafted a compelling “ripped from the headlines” motion picture that unfolds like a page-turner. Unfortunately, with little room for nuance or detail, it lacks the depth necessary to make it more than a superficial dissection of what amounted to low-hanging fruit in the 2010s series of major headline sexual harassment revelations.

An individual’s appreciation of Cats may rest on a previous love of the stage play; others are more likely to throw up a hairball than purr in contentment.

The movie consists of a bunch of random events and, if you pause long enough to consider things like plot and motivation (something you’re not supposed to do), it becomes evident that most of the movie doesn’t make any sense. Add to that an anti-climactic ending, scattershot editing, and too many extraneous characters and the last Star Wars movie is the most bloated and least satisfying of all the main-line adventures.

The edgy, claustrophobic approach to filmmaking is there, as is the importance of setting. There’s never a clear sense of where the movie is headed and, when it gets there, it arrives with a bang.

By keeping the tone from becoming too somber and generating a degree of sympathy for Jewell, Eastwood has crafted an engaging (albeit fictionalized) account of the triumph of ordinary men over the establishment.

The Next Level feels a little too much like a money grab and, although moderately entertaining on a popcorn level, there’s a sense of missed opportunity.

At its best, this movie is searing. It pinpoints many of the little talked-about aspects of divorce that seem the least significant but hurt the most. It also eviscerates the practice of Family Law without apology.

Overall, this is a well-acted peek back in history to an era when scientific and engineering techniques currently taken for granted were in their pioneering stages, impelled forward by humanity’s insatiable desire to explore and conquer new vistas.

Frozen II is a worthy follow-up with enough heart, action, and music to entertain younger and older viewers alike.

It’s exceptional escapist entertainment for those who don’t mind a little spice sprinkled into their cozy mystery.

A celebration of Mr. Rogers and the healing capabilities of his words and doctrine, the movie may not be a splashy as many of the year-end multiplex stocking stuffers but the experience it offers tugs effectively at the heart strings.

Although arguably too long and arduous for theatrical viewing, it’s perfect for the more comfortable, relaxed confines of home viewing when the prospect of immersing oneself in a director’s creative vision for 3 ½ hours is less daunting. Whether seen on the big screen or a small one, The Irishman is among 2019’s best motion pictures and should receive its share of Oscar attention in 2020.

This is solid, middle-of-the-road entertainment. Slow patches aside, it finishes strong and, although it probably won’t win the box office race, it may generate some Oscar interest (because Bale is almost always good enough to warrant that sort of attention).

With Paul Feig in the director’s chair, this unapologetically sentimental film provides viewers with opportunities to laugh and cry while morphing into something a little different than what the trailers and marketing material suggest.

Doctor Sleep is more straightforward and narratively clean than "The Shining." Although too long by at least 20 minutes, it is more accessible and doesn’t overly penalize those who haven’t seen (or don’t remember) the original movie.

The problem with Waititi’s approach, not unlike those faced by Roberto Benigni 22 years ago when he made the divisive "Life Is Beautiful," is perfecting the tonal shifts. His difficulties in this area can create a whiplash effect that results in the overall production feeling a little “off.”