Every life is a universe unto itself, and Ricciardi was clearly the kind of unique soul whose spirit enriched everyone around him, but its actually in the margins of this sometimes preening doc that Benna's film really hits its target. When the film rests, it destigmatizes a process that everyone will eventually go through (albeit in a range of ways).

While it has a mix of fresh and familiar concepts, Protector ultimately still feels too routine to stand out from the crowd.

Thankfully, Boon, Graham, and Riseborough do enough to anchor the film and bring it home as it lands on a strangely poignant note both chilling and endearing.

It doesn't quite have the courage to be the best version of itself. Still, it works. War Machine is an action movie you feel in your body, and it mixes in the right dose of sci-fi VFX without losing sight of the character that keeps you caring.

Though various endings may differ in effective execution or feeling deserved by the closing credits of the two-hour film, some of which among the Shelby clan are guaranteed to be divisive, Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man is still an entertaining, action-filled, worthwhile return to the story for those who have been missing a recitation of “in the bleak midwinter” over the past several years.

Maggie Gyllenhaal's second feature is an explosive representation of social disruption. A screaming cry of a film, The Bride! utilizes its literary and filmic influences - Hamlet, Romeo & Juliet, Bartleby, Bonnie & Clyde - to belt a clarion call against upper-crust hedonism, police complicity, violence against women, and the patriarchal system that binds them all.

Daniel Chong's film isn't perfect, but it reaches such a strange fever pitch of hilarity and political prescience that it demands respect.

It reaches for the spiritual vastness of Cloud Atlas and the hushed introspection of Ad Astra, yet ultimately struggles to stir even the faintest flicker of emotion or hope.

The Napa Boys is best enjoyed like a California wine road trip: you can be vaguely aware of the territory, but it's more fun to just ride along its peaks and valleys. When the film hits, it really hits.

It's a beautiful film that entertains in as much measure as it deconstructs an often untouchable icon, making him seem more human, and thus, more impressive.

Scream 7 injects nostalgia and self-referentiality like a weak drug, a stash of weed purchased so long ago it has gone so stale it crumbles to the touch.

Despite a series of beautiful gowns worn by Chastain, the film doesn't offer much intrigue nor sociopolitical interest, instead reducing itself to the lowest common denominator by the time it reaches its exceedingly cruel ending.

Ghost Elephants is an almost diaristic documentary, eschewing normal pathways for a more esoteric exploration of survival, science, intuition and mortality.

Sykes brings what she can to the proceedings, but there's only so much she can do to make Undercard even slightly distinctive.

The Bluff is a rollicking throwback to the swashbuckling action of old. It is brutal and inventive enough to wash over its derivative narrative.

A surprisingly bland film that somehow manages to dampen even Glen Powell's usual brand of effortless charm, How to Make a Killing is sketched together with thin characterizations, limp commentary and a sluggish pace.

Sometimes the central metaphors of the film are so cleanly didactic they risk becoming preachy, but, more often than not, the film tilts in such inventive ways that recognition only breeds appreciation.

The creepy imagery in the first act improperly sells just how dull the movie ultimately ends up being for the majority of its overlong runtime, and while its snail-like pacing and lackluster acting fail to make its psychological themes land with anything more than a mute thud.

It's to the actors' credit that it works when it does, and what it ultimately posits about marriage is as grossly haunting as it is disturbingly poetic.

Despite having some really good parts driving it forward, it's unfortunate that The Mortuary Assistant never quite finds its rhythm.

Lang really goes for it here, and he sells the material as best as he can, but suffice it to say that Hellfire is only as entertaining as your bandwidth for bog-standard action fare.

A piercing, explicit, and oftentimes sexy study of one 25-year-old's search for identity in a world that has discouraged him from accepting all of himself unabashedly.

This is a purposefully languid movie that proves real, genuine tension can be built without crash landing right on your head. In an era of fast cuts and escalating explosions — the kind that Hemsworth, Ruffalo and Halle Berry all know intimately from their time in Marvel's universe — it is refreshing to watch something this confident in its own particular DNA.

What they cannot ignore is that the film is otherwise still lacking. For all the epithets one could throw out about Wuthering Heights, the most surprising may be that it is an abject snooze, and that its nonchalance about color-specific casting reveals a filmmaker completely insensitive to the implications of race in the late 18th century.

It's an underdog story — sorry, under-goat story — for a new generation that is ready for a new, more inclusive kind of game.

It grows tedious because it feels like we’re holding our breath waiting for something more significant to happen for the lead’s character development, and yet it remains largely stagnant. Exit 8 has so much squandered potential. It might have made for a better short film than a full feature, but as a psychological horror, the film falls flat.

The only thing Harlin has done here is to remove the element of surprise. Without that, the film is nothing, nothing at all.

What's most fascinating about The Friend's House is Here is that it makes its protest heard through a story that remains adamantly vivacious for nearly its entire runtime.