[Okuno’s] made a smart, controlled movie of pricks and gestures and tones that accumulate into a satisfying catharsis. And perhaps validated the urge to follow your gut.

Bergholm’s debut is ultimately a knotty delight, however on-the-nose its metaphor about those monsters we fashion from our own disfigured forms of love.

Formally, Living is unimpeachable. . . . That said, Living begins and ends with Nighy.

Despite some narrative and aesthetic reservations, there is an edge and an engagement throughout that make 892 worth a recommendation. Abi Damaris Corbin and John Boyega have done solid work in bringing Brian Brown-Easley’s tragic end to the masses.

It’s hard to find movies—no matter their scope—that grasp and depict the human experience with the kind of honesty and dexterity Raiff has committed to the screen so far.

Call Jane is a competently made, well-acted historical drama that doesn’t give its charged subject matter the stakes or urgency it needs.

While her aesthetic may boast some grander flourishes than Hittman’s neorealism, there is nevertheless a vérité style to Diwan’s approach that places us right up against Anne for the majority of the film — a tight, boxed aspect ratio leads to the feeling of the walls closing in, her panic setting in just underneath the surface, observed in oft-used closeups of Vartolomei’s expressive face.

From the opening act, the film reeks of well past their expiration date cliches regarding toxic men in our modern dating culture and the ways they commodify women to be conquests rather than people. The trouble is that FRESH doesn’t treat any of its characters as more than commodities either.

The documentary shows the Kraffts’ harmonious curiosity with nature––even its most cataclysmic forces––to make the world a safer place is a lesson anyone could benefit from.

Despite an under-developed script, Wolfhard and Moore both deliver strong performances as their characters continue their parallel tracks, with narcissism blocking the desire to achieve their true goals and neither truly listening to the person they want to make happy.

Despite highlighting some chaotic encounters, Williams isn’t interested in explosions and one-dimensional, hell-bent villains. His focus remains on the way years of criminalization can impact decision-making and friendships, and, as his last shot suggests, how distinct sounds can traumatize even as they’re meant to help.

Memory Box is at its strongest in its first half, when Alex steals objects from the box that she’s been forbidden to look at, and her imaginings about her mother’s youth are visualized on screen through mixed media animation.

While the structure is fairly standard and its overall aesthetic sometimes appears limited by scope, The Laureate is a solid, heady account of a particularly tumultuous time in the life of poet Robert Graves.

Definition Please‘s strength is its authenticity and normalization of minorities away from blatant stereotypes. It acknowledges the struggles endured with honesty and humor in ways that are as relatable as they are unique.

Scream is not a bad movie. It is, however, a case of mediocrity being the worst sin. For a franchise all about coping with a media landscape that begets disillusionment to produce something just like this, it especially hurts.

Director Terence Krey and Nyland (who co-writes as well as stars) have crafted a horror film under the name of the aforementioned song An Unquiet Grave, so a return to happiness will inevitably be short-lived if it even arrives.

The Pink Cloud suffocatingly explores what it means to live in a world that no longer exists beyond what we artificially create for ourselves, the consequences of extended loneliness, and the capabilities of human adaptation.

It’s frustrating when a film provides us with an original character and an engaging first act while following so predictably in the shoes of other home invasion and defense thrillers.

Kruger and Nyong’o elevate the material to a level it probably doesn’t deserve with Chastain and Cruz following closely behind.

A film such as this lives and dies by its leads, and both are wonderful on-screen together, creating a realistic love story that works well as they navigate the situation they both find themselves in.

All that flare and stealthy humor give the familiar sense of a young director attempting to flex every creative muscle at once. Seldom is this advised, yet it’s nothing if not thrilling to watch.

Clint Bentley’s Jockey sources its strength from its casting. Led by a career-best Clifton Collins Jr. and supported by more-than-solid performances from Molly Parker and Moisés Arias, the film leans on these three actors to tell a tried-and-true story.

Though less a take-it-or-leave-it gauntlet-toss than Lana Wachowski’s more boldly experimental work, the virtues of her fourth Matrix are often in excess of anything she’s made since the polarizing-but-great sequels, sometimes in contradiction to the matter of us even watching it—a work about the fact that it almost should not exist.

This is a movie engineered to resemble a thrill ride, a greatest-hits carousel powered by fan service and corporate recycling. It practically embraces Marty’s designation—and that’s OK. Despite their noted limitations, theme parks like this still offer plenty of fun.

If it bears the fault of preaching to the choir’s anger more than offering real structural critique, one has to begrudgingly admire some qualities of his newest film, even as being annoyed for a good portion of the runtime is still expected.

There’s no panache, no cinematic sensibility at all to make this come off the page and excite the viewer. As his script struggles to keep things on their feet, the complete absence of personality in Sorkin’s direction sinks Being the Ricardos to the point of no return.

By the time the climax with a big CGI beastie arrives and basically ends before it begins, the slightly unsatisfying feelings of Raccoon City become cemented.

When the very ground on which people live becomes uncertain, the necessity of passion—in love, in combat—becomes all the more apparent, and Spielberg’s fidelity to that sentiment, and to his own decisions, bears the vitality of this alternate take aloft.