I'm sure most of the film's scenes will slip from my memory as the days go on, but while I watched, I enjoyed the battle between Theron and Egerton.

"Michael" emerges as whatever the opposite of a warts-and-all biography is. This is a polished, flavorless, cracks-free paean to Jackson, celebrating his highs and only sometimes looking at the lows, as if they were mere dust-bunnies under the couch.

Cronin and his team work overtime to make this movie gross, filled with goo and guts and uncomfortable squelching noises. A lifetime of horror movies has made me mostly immune to such things, but the third act of this film goes to such gruesome places that a woman at my screening who had inexplicably brought her very young child to this R-rated movie quickly scooped her kid up and hurried out of the theater.

Mother Mary is an emotionally distant, confounding, and ultimately unsatisfying work of art. Though its visual ambition and lead performances are commendable, it never gives enough of itself to let the rest of us in.

Sometimes you want to see a fine-tuned work of precision pop art like "Jaws," and sometimes you just want to watch a CGI shark bite a guy on the ass. We, as movie-watchers, contain multitudes.

Ultimately, your enjoyment of Exit 8 will hinge on how much repetitiveness you're willing to tolerate. Liminal space horror fans will likely enjoy the film's moody aesthetic, and there are times where Exit 8 feels like a movie to be digested via spooky gifs and screenshots. Exit 8 may very well give you the creeps, but that might not be enough.

With such a large ensemble and diversity of personalities, Happy New Year fails to flesh them out.

All of this is emblematic of a film that suffers from self-inflicted wounds at practically every turn. Lacking the cleverness of the original, the undeniable flair of the best of Wes Craven's sequels, and the crowd-pleasing thrills of the recent revivals, "Scream 7" is more or less dead on arrival. Maybe it should stay that way.

It's slick, solid, and filled to the brim with talented actors digging in and making the most of a not-entirely-nutritious meal.

This is not an adaptation of "Wuthering Heights," but the result of what happens when you're playing an approximation "Wuthering Heights" without a full grasp on the material but all the money in the world to bring your questionable imagination to life.

The Rip does give us a handful of scenes where Damon and Affleck's characters bro out, but these are brief flashes of light in a sea of darkness. I'm all for dark and gritty crime dramas, but "The Rip" never feels like much of a movie, more like a pilot for a new, particularly violent "Law & Order" spin-off. Matt Damon and Ben Affleck are movie stars, why hire them for anything less?

In terms of cheap, late-night, exploitation flick fun, it satisfies.

It's a shame that Five Nights at Freddy's 2 is such a bloated mess, because it has all of the elements to be a truly special gateway horror film franchise. The new animatronics are genuinely jaw-dropping, Megan Fox voicing Chica is a real delight, the jump scares are effective, the Easter eggs are well-placed, and for a brief moment, when we finally get Mike in the security office (essentially bringing the video game into beat-by-beat live action), the movie absolutely soars. But Cawthon's script is a disaster, and it's one that I cannot in good conscience defend, even as someone who shockingly could make sense of it, having consumed hours of fan theories over the years.

For all his skills, Wright seemingly can't pin down what he wants "The Running Man" to be. The action isn't very exciting, the satire is unoriginal, and the over-reliance on weird product placement (both Liquid Death and Monster Energy get distracting shout-outs here) make the entire picture feel manufactured. I had high hopes that Wright could get "The Running Man" across the finish line, but the film stumbles right out of the gate.

This is ultimately a worthwhile musician biopic if only for Jeremy Allen White's thoughtful, tortured performance. He's so damn good playing Bruce Springsteen that you more or less want to forgive the movie its flaws.

Dedicating yourself to revenge is an act of self-punishment that closes you off from a happier life. I admire the sentiment but a messy story that sometimes loses sight of Scarlet herself means it has limited resonance.

Jared Leto also proves to be a less-than-stellar leading man.

Good Boy may not exactly reinvent the haunted house subgenre, but it proves you can still teach an old dog new tricks.

It's an improvement simply because this trilogy started off pretty badly, but nevertheless an uninspiring survival horror with repetitive set pieces, baffling character choices, and a mythology that feels like it's erasing the very reason his franchise exists in the first place.

Poor conclusion aside, Him clearly indicates that Justin Tipping is a filmmaker to watch, especially if he wants to stick around in the horror genre. Best of all, though, it serves as a wonderful showcase for Marlon Wayans, who has never really been as good as he is here, turning in a performance that's both incredibly fun and undeniably unsettling. I just wish the rest of the movie could match his energy.

It's not that big, it's hardly bold, and it's only beautiful on its surface. It could have been a journey.

Whenever the film was on the verge of losing me, O'Brien's steady, remarkable performance brought me back. He really is that good here, and honestly, that might just be enough.

