For both diehard and casual fans, Marshall's entertainingly packaged film delivers a nostalgic tour back over the decades that shines a deserving spotlight on the group's artistry, an element too frequently overshadowed by their phenomenal chart reign.

The race to hold on to an identity being fragmented by technology, imagined so hauntingly in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, is pure genre formula here, which isn't to say it's not fun.

By concentrating too much on the physical hammer’s adventures in the closing reels, Mielants loses sight of the might of the hammer as a metaphor.

It's full of wry observations about the confusion of relationships — female friendships in particular — along with droll insights about a writer's inspiration and whether drawing from real life constitutes a license or a betrayal. In addition to wonderful performances from an ace cast, especially Bergen in divinely flinty form, the production is a technical jewel.

Mayor is a study in politics both micro and macro, showing what happens when the two come fatefully crashing together.

The canvas may be strewn with glitter and glory, but beneath the surface Syversen provides a chilling look at how religion can be used to ignore deeper personal traumas, convincing youngsters to turn to god when they should perhaps be turning to therapy or something more probing.

The starry casting and heavy hand of director Ryan Murphy do the featherweight material few favors, with inert dramatic scenes and overblown musical numbers contributing to the general bloat. The movie's most undeniable value is in the representation it provides to LGBTQ teens via a high school dance that is every emotionally isolated queer kid's rainbow dream.

It may seem very on the nose that the word "disaster" is right there in the title, but then nothing seems too leaden for this fiasco.

At just a fraction over an hour, the film doesn't match the narrative scope of Mangrove or Red, White and Blue. Nor does it have the enveloping intimacy of Lovers Rock, the only Small Axe entry not based on a true story. But its understated celebration of resilience and hope makes the compelling snapshot very much in keeping with the deeply personal nature of this project for McQueen.

The result is yet another paean to arrested male adolescence that should be mandatory viewing in convents to prevent nuns from thinking of renouncing their vows of celibacy.

Sentimental at times but not as cloying as its title may suggest, the polished production benefits from the happily un-cute lead performance of young star Tayler Buck, whose determination suits the weighty social issues driving the plot.

The most sympathetic, illuminating study of domestic labor since Roma.

Highlighting the sensory pleasure and creative satisfaction while mostly only hinting at the hassles, Remi Anfosso's A Chef's Voyage seems, like the tour it chronicles, a bit like a vanity project.

Russell leans into his iconic role with admirable commitment, providing just enough winking to let us know he's in on the joke and thoroughly enjoying it, while Hawn remains as adorable — albeit now in a more grandmotherly way — as always. When they're onscreen together, it somehow feels like this year's pandemic-threatened Christmas will miraculously still be one to celebrate.

The cast, though, is full of extraordinary actors, who do what they can to redeem a lame script and style.

Singer hopes to offer the history of Mendes' career, maturation and emotional journey through memory and imagery instead of hard fact, which renders the film feathery and dull. If anything, I wanted less self-discovery and more straight-up musical performance.

What Dower is interested in here isn't the hijacking itself or even how it has gone unresolved for decades, but rather the nature of the D.B. Cooper obsession.

No party-line screed, Gunda is a soul-stirring meditation on some of our most underappreciated fellow earthlings. For many viewers, it could well be life-changing too.

While the muted performances might have benefitted from the occasional more emotionally rooted response and the South Africa locations don’t quite convincingly double for John Ford country, it’s the inertness that ultimately stops Black Beauty in its tracks.

In an era where there's no shortage of clever animated features that appeal to kids while still tickling the grownups, the laughs here are about as fresh as the short-lived 1960s sci-fi comedy, It's About Time.

Freyne draws out fizzy, gutsy performances from his two leads, who have a genuine, charming chemistry. The authenticity of their performances is perhaps slightly out of tune with the broad caricatures on display elsewhere, such as the mean classmates, but it's ultimately forgivable given how winning the film is overall.

Unfortunately, the talented actor, while delivering a fiercely compelling performance, is let down by the formulaic screenplay by David McKenna, who explored similarly abrasive territory with such previous efforts as "American History X" and "Blow."

Dear Santa delivers a desperately needed dose of holiday cheer during these troubled times that will leave even the most Grinch-like of viewers bathed in their own tears.

Like the film of Fences, Ma Rainey's Black Bottom is too inextricably welded to its theatrical conception to become fully cinematic, even with Schliessler's lustrous visuals and the deluxe trappings of Mark Ricker's period production design, Ann Roth's gorgeous costumes and Branford Marsalis' jazzy underscoring. But watching actors of this caliber lose themselves in characters of such aching humanity is ample reward, with Boseman's towering work standing as a testament to a blazing talent lost too soon.

Given DuVall's background as an actor it's unsurprising she draws such engaging work from her cast, with tasty individual characterizations, but more importantly, a group dynamic that's both lively and believable.

Even Gandhi (maker of 2016's Obama-early-years feature "Barry") admits that what he hoped would be a cautionary tale is probably just one more way for the infamous celeb to get the attention he craves.

If nothing else, director Stanley Tong and martial arts superstar Jackie Chan’s latest effort, Vanguard, proves the law of diminishing returns. Not too long ago a Chan film guaranteed an entertaining time at the movies and heaps of awe at what the human body could endure. Now? Not so much.

A slickly made, effectively atmospheric B-movie suspenser that marks a promising feature debut for its writer/director, who also plays a featured role.