The sentimentality threatens to veer into melodrama at points, which Pratt struggles to handle. But The Tomorrow War has got a trashy popcorn vibe to it that it wholeheartedly embraces, and a cornball machismo that you can’t help but get taken in by, even if just for a second.

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.

Uncharted has fun moments . . . but its overreliance on unfunny quips and uninspired retreads of the action-adventure genre makes it another disappointing non-MCU outing for Holland, and another spiritless adaptation of a beloved video game.

The Pope's Exorcist is by no means a good movie, but there's a modicum of fun to be had from watching Crowe do his thing. And if you have a problem with him, you can take it up with his boss — the Pope!

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.

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. 

Hess and his army of screenwriters (only five are credited) have taken the wisest possible route with their adaptation: A Minecraft Movie is a broad, slapstick farce without a hint of seriousness, reverence, or coolness. The most shocking thing? It's not terrible. 

The Lie probably could’ve worked in a shorter form – a half-hour episode of a TV show, perhaps.

I want to see more from Jessica M. Thompson, who has an eye for atmospheric creepiness that would be better served with stronger material. And I want Nathalie Emmanuel to land a lead role worthy of her talents. As for The Invitation, there's not much to sink your fangs into.

Goodnight Mommy isn't a downright horrible movie, but it certainly won't stick with you. Well, maybe the ending will, but that's not a good thing.

Paint almost gets by on its shaggy dog charm mostly thanks to Wilson, who remains loveable enough to guide us through this world. But the comedy is flat and the drama is dry, and none of it adds up to a pretty picture.

Nostalgia is fine in limited doses, but the sequel ends up feeling like J.J. Abrams directed "Now That's What I Call Ghostbusters," undoing any of the goodwill established by the film's first two acts. The movie is trapped in the past so much that it might taint any potential future there might be to keep the franchise alive with these new characters.

For how borderline cheesy the movie is on occasion, director Lucie Jourdan does an excellent job of emphasizing the heinous nature of the doctor's actions, while humanizing the patients and making the children's plight sympathetic.

While there's enough action (murky action, but action all the same) to keep you at least half-engaged with the material, you might want to spend Mother's Day weekend doing something else instead.

Queenpins boasts a cast of talented ringers, who elevate the muddled material far more than it deserves, without actually resulting in an all-around good movie.

Insidious: The Red Door closes the book on the Lambert family and delivers more than a few thrills and chills. It doesn't reinvent the wheel, and it doesn't really add a whole lot to the series as a whole.

This is a major misfire that will have you scratching your head and wondering how it all came to be.

Ultimately, The Marksman hits its generic target. It is the kind of film you watch on accident more than seek out, but you probably won’t regret the accident.

This movie isn't even worth glancing at when you scroll through your Netflix profile.

The saving grace of Murder Mystery 2 is that Jennifer Aniston and Adam Sandler have a renewed sense of charm, bouncing agreeably off each other as a married couple struggling to revive the unique magic they found in their first adventure.

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

As charismatic as its stars are, and as refreshing as its period setting is, the wildly inconsistent tone and overstuffed runtime loses whatever was left of the shine of the first "Kingsman."

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.

Next Goal Wins feels like it's made by a director out of ideas — it's a film made up of lazy, visually vacant, and soulless filmmaking.

Whatever the flaws of the previous "Resident Evil" series, those films were never as dull as "Raccoon City." Roberts doesn't seem to know how to milk anything resembling genuine horror out of the material here.

And to cap it all off, Mortal Kombat commits the sin that so many recent Hollywood adaptations of existing properties make these days – it’s all set up. Everything that happens here can be written off as exposition laying the groundwork for a sequel, where the real kombat can begin. It’s a ruse; a come-on; a side-show with a very loud barker out front. “We can’t show you that stuff just yet, but come back next time and we might!” The thing is, we’re all suckers enough to probably fall for it.

No one will ever accuse Vin Diesel of having range, but he seems particularly lost here. There’s nothing remotely interesting about Ray, before and after he gets his robo-blood.

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.

Antebellum feels curiously unfinished. Rushed, even. You catch a glimpse of what the filmmakers are going for here, but never entirely buy it.

Ultimately, writer-director Sigal's issue lies within his script more so than his directorial eye.

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.

The film is a self-serious, but consciously aesthetically pleasing, adaptation of a, frankly, silly soap opera. It doesn't rock the boat, but it doesn't plunge into the depths of womanhood, poverty, and classism as much as it thinks it does.

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

Once upon a time, a movie of this ilk could be unremarkable but fun; sturdy and dependable; solid, even. Not this time, though. 

The scares are more textural than truly creepy, and they’re certainly overshadowed by what’s primarily a character piece, with each person’s fears and anxieties literally manifesting as part of the storyline.

The worst sin a martial arts movie can commit is not properly showing its action. The second sin is casting martial arts superstars and not letting them fight. On both counts, the extraordinarily limp G.I. Joe reboot Snake Eyes is guilty.