If you've stuck with the "Hell House LLC" franchise this long, you might be interested in the answers "Lineage" provides. Whatever the flaws in his design, Cognetti deserves credit for trying to expand on such a simple idea with such a modest budget. And there are some moments here — mostly involving those damn clowns — that invoke the right amount of dread.

To his credit, Edwards immediately injects "Rebirth" with a sense of stakes and tension that the entirety of the previous trilogy struggled to depict. But every time the plot kicks in again and writer David Koepp's script goes through the motions of a standard "Jurassic" movie, those dizzying peaks soon begin to flatten out into overgrown valleys.

At a bloated 156 minutes, audiences will have too ample time to ponder the film's many weaknesses. The racing will be exciting — very exciting, in fact — and Pitt is certainly a movie star, but quite frankly, I can have my own midlife crisis, thank you. I don't need to watch Pitt's.

Admittedly, How to Train Your Dragon is not terrible like some of the Disney remakes out there, and it's better than almost all of them, but it's not substantial enough to warrant its existence.

Sure, it's a lot of fun watching beautiful assassin Ana de Armas pick up a flamethrower and burn some dudes to a crisp, but a film featuring such an exciting concept shouldn't be this forgettable.

After the original "Fear Street" trilogy, I was itching to return to Shadyside. It was not worth the wait.

The film lacks the wonderment and excitement of Indiana Jones, but it's not quite as dumb as "The Da Vinci Code," and certainly less obnoxious than, say, "Red Notice."

And yet, The Final Reckoning is too messy, too awkward, too clumsy. It somehow feels overlong and inert even as it never slows down.

By the time Havoc ended, I felt as exhausted as Hardy's beaten and bruised character. I suppose Evans and company deserve some credit for making an action movie that really leans into the brutality, but there's only so much of that you can put up with before it starts to grow tedious.

There's a place for brainless, R-rated action movies like this in theaters, and there always will be. But, hopefully, it's not asking too much for one that properly justifies the average moviegoer's time and hard-earned money.

Produced by horror legend Sam Raimi and a remake of the Argentinian film "4x4," your mileage may vary with "Locked," an intimate piece with dedicated performances and a weirdly relatable thematic core, but thrills leaving much to be desired.

There's nothing offensively bad about The Alto Knights ... but you kind of wish there was, because at least that might've made the movie more interesting.

The Electric State is one of the most expensive films ever made, and one can see every dollar on the screen. The robots feel real, and their design, taken from Stålenhag's book, is fitfully unique. But one wonders why so much effort went into a movie that has almost nothing on its mind.

Seven Veils feels like Egoyan struggling under his own expectations, just like Jeanine begins to crumble under hers.

Rather than adding something fresh and new to give us a reason to reinvest in this universe, the end result is as by-the-numbers as it gets.

The Monkey is a blood-soaked barrel of laughs and grisly kills that never finds an effective way to reconcile either of those.

Love Hurts marks the first leading role for Ke Huy Quan, and he avails himself well enough. He doesn't ever shimmer off the screen, and he doesn't handle the romance elements perfectly, but he possesses an appealing hangdog quality that feels human and relatable. However mediocre the movie around him, one always has the instinct to cheer him on.

Heart Eyes is solid enough to entertain. The jokes land, the leads are great, and the romance storyline is surprisingly sweet.

In execution, it feels like a neophyte director's confident first turn. Perhaps shabby, but well-meaning, and only occasionally straining against its obviously limited means. 

By the time Wolf Man wraps things up with an ending that's just a bit too neat and tidy, viewers will be left to reflect on the opportunities missed rather than the bold roads taken. Fortunately, even a modest Whannell misfire is well worth a watch, particularly when so much care and effort has been poured into every facet of its construction. There's still plenty of enjoyment to be had here ... as long as you don't expect this monster's bite to match its bark.

Mufasa will satisfy, but it also feels ultimately useless. Like Disney is once again spinning its wheels, trying to wring billions of dollars out of old ideas while they brainstorm new ones. Fans of "The Lion King" may be slightly moved. At the very least, you'll finally know how Rafiki got his stick.

Sony, still possessing the film rights to Spider-Man, decided to make an interconnected Spider-Man Villain universe, of which "Kraven the Hunter" is the final chapter. Watching Chandor's film, though, one can see that neither the studio nor the filmmakers are interested in starting anything anymore. There is no presumption that fans will be interested in long-form mythmaking, and sequel teases remain light. This allows "Kraven" to be stupid on its own. And, in a weird way, that's a relief. We're free.

As much as The War of the Rohirrim tries its best to live up to the lofty standards set by the original movies, it only really shines when it manages to forget that it's a franchise movie at all.

Adams alone might make this worth a watch, just because it's always a treat to watch her worrk. Let's just hope she returns to better things after this, and soon.

