There’s some gnarly imagery that comes once, in Good Madam‘s second half, the supernatural takes over from the historical and characters find themselves falling into the trance of larger, systemic issues plaguing our world for millennia. But the beginning is just as tense and anxiety-inducing in its more normal sense of reality.

Both Krige and Eberhardt deliver subtly quiet performances within this atmospherically fragmented pursuit of vengeance, ultimately transforming into agents of change.

This is a political film. If Olga’s pursuit of her Olympic dream is often narratively truncated, what it means to be in Switzerland while loved ones remain in Kyiv, risking their lives at the protests, isn’t.

Clara Sola builds momentum to its eventual thesis––where one’s natural state is free and unconstrained by the bounds of oppressive culture and social construct.

Sans some overarching Avengers narrative providing these standalone epics their thrust, Thor: Love and Thunder plays adrift and uneven, once again resistant to use its untethered narrative and leading hunk in any meaningful—meaningfully sexy—way. By film’s end, when one character tells another to “choose love,” I could hear a handful in my theater beginning to sniffle and cry. It’s hard to understand why. The only thing my eyes could do was roll.

No matter where you stand on C.K.’s “reemergence” into the public eye, it’s a little disappointing that all he could muster was a platitude. Certainly a plea for people to forgive could’ve been made with a little more passion.

Script and production are impeccable, but I can’t say enough about the cast’s dedication to bringing both to life with an electric wit and resonant introspection.

It’s a work by people who aren’t talentless or stupid but lack the perspective to say or present anything an audience looking to have its worldview reaffirmed wouldn’t already agree with.

Everyone involved does the best with what they’re given, though, perhaps saving The Long Night from being even more forgettable than it already is. The script does none of them any favors by fearing its own mythology and hiding it in a way that makes it seem like it has none.

A moving, devastating piece of filmmaking.

Cho, Isaac, and a cameo from Jemaine Clement become bright spots in a film trying too hard to buck trends of other road-trip journeys while ultimately falling into similar traps. Life lessons and karaoke songs go to waste with the talent of a cast too good for this story.

It’s a self-propelled therapy session laid bare to the world. And it’s 100 percent raw and real, whether natural or not.

With a sprawling cast of familiar faces, Murder at Yellowstone City reveals itself as character-driven from the start.

It’s a heartfelt parable wrapped within a bloody and profane, 80s-aesthetic package.

Vengeance is a refreshing, self-aware take on a man who sets out to define a societal problem and is met with evolving redefinition.

Perhaps The Black Phone should have pushed its premise a bit more, building real stakes and real thrills in a deeper analysis of its archetypes. If performances by Thames, McGraw, and Hawke are strong, there could stand to be a few more twists and a bit more character development to transcend what is a middle-of-the-road psychological thriller.

While Wild Men does have some inventive comedic moments and a very strong lead performance from Bjerg, the film ultimately has very little to say about its own subject.

If First Love never really coheres into a fully formed film, it nevertheless finds Edwards moving more towards narrative expansion than ever before. We are a long way from the imitative style he showcased in his first feature.

This is a very slow-moving work that leans heavily on auditory scares rather than visual ones, the whole akin to sleep-deprivation torture.

When split in half, the title of Pushpendra Singh’s riveting character study represents competing forces of assimilation and freedom, patriarchy and artistic expression.

Mahdavian gives us enough for context and motivation before letting Colie and Hollyn take over with their enthusiasm and love of nature, and this opportunity to absorb it on a level very few people can. Because it won’t last. Life will interfere. So embrace the awe without regrets.

The explosiveness and wavering intrigue and sleek blue-gray cinematography minted for a cop movie––the kind that reflects thematic consideration and well-crafted execution in matching the steeliness of its hard-nosed leads––can’t do enough to save it.

Overall it’s a very odd, slightly awkward film, as one of a design nerd dealing with sex, trauma, and big pharma malfeasance probably should be. Yet there’s intriguing tension between the lame quips and wink-wink soft-rock soundtrack.

By condensing a 600-page-plus epic into a two-and-a-half-hour film, the sense of thought and detail that immortalizes Balzac isn’t translated.

Jurassic World: Dominion is at best distracted, at worst boring. Playing on the nostalgic return of key heroes and frantically attempting Spielbergian wonder, it wants you to believe it’s got a back-to-basics understanding of Jurassic Park. Instead it’s convoluted notions of big entertainment ignore what Spielberg understood: dinosaurs have always had a natural hold on our collective imagination. Making them fun doesn’t have to be this hard.

Tori and Lokita initially feels like something special as it breathlessly moves through the story, drawing you in utmost empathy towards the characters who are so bravely trying to claw themselves to dignity. But there’s this residue you can’t escape, of just how written and jerry-rigged it all seems: how the filmmaking has sacrificed that vital sense of plausibility just to keep the plates of story spinning, and the catharsis on the verge of spiking.

Though lacking some fine points of Ahn’s past work, he’s crafted a very funny, sweet, and inclusive romantic comedy with excellent performances. If Fire Island doesn’t reinvent any wheel, this is a comfortable movie that will likely bring a lot of joy to queer audiences and beyond.

Between Stanley’s briefly sketched relationship with Duvall’s departed owner and his mentorship of Bo, father figures loom large in Hustle, but you don’t feel much emotional weight, even as the player’s hothead attitude and past transgressions breed some second-into-third act tension.