Anaconda taps into a sweet spot that's just edgy enough to make adults laugh and just family friendly enough to let kids have a good time with their parents too. It's hilarious, harmless, and puts a fun spin on a familiar formula, even if the snake still looks fake as hell.

Maybe if there wound up being a second animated film featuring Scooby and Shaggy, it might actually tell a story where they solve a supernatural mystery with their friends in the Mystery Machine. For now, all we have is this forgettable, lazy, pandering superhero film.

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

If you're on the fence at all, there is a mid-credits sequence that truly leaves the mid-credits made mandatory by the Marvel Cinematic Universe dead in the dirt and is so damn good that it completely recontextualizes the tone of the movie that came before.

Keery turns in a good performance, insomuch as Kurt’s thirsty loser is a 180-degree turn from Steve Harrington on Stranger Things, but there’s nothing enjoyable about him slipping into the skin of this maniac, and very rarely anything enjoyable about the experience of watching the film itself.

There are bursts of inspiration here and there, such as when the plot shifts to Peru and suddenly takes on an "Indiana Jones" flavor (which, annoyingly, the characters can't help but comment upon) or when an early horror-tinged sequence puts a new spin on the famous "Raptors in the kitchen" scene from "Jurassic Park." But such joys don't arrive consistently enough to make this venture worthwhile.

When the plot gets going and we're on a road trip through fantastical locations, the movie becomes a fun ride. It's not as good as the original, but it is still one of the better superhero films of the year.

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.

Ultimately, how you feel about "Opus" depends on what kind of movie lover you are — if you're the type who, like me, loves to go over films again and again with a fine-tooth comb to mine the layers of theme and subtext, then the movie could be surprisingly rewarding. If you're looking for a purely visceral and emotionally engaging experience, then "Opus" is unquestionably a letdown.

Guns Akimbo glides on the strength of Radcliffe’s work, which is equally committed to selling a self-deprecating verbal barb as it is to executing an extended bit of physical humor.

The problem with "Persuasion" is it doesn't know what it wants to be. Is it a bold, revisionist take on Austen with progressive colorblind casting and cutesy contemporary slang? Or is it a sentimental period romance that wants to get its audience's hearts fluttering as they sigh over the pining glances shared between Johnson's Anne and Cosmo Jarvis' (an endearingly awkward bright spot in the film) Wentworth? The result is a half-assed attempt at both, which only makes it all the more insulting.

Cheaper by the Dozen, every time it tries to walk down a thornier path, seems to be guided away by executive fiat to ensure that nothing gets too dicey. There was potential here, but it goes unrealized.

There's good reason to be excited for how Green will bring this all to a head in his grand finale. Halloween Kills manages to put a playful but petrifying spin on mythology without resorting to cheap self-referentiality.

The greatest mistake the devil ever made was underestimating a woman with a gun, and director Kitamura has come to collect.

On paper, this movie should not work, but what we got was an instant classic that is eminently rewatchable and assembled one of the best funny casts ever. The energy levels of the movie are off the charts, keeping it wildly entertaining even in today's short attention span world.

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

If the entire function of "Black Adam" is to set up a fight between Adam and Superman, as Johnson has said in public, perhaps skip a "Black Adam" movie and make only a 50-minute-long fight sequence. "Black Adam" is so hard to watch, it might make us want to skip the pretense that these are meant to be real movies.

It fails to be either funny or dramatic.

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."

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.

Despite the mostly younger cast, Without Remorse is a bland throwback to the late 1980s and early 1990s, hearkening to an era of such simplistic notions of good and bad that its script could have been unearthed from a time capsule. Sollima’s direction is journeyman-like, which wouldn’t be a demerit if the film he was directing didn’t feel so lifeless.

Let's get real: no one sits down to watch Moonfall for the performances. They want to see destruction, and on that front, Emmerich delivers.

The Woman in the Window is so silly and broad that it begins to border on camp, and I have a feeling this could become the type of cheesy dreck that people get a hoot out of if they follow Anna’s lead and down one or two or ten bottles of wine. By the time the film climaxes with multiple predictable but utterly preposterous twists, you’ll probably be reaching for a bottle yourself.

There’s plenty of grisly stuff here, and a lot of it is done practically, which might entice some gorehounds. But that can only go so far. Pesce’s The Eyes of My Mother has ten times less gore than this and still managed to be ten times as scary. Here’s hoping he gets back to making something like that, and soon.

With Sullivan's phenomenal performance and Stuckmann's keen eye, Shelby Oaks allows us to witness the start of one of the most promising new voices in horror.

Every joke in Easter Sunday lands with a thud, every emotional beat falls flat. It has the sense of humor of a bad TikTok video, and the emotional resonance of that TikTok commercial playing right now where wide-eyed people declare, "I learned it from TikTok!" Visually, it looks like a network TV reject or that one Netflix movie that you put on in the background while doing laundry.