Worst of all, the film is loooong. It's not just low-energy. It drags. One could listen to Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon" three and a half times in the same 161 minutes. And perhaps one should. It would be a more edifying musical experience.

Paddington in Peru is ultimately a missed opportunity, but it's also a pleasant, entertaining-enough time.

I came out of "Let There Be Carnage" wanting more Venom and Eddie. I came out of "The Last Dance" content to never see them again. If this really is "The Last Dance," it comes not a moment too soon.

The Shadow Strays feels more like a step back than a step forward. By the time the mid-credit coda arrived, I wanted less, not more. Still, those craving copious amounts of carnage will find plenty to dig here.

It is superior in acting, lighting, pacing, and clarity. It's also raw and confrontational in a satisfying way. But it's also a glorified remake more than it is a sequel. "Platform 2" is not an expansion, but a retread, nihilistically sifting through violence and cannibalism to get to a point it repeated over and over. Second verse, same as the first. 

In the end, Emilia Pérez can't help but feel like a half-completed thought experiment, anchored by the performances of a trio of women all but willing this past the finish line.

Eventually, Salem's Lot finds some life in its climax, gleefully unleashing monster mayhem that feels ported over from a much more enjoyable B-movie.

I suppose the best thing to say about Apartment 7A is that once it's over, you'll probably immediately want watch the much better Rosemary's Baby and wash the dull memory of this movie away.

Austin Zajur and Siena Agudong make for such a cute high school romance prospect that the movie doesn't feel like a total wash. Kevin Smith is still good at constructing funny dialogue and crafting characters you like to watch.

While horror fans might not get much out of The Deliverance, it might be worth watching for the performances alone. At the very least, several of the acting choices Glenn Close makes here will burn themselves into your brain and make you forget all about her turn in "Hillbilly Elegy."

Those craving a well-put-together monster movie with creepy creature effects and sturdy set-pieces will probably find plenty to like here. But it shouldn't be controversial to want better results. As I said at the start of this review, there are no bad "Alien" movies. But with Alien: Romulus, there's definitely a disappointing one.

Borderlands makes a point of not being different enough to upset the fanbase, but it's also not unique enough to win over new audiences, either. It's a movie for everyone and no one, a film so unwilling to make a splash that it barely makes a peep.

As a movie, It Ends With Us is an infuriating, emotionally manipulative watch and a disservice to the talents of every actor involved.

When the film quite literally runs out of plot, only the filmmaker's sheer determination and commitment to the bit manage to salvage an ending that throws logic and reason out the door several times over.

The Instigators makes exceptional use of Damon, Affleck, and the rest of its impeccable roster. It's just a shame that even this cast can't make this add up to more than a movie that's, quite simply, the sum of its parts.

There's plenty of room for silly fluff to momentarily distract us from the nightmares of the real world. But is it really so much to ask for just a little bit more? Must we continually be served flavorless gruel and pretend it's nourishing? "Deadpool & Wolverine" will probably break box office records. The Marvel Cinematic Universe will continue onward, and "Deadpool & Wolverine" just might revitalize it in the eyes of fans. But it shouldn't be unreasonable to ask for something better.

If you're simply looking to see Murphy slip back into a familiar role and have a little fun, "Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F" might do the trick. Even though this film is lackluster, it's still fun to watch Eddie Murphy do his thing, and there are moments here where he genuinely seems to be having a good time, and that can be contagious. So maybe that's enough to satisfy. Or, when you sit down and fire up Netflix to watch this film, you can make a wiser choice and just watch "Dolemite is My Name" instead. It'll be a much better use of your time, I promise.

As a self-contained and satisfying yarn, this initial attempt at original franchise-building leaves a whole lot to be desired. As the most expensive feature-length trailer ever made, "Horizon" sets the stage for a much more interesting sequel where, hopefully, something of import actually happens.

The film is so humourless that it becomes tiresome. That might be forgivable if the movie managed to be scary, but not even one or two jump scares are enough to get your heart rate up.

The overstuffed "Despicable Me 4" abandons any pretense of caring about characters or narrative, choosing instead to fit in as many gags, characters, and little stories with as little consequences as they can.

Those looking for the next "The Sixth Sense" will inevitably come away disappointed (though, contrary to popular belief, that wasn't M. Night's actual debut film either). But as a bold announcement that the next evolution of the Shyamalan name is upon us, Ishana leaves plenty of reason to believe that the best is still ahead of us.

Hit Man is light enough to be enjoyable, and Powell and Arjona really make things pop. However, Hit Man is also kind of forgettable, and often uninspired. The story is high concept, the execution is lacking.

This is a frequently charming documentary, but it sprints through Henson's life like we're speed-reading his Wikipedia page. I wanted more.

On the positive side, Cailey Fleming makes for a compelling young lead with a touching performance.

The Strangers didn't need these horror tropes to become a sensation, so it's very odd to see them shoehorned into this new trilogy.

