Rather than certify McCarthy’s status as a new master of horror, Hokum reaffirms his potential, and what should have been a step up serves more of a slight misstep.

This back-to-basics homage to disaster pictures of the 1970s has a modest charm, elevated by Harlin’s brisk direction, even if there is little that makes a lasting impression.

Two Pianos amounts to a glimpse into a brief, tumultuous time in these two people’s lives, where they take a short look at what could have been and nearly combust at the sight of it. Desplechin’s ability to find the raw, human qualities in that experience––and to respect them enough to understand that they can stand on their own rather than be weighed down by narrative contrivance––makes his movie an ideal example of what a prestige film should be.

Two Seasons is the rare film that begins with mundane clarity (remember, “scene 1, summer, seaside”) and works its way back, leaving you with the knottier stuff of life. Along the way, Li remembers what it’s like to have fun; the movie dutifully follows her lead.

Writer-director David Lowery sets the stage for Mother Mary, but it’s Coel—playing the jilted, acidic fashion designer Sam Anselm—who steps out center stage. Coel dominates the screen, keeping all our senses at attention; though she has been in films before, Mother Mary feels like her grand entrance.

The Day She Returns is Hong at his most elemental, a work that sheds any semblance of plot to remind you that authenticity—in life as in cinema—comes from those moments we allow ourselves to freely step into the unknown.

Faces of Death gives the people what they want while constantly probing the viewer as to why they want it, all the way through to an ending as bleak as the original Texas Chain Saw Massacre.

Zendaya delivers one of her best performances, externalizing the film’s racial politics by being a perfectly normal, loving partner marginalized by the narrative constructed around her.

As far as dumb comedies go, Pizza Movie is a masterclass in throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks. It doesn’t always land, but when it does, it really does.

Capturing a stressful environment of constant interruptions that distract from medical urgencies, Switzerland’s Oscar-shortlisted procedural is a work of high intensity and acute resonance, even if it lacks a certain personality by design.

Carney has offered a sharp, hopeful crowdpleaser that strikes the right notes.

A funny, often fascinating riff on aspirations both in and out of reach, I Love Boosters is ambitious and, like Sorry to Bother You, explores the systems that make the American Dream possible for only a select few. But the film is also a gleeful celebration of the underdogs scraping by as the cost of living increases.

An agreeable documentary with technically zero drama (and notably no other interviewees) portraying a hard-working icon of street-wise aesthetic and a radical influence on high fashion: what’s the catch? Arguably there isn’t one, but it’s hard to say whether the balminess of the film is a result of a friendly disposition, or if Coppola’s auteurist touch is way too light.

It often feels like a Barbara Hammer film itself while evolving into a sharp, clever montage that moves fast and entertains throughout. It’s funny and disarming and, ultimately, quietly uplifting.

As an existential sci-fi, Project Hail Mary doesn’t live up to the mid-2010s blockbusters it’s attempting to emulate, but it does eventually soar when it allows the hangout buddy comedy to take center stage. It’s a gorgeous feat of practical effects on a gargantuan scale, but its biggest pleasures lie in the most intimate character moments.

Chomet’s film is finally an edifying, educating piece of work, beautifully drawn and composed.

Earth Coincidence is crammed with so much information and so many detours it seems designed to leave your mind agog.

The two powerhouse performances at the heart of Dreams manage to stand so tall that it seems a love story like theirs can overpower even the trademark brutality one has learned to expect in every Michel Franco film.

Our Hero Balthazar is an effective entry point into a crisis that truly needs more coverage in both documentary and narrative cinema.

Rarely has maternal trauma been so well-dramatized on the big screen with zest, humor, and genuine appreciation of the ambivalence baked into these relationships.

American Doctor is hard to watch and it should be. It’s hard to live in a world like this, where things like this happen. Where we let things like this continue to happen.

Yellow Letters‘ heart is ultimately in the right place, but good intentions alone can’t make for the rousing call-to-arms against creeping authoritarianism that Çatak and his co-writers hope. It feels effective in the moment, but becomes more hollow in retrospect for the lack of specificity in what it’s standing firmly against.

Needless to say, Hüller is magnificent in a role that relies heavily on her abilities as a physical performer. Schleinzer is, naturally, not in the business of cheap sentiment, but when something vaguely resembling happiness presents itself in the story, the restraint with which Hüller allows Rose’s heart to thaw is still remarkable.

Ford’s witty crime caper employs a nonstop pace that grooves slyly along to Emile Mosseri’s quick, bass-heavy, snare-driven score, which hangs ever-present in the backing soundscape. It has, for better and worse, the feeling of a montage that never ends.

It functions just as much as a standalone movie as it does a conclusion for a beloved project. If Johnson and McCarroll never reach these comedic heights again, just be glad they managed to get the Canadian government to fund and release this.

Shimmering and sparkling, Ha-chan carries the rarest maturity about sex, love, grief, and allowing yourself to take life one step at a time.

More Velvet Buzzsaw than The Square, The Gallerist suffers from piling on the references and refusing to give audiences a chance to breathe.

The film is at its best in moments of warmth, humor, and kindness—that is where it really shines, without needing to amp up the stakes or shift forms.