A creative reimagining sprinkled with fairy dust, Come Away succeeds on the strength of its whimsical (but not overly whimsical) script by Marissa Kate Goodhill and its impressive ensemble cast, and soars thanks to Chapman’s stellar direction. A new children’s classic has arrived, and this timeless fairytale will surely enchant audiences for generations to come.

The Carpenter's Son might just be creepy enough to work for you even if you've managed to go your whole life without religion or faith. But I imagine it works even better if you've spent some time in church.

65 mainly suffers from weak writing. Action movies don't need to be cranial to be fun, but there should be some stability in the plot. Beck and Woods really struggle to balance the tone, communicate character motivation, and generally craft a compelling story.

I don't fault Meg 2: The Trench for being silly. I do fault it for being boring. 

The 355 is the cinematic equivalent of Hydrox. It's a bland and generic retread of something that's well-liked, if not beloved, something that feels vaguely like the real thing.

Spiral blunders through its central mystery without grace or style, or even much thought. Even the death traps are weirdly uninspired.

No one ever captured the hearts and minds of children without taking some big swings. Francis Lawrence doesn't make incompetent movies, but his work rarely feels inspired. "Slumberland" is no different. Uninspired. And when your film is about dreams, uninspired is the last thing you want to be.

DreamWorks Animation can make solid family entertainment. But they haven’t this time.

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."

"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.

There is a bittersweetness to be seen in "Ella McCay," as the movie openly wonders whether hope in our political system is as outdated as everything else. This theme may be fully intentional or it may be coincidental, yet it feels heartfelt in either case.

Dear Evan Hansen, for all the plaudits it received on stage, is a hollow attempt at broad-based sincerity that felt hollow even before it became a big-screen adaptation.

"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.

One of the best things I can say about the movie is that it likely won't be one that your child will want to watch over and over, which means you won't have to, either.

"The Mystery of Marilyn Monroe" too often feels like it's merely scratching the surface and not trying to go much deeper. While I understand that the research of Anthony Summers is what helped shape this doc, Summers himself is far too present here, to the point where the documentary begins to feel more about him writing the book than it is about Monroe.

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.

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. 

Other than a few inventive sequences around the film’s central conceit of “the Noise,” Chaos Walking is a grim retread of the YA dystopian story that offers nothing else but a misguided attempt to elevate the genre through a darker, more “adult” tone. It ends up being little more than a joyless exercise with bad wigs.

The new trilogy ends frail whimper rather than a T-rex-worthy roar.

The Addams Family 2 makes exceedingly few right moves, feeling tossed-off right to the very end.

while the action cranks up in the final half-hour, it's shot in such an incoherent manner that it renders the entire endeavor rather impotent. And by the time the film's confusing finale arrives, we're left with only one real question: "That's it?"

The film drags considerably — at one point I thought it was almost over only to realize there was a full hour left — but the over-the-top religious hokum is too fun to ignore.

As intended, "Section 31" is the Michelle Yeoh show, and she wears Georgiou like a spiky, vampy, blood-soaked glove at this point. Either you enjoy watching Yeoh strut and kick and smirk through action scenes, or you have no taste.

While Red Notice may not be unwatchable, by the time the film ends with a deliberate sequel set-up, I was so turned off by the mercenary nature of it all that I was left with a bad taste in my mouth.

At the end of the day, "The Super Mario Galaxy Movie" was nothing more than a video game I couldn't play. After the credits — including not one but two post-credits scenes — rolled, though, I didn't want to go home and load a Mario game onto my Switch; I wanted to watch a better movie.

Everything feels so sterile, filmed under cold, harsh lights. It’s one of the most horror-free horror movies in recent memory. Maybe Blomkamp should give sci-fi another shot.

Whenever The Unholy wants to scare you, it simply enters internet screamer territory, complete with ghoul faces rushing directly into the camera as loud noises boom from somewhere. Outside of these admittedly startling moments, The Unholy unfolds sedately, and sometimes incoherently.

Space Jam: A New Legacy, both in its cravenly cynical development and release, is not a surprising film. The marketing didn’t lie. This movie is exactly what it looks like. And it’s a grim glimpse at a potential future of mainstream filmmaking. No thanks

Home Sweet Home Alone runs counter to whatever standard expectations any audience member would have about what to expect from a film in this franchise. To those of us who disdain the original, that actually works in its favor for the first hour. To others, this film may be alienating and perplexing. But it's a pleasant holiday surprise if you're willing to go with it.

At the very least, the filmmaker offers up some cool things that we haven't seen in a modern action movie like this, which can be very challenging in the wake of many "Mission: Impossible" and "John Wick" movies. For that, Argylle is worth a trip to the theater.

Morbius is the type of movie that fails to justify its own existence.

I'm sure Lakewood had its heart in the right place, and Watts, gosh love her, is really trying, since she's pretty much the only person on screen for most of the movie. But every step Amy takes towards the school is another misstep the movie makes, and by the time she gets to her destination, we've already mentally checked out.

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.

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.

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.

On paper, Chris Evans and Ana de Armas would seem like a perfect romantic-comedy couple, but their chemistry in this film is nonexistent.