Seen exclusively through a narrative lens, there’s nothing special about News of the World. However, this is one of those movies in which the simple story is enriched by the elements that coalesce before, during, and after the production.

Is it a dark comedy with thriller overtones? Is it a serious message movie presented tongue-in-cheek? Is it an exploitative revenge film that uses a flippant style to undercut the darkness? In actuality, it’s a little of all of these and, although there are times when the movie’s approach seems scattershot and some of the tonal shifts can be jarring, the production as a whole feels rambunctious – a perfect concoction for the #meToo era.

Without becoming doctrinaire or espousing a particular religious ideology, Soul offers insight into the concept of death and the potential of an afterlife. It does this while maintaining a light tone and avoiding many of the obvious pitfalls that could accompany addressing such subject matter.

As much a tale of the patriarchal suffocation of those who break from outdated conventions as it is a love story, the film gains much of its traction as a result of the performance of Kate Winslet, whose nonverbal acting represents one of the finest portrayals of her career.

The way Levine has structured Black Bear turns the possible interconnections between the stories into a puzzle for which there is no ironclad solution. That’s part of the fun – speculating what it all means. For those who prefer a more passive experience, Black Bear offers a dollop of frustration but, for those willing to brush aside the web-like strands entwining the first story with the second, it’s an engaging double-feature.

Mank may be Fincher’s most technically challenging production to-date but it suffers from what some might consider to be the director’s Achilles heel: his laser-focus on perfection results in a tepid emotional temperature. It’s hard to feel much of anything for (or about) any of the characters, even the title one.

Moody, introspective, and meditative, Nomadland makes up for its meandering, sometimes maddeningly slow pace with its insights about human nature and its incisive portrait of indomitability.

Sound of Metal tells a story about coping and overcoming while avoiding the narrative pitfall of artifice.

In trying to blend a Twilight Zone-ish mystery with a more conventional approach to sorrow and death, Miele crafts a story that is too artificial to work.

Wonder Woman 1984 is overlong, tonally inconsistent, and poorly paced. Although it raises the bar during its final hour, the viewer has to navigate about 90 minutes of action-deficient, sometimes nonsensical narrative to get to the point where the title character (again played to perfection by Gal Gadot) does something other than moon over her lost love, Steve Trevor (Chris Pine).

Kids will enjoy it and parents will be sufficiently diverted that they won’t be tempted to take a nap. It’s disposable entertainment but the receptacle in question doesn’t have to be a garbage disposal.

Here’s a rare example of a Netflix prestige film that neither runs too long nor overstays its welcome. While some of the A-list directors working for the streaming distributor have taken the opportunity to meander and add bloat to otherwise worthwhile projects, Ron Howard has developed this project exactly as he would have made it if it had been intended for a traditional release.

While the legal stuff provides the film’s crowd-pleasing element, some of the foundational building blocks give The Last Vermeer a little heft, elevating it to a level where one is almost tempted to call it a quasi-art house production.

Although mysteries remain, the film uncovers enough to re-enforce the maxim that fame and stardom can exacerbate rather than cure some ills of the soul.

The Nest is an autopsy of the disintegration of the middle-class dream and its impact on those for whom it becomes a nightmare. It’s a rumination about the fragility of happiness. It’s a modern-day horror film with a spooky mansion, a body that refuses to stay buried, and demons that haunt not the benighted halls of the house but the unsettled corridors of the psyche.

Some of the more serious (and non-homicidal) scenes recall "Prelude to a Kiss" (a gender-swapping movie in which Meg Ryan switches bodies with an old man).

Most of their jokes miss the mark and the movie gets lost in action/thriller territory that’s anything but thrilling.

Casting turns out to be the best thing Bezucha could have done for this uneven screenplay. The pair makes Let Him Go worthwhile even when the storyline is poised to let us down.

After teasing the viewer with the possibility that this movie might be interested in doing more than offering jump-scares, claustrophobic point-of-view shots, and child-in-peril scenes, Come Play proceeds to provide those all-too-familiar sequences and more. Worse, because the lead character is autistic, it doubles down on the issues that can arise from communication difficulties.

The sequel often plays like pro-Biden campaign propaganda. This film isn’t going to be warmly embraced by many Republicans. Sacha Baron Cohen doesn’t simply skewer them; he spit-roasts them over a roaring fire.

It’s the same basic story recycled with slightly better special effects and a different cast. As lukewarm as I was toward the Roeg version, I was open to the possibility that Zemeckis could improve upon it – something he proved unable to do.

There’s nothing in this version of Rebecca to cause it to stand out from its crowded field of predecessors but, due to the strength of the novel (to which it is reasonably faithful), it holds the viewer’s interest and will likely maintain an aura of suspense and mystery for those unfamiliar with the story.

The screenplay is so incredibly dumb that it’s never possible to suspend one’s disbelief sufficiently for the movie’s high points to offer more than a fleeting moment’s satisfaction.

Although The Trial of the Chicago 7 has a serious message, it finds room for moments of (dark) comedy and (gallows) humor.

First-time feature writer/director Zu Quirke does a good job setting things up and sticking the landing, but her approach to the horror elements is generic at best.

Blank uses humor to make her points and they are all-the-more memorable as a result.

Chock-full of unfunny humor, bland characters with nonsensical motivations, and tedious subplots, the entire endeavor might have been shelved if not for the participation of De Niro, Uma Thurman, Cheech Marin, Jane Seymour, and Christopher Walken. A cast like that doesn’t get swept under the rug or sent direct-to-video.

With A Rainy Day in New York, Allen is spinning his wheels – revisiting familiar themes and ideas from other, earlier films that were presented to far better effect the first time around.