As a movie, Unfrosted is weak. As a delivery system for a barrage of funny, silly jokes, it's part of a nutritious breakfast.

Snyder once again displays his usual knack for crafting the occasional breathtaking visual and colorful splash page — a kiss silhouetted by the Veldt equivalent of magic hour, a spaceship foregrounded by an eclipsing star, and a stunning tableau of lasers crisscrossing in the heat of battle are memorable highlights — but his insistence on serving as his own director of photography continues to hold him back at every turn.

But when the smoke of its bombastic climax clears, what we're left with is an oddly sanitized, toned-down, and somewhat misshapen addition to Ritchie's oeuvre.

Hidden somewhere in Immaculate is a stirring and topical drama about the way male-driven religious institutions claim ownership over women's bodies.

A somewhat ambitious but messy and ultimately unsatisfying sequel, despite packing some decent laughs and a couple of genuinely exhilarating sequences.

Once you squint and look past the Gyllenhaal of it all, there's not much on offer here. The leading man tears through a thin sketch of a story, populated by characters, performances, and even action that feel like placeholders.

For the most part, Ricky Stanicky is an entertaining comedy with enough laughs to keep your attention, but ultimately, it tries too hard to pull at your heartstrings without enough authenticity to back it up.

Granted, the story leaves something to be desired, and it's missing one of the franchise's signature traits, but as someone who was underwhelmed by the trailers teasing Po's return, I walked away feeling adequately entertained.

Spaceman fails to grab our attention and, like Sandler's character, feels adrift. But as the journey towards the Chopra cloud — which Hanuš describes as "the beginning of everything" — continues, the conversations between spaceman and space spider grow warm, thoughtful, and even charming.

As a whole, Lovely, Dark, and Deep starts to feel like a short film (or story) stretched to feature length. I was on board with the movie's various chills, but I wanted something more. 

Madame Web does not provide a crowd-pleasing bombast. This is a pity, as this odd duck makes for a fascinating watch. This may be one of the final films of the superhero renaissance. Enjoy it before it topples over entirely. 

Ultimately, Night Swim is a bit of a contradiction in terms, a mostly generic horror film that impressively adds a few unique elements to the proceedings. It's a shame that McGuire doesn't follow Russell's lead and allow the movie to really go bonkers; perhaps they were intimidated by 2002's "Dark Water" or the "Jack Frost" films, which do more with the idea of "evil water" than is seen here. Still, "Night Swim" delivers the goods enough to be a fun time, and like a day in a backyard pool, it may not be super memorable but that doesn't mean it's not enjoyable.

The best that can be said about everything surrounding Powell and Sweeney in Anyone But You is that they mostly have the good sense to move the plot quickly and then let the stars sparkle.

Blitz Bazawule and a cast of talented performers do their best, but the end result just doesn't gel.

The film tastes like the cinematic equivalent of Clooney's tequila brand Casamigos. That is to say, The Boys in the Boat goes down smoothly, if somewhat unremarkably.

Ultimately, "Rebel Moon" resembles little more than a grab-bag collection of world-building influences, mythology, and epic storytelling that we've seen done better many times before.

Origin lacks both a center of gravity and a sense of scale.

It all ends up being a touch forgettable by the time the end credits roll, but the journey to get there is never dull.

The feeling persists that something is missing here. That Scott and company are merely lightly touching on things that require deeper exploration. Which brings me back again to that 4-hour director's cut.

For all the storylines it juggles — part love story, part franchise extension, and part treatise on how mind-numbingly awful group projects in class can be (seriously, this early section might actually be the highlight of the movie) — The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes feels caught between its humbler, more character-driven aims and the blockbuster expectations of reinvigorating a brand.

Taken on its own merits, The Marvels is little more than another mediocre, easily-forgotten effort in a never-ending stream of products.

The film seems like it should be this deeply personal exploration of one's own struggle to connect with others because of an inability to fully accept themself, but in practice, "All of Us Strangers" plays more like a sentimental novel you'd find at an airport newsstand. It's made with far more skill and care than those typically are, but at its core, they contain about the same amount of emotional insight.

Dark Harvest is ultimately a film of style over substance, but hell, that style sure is grand.

"Believer" is not the worst "Exorcist" film by any stretch, but it's certainly the least intriguing. It's a rote, choppy thriller that forgets to scare us.

Dogman is one of those curios that you don't understand how it got made and just kinda marvel while it's happening, but once you try to put all the pieces together, nothing fits, and you're left wondering what the hell you just watched.

If you're looking for the gothic thrills and chills that make "Pet Sematary" so special, stick to the novel, or the '89 film, or even the 2019 remake, and leave "Bloodlines" dead and buried where it belongs. 

In the end, watching Pain Hustlers is about as numbing an experience as being prescribed the drug Liza spent her career selling.