We all need a really good laugh, and Drymon and company deliver.

Director Kaouther Ben Hania's The Voice of Hind Rajab is a shattering docu-film which utilizes a novel mix of real audio and footage with actors' reconstruction in a Herculean effort to make this profound loss even more immediate. Hers is a utilitarian mission: to embed the audience in the sensory experience of being in a war zone without letting them scroll past or swipe to the next video.

Yes is an astonishing protest film whose comedy belies a broken heart.

Miroirs No. 3 is a bucolic, poetic film of simple beauty with light, magical touches about the ability of a stranger’s love.

If cinema does go the way of the dinosaurs someday, it is at least good to know that the limits of its power are still being tested by the likes of Rajamouli, whose work reaches so far outside the frame it seems to magically reach out of the screen itself, into the audience's beating heart.

Left-Handed Girl is ultimately quite optimistic while never succumbing to the saccharine.

The film would've been better served had it stuck to either satire or tense drama, but whatever the case, the climax of Saleh's film is aces and as taut as can be.

The chamber drama of a rich family in collapse is only successful as much as the context within which it exists, and, because that context is as slippery as it is, Anniversary just feels toothless.

The film's best attribute is the romance between Bruce and Faye. White and Young's chemistry is palpable, and Cooper solidly helps us understand why an artist on the verge of overwhelming fame might be interested in a working-class single mother, whose planted smile belies the pain of someone abandoned and bereft. There's a nuance here that the rest of the film sorely lacks and needs.

There’s a sincerity that underscores its central themes, and the performances, writing, and direction don’t cut corners to get to the end. And what we end up with is a comedy-drama that understands what a thoughtful exploration of a relationship can look like onscreen.

Cervera’s film is consistently intriguing, elevated by the dynamic between Winstead and Monroe, who have solid onscreen chemistry.

Perhaps the lesson of the film is that regret is a waste of emotional bandwidth, but regret is easy to feel when the story is a fumbled as this.

The combination of crime film and romantic gothic horror never really gels. It is successful in its invocation of old Hollywood (including a very fun opening credits sequence), and its horror beats are effective, but it doesn't work in total.

It's a breathtaking film from a new visionary of the queer indie scene.

Ultimately, the film is successful in having its cake and eating it too. It is both a tense political thriller and a crackling satire of drunken power. The comedy of the first two-thirds becomes the horror in the last, as these people’s willful ignorance of danger becomes terrifying in its potential repercussions.

The film is so well put together, constructed with such warmth, that it does paper over its own indulgence.

What results is an utter slog from start to finish.

Black Phone 2 is still a solid horror film, with gory kills and exciting set pieces. But the question of why still lingers over the film, even as it delivers on its many promises.

Shell is funny and nice to look at it, but it lacks the depth or the darkness that it needs.

The twist is sufficiently tragic, but it is also mawkish. The structure is misguided.

Through the period and genre trappings of a 1970s heist film, Reichardt explores the inherent isolation of staying neutral at a time of ballooning cultural and political unrest.

While the film may thematically point to real-world struggles in the United States, The Twits is mostly an accessible story about the power of empathy in the face of naked evil, all to the tune of about a thousand fart jokes.

If anything, She Loved Blossoms More isn’t weird enough, holding out on exploring what’s beyond the time machine, which is the most compelling aspect of the film.

At its best, Mr. K is like being immersed in Hieronymous Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights. More often, however, it's like living inside a trash heap.

Petsch and Scipio are both extremely attractive and breezy performers, but, the film is as sputtery as an old car on the fritz, failing to update its cinematic lineage in any conceivably positive way.

Through the amazing array of talking heads Hanks assembles to share their relationship to Candy, we are left with the distinct impression that there just wasn't anyone else like John. A grand man indeed, in a grand documentary to suit him.

This is classic B-movie creature-feature stuff.

From the opening scenes, The Woman in Cabin 10 hooks us and doesn’t let go.