The Secret Agent doesn’t just exist in conversation with the genre films from the decade in which most of it unfurls; it also testifies, time and again, to the director’s unwavering belief in cinema’s capacity to disquiet and mesmerize.

One film too late for a sophomore slump, Alpha feeds on its own potential, turning a possibly brilliant collection of ideas into one so muddy it’s hard to say exactly what any of them connote. But the feeling of having to trudge through is there all the same, and over two hours is a long trudge.

In Urchin, Dickinson blends issue-driven social realism (a British staple) with the trendier look of a Safdie film: all medium shots, real streets, non-professionals, and the occasional trip down a colorful drain. These might not always blend smoothly (this is an uneven film at the best of times) but it is an interesting combination that even expresses a clear political perspective.

Panahi welds scorching social critique to a masterful command of form: a devastating cry for justice, his latest also serves as a superb thriller. It is a towering achievement.

This is a compelling, cleverly constructed comedy-thriller with plenty on its mind. It satirizes the movie industry and authoritarianism while never pushing the comedy into outright farce. And it isn’t afraid to get real when necessary.

There’s no question that this sweet, nostalgia-laced ode to life in the countryside has its heart in the right place, but a lack of nuance and creative risk-taking greatly hampered the delivery of its message.

If anything, it suffers from being a bit too lightweight and gives a somewhat unfocused impression initially, until a beautiful third act reveals the mystery and pain of a boy seeking his place in the world.

Lighton has made a truly provocative anti-romance that’s funny, honest, strangely touching. It’s an exceptional balance act that makes Pillion the unlikeliest crowd-pleaser.

If Loznitsa has cited Gogol and Kafka as touchstones, there are scenes in Two Prosecutors that echo the bleak absurdism of Roy Andersson.

The result is a rich and gradually rewarding bildungsroman, a film that can be cold to the touch but leaves much to unpack.

It’s textbook Petzold, which I mean as a major compliment. Don’t expect all of the mysteries to be uncovered. There is no big explainer moment or narratively satisfying closure, the likes of which Petzold rejects, but the enigmas that do reveal themselves yield rare treasures.

The only thing that beats the lightning bolt of discovery is seeing a filmmaker build on it with each passing work, stretching out to explore the further reaches of their talents.

It’s often pleasant, pretty, impressive, and well-scored (and we’ll note the spectacle of design shortly), but that isn’t enough for someone of his caliber. Where is the emotion? The feeling? The Owen Wilson perspective of his storytelling soul?

I would say it’s this director’s weakest film, but when you’ve never made a bad one that probably doesn’t say a lot. Whatever the case, Die My Love remains worthwhile.

The character’s thinly sketched beliefs combined with Phoenix’s uncharacteristically vague performance keep him constantly at arm’s reach. We never really get into his head, which makes his eventual downfall (or Falling Down) feel both nihilistic and dramatically undercharged.

At worst it’s preachy and, I fear, will feel “old” to younger audiences. At best, Nouvelle Vague is the kind of movie that emboldens people to make films themselves, and even more so, to adopt filmmaking as a way of life.

This highly experimental, deeply unsettling tale about the fates of women and their echoes down history plays like a psychosexual fever dream of epic scope. While it will confound and upset plenty, hardcore cinephiles can mark this down as their next film to obsess over. It’s quite a feast.

The wildly ambitious sophomore effort Bring Her Back gradually reveals itself to be a direct statement on the cheap exploitation of grief, channeling the existential nihilism of French New Extremity works like Martyrs to explore just how unhealthy it is to process death at such a surface level. That it’s also one of the most distressing, anxiety-inducing horror films of recent memory when taken at face value is just a bonus.

While there’s a lot to admire and some big laughs courtesy of Deutch, the film will wear down audiences a bit, feeling both redundant and, as many romantic comedies do, ultimately predictable.

The mood created by Basir, who also photographed To Live and Die and Live, is far more interesting than any over-the-top, formulaic family drama the film boxes itself into.

The Final Reckoning‘s sum is not necessarily equal to its parts, but where the film stumbles technically, it soars viscerally, bolstered by the simple comfort that it’s just nice to hang with our friends in the IMF (even if they are stressed beyond measure).

Whatever its easygoing nature, Sister Midnight remains entertaining and visually distinguished, with aid from Interpol’s Paul Banks on the score. It may not fully congeal, but neither does Uma––that’s just life.

Directors Zach Lipovsky and Adam Stein have managed to avoid the various clichés we’ve come to expect from a reboot-sequel hybrid. Their movie is a delight because they understand Final Destination isn’t a cinematic universe anybody needs to hold in high regard; it’s a silly, bloody rollercoaster that reminded me why this series was such stupid fun in the first place.

Certainly helping matters are the four strong performances, but the definite standout is LaBeouf.

It seems, at the end of the day, that the film is afraid to be a melodrama, almost as if displaying the timidity of its characters. One might think he spent a decade building up more anger.

Fight or Flight‘s enjoyment will rest on where you stand with Hartnett, his character, and his comedy.

While the ending––a weird collage that attempts to recontextualize the story that came before it––will probably be the main talking point, it’s also the least-interesting component of Erkman’s feature. Instead, it’s the bifurcated structure that lends itself to a compelling, albeit frustrating narrative.

Ghost Trail leaves a lasting impression, especially from its redemptive ending where choices are made to reward the audience’s emotional and moral investment. The film communicates a sense of hope for a displaced people, a roadmap to the future, the possibility of absolution.