It’s easy enough to admire the evident technical merits, yes, but difficult to find any element that invites a viewer into the specific, soulful experience of the characters. As The Death of Robin Hood circles the obvious ending, the main point of reflection it invites is the missed opportunity to flesh out this world with a level of detail on par with its ambitions.

Pressure moves along with enough of a hook to keep one invested, despite its predetermined conclusion and overly familiar structure. As far as paying respect to the unsung heroes that meteorologists were in the war effort, the film carries out its duty. In terms for bringing the winds of change to the subgenre of WWII films, the result is more static than airborne.

This dramatic, grandiose treatment ultimately feels forced, ill-suited to a character who, despite the director and star’s joint efforts to mystify him, never ceases to come across as ordinarily mediocre.

It takes what could be a lean, mean little zombie movie and jams in too much excess noise, when the most impactful bits came from keeping things simple. Even as it’s not without its merits, it’s a film that can’t keep getting out of its own way, constantly stacking more and more nonsense on top of itself until it nearly buckles under the weight.

There is a place for this, but the inherent ideas are often, for lack of a better word, basic. Overall, it’s simply not clever enough to transcend the genre.

It feels natural to expect blood-dripping gore and reckless violence from a film titled Victorian Psycho, but, with his latest, Zachary Wigon chooses instead to lure the audience with the fresh smell of ripped flesh, only to trap them under a heavy blanket of frustration.

Orphan feels like an exercise more concerned with the precision of its technical execution than the more ungovernable reins of its emotional axis.

For all its dull, forgettable, and sometimes egregious misjudgments, “The Mandalorian and Grogu” is not terrible, exactly. It is occasionally cute, occasionally funny, and sometimes harmlessly silly. But it is also completely disposable, and that may be worse.

As Another Day winds down, the weight of throwing almost everything against the wall, hoping it will stick, is a bit too much for the movie to bear. Despite her best efforts and avoiding melodramatic (if not often realistic) rock bottom moments, Herry cannot avoid treading into television movie of the week territory. All while a fiercely committed Exarchopoulos does her best to overcome the shackles of the genre.

Thankfully, Drucker has enough charisma to hold your attention in even the most mundane moments.

Ultimately, you get an acceptable thriller with some sharp lines, two leads you like, and far too much scaffolding for what arrives in return. Not a disaster, but no sign of peak Ritchie either. It is, in a way, fitting that it ends up in the grey.

Theron can survive almost anything onscreen. Apex proves, once again, that she can carry weak material farther than most actors. It also proves that even she cannot quite drag a dull survival programmer up the mountain.

The scattershot Mother Mary can never effectively find the connective tissue between different modes of storytelling. To put it in musical terms, this is less a mixtape and more of a playlist on a chaotic shuffle.

The problems are many, the ease with which it goes down is high, and whether Thrash set out to craft a solid thriller or a purposeful schlockfest, it lands squarely in the middle, destined to be forgotten.

Super Mario Galaxy is nice to look at and dead inside, a committee-made franchise object masquerading as an adventure, and ultimately little more than an empty commercial for Super Mario branding.

In the end, “Rhythm Is A Dancer” remains a classic banger, but Pretty Lethal never finds any remotely memorable rhythms of its own.

Its lack of visual cohesion and bizarre finale get in the way of enjoying the whirlwind of fists, bullets, fantastical fights, and a sword with katana-like powers of cutting bodies in half. No one can accuse this film of becoming boring, but its over-stuffed narrative never quite delivers on its promising start.

It seems like Over Your Dead Body is caught between deconstructing itself and just going through the motions.

Even with some perfectly fine comedic gags, Power Ballad can never overcome the emptiness of its characters and the equally flat, overlit visuals that make the entire thing look more like a bad TV episode than an actual film.

For a film so fixated on provoking fear and dread through the medium of audio, it’s naturally strongest when it does not bother to stimulate the eyes at all.

As Coppola teases Jacobs’ brilliance over the decades, you realize he may not have gotten his due as one of the most influential designers of the past 50 years. He may have been taken for granted both inside the insular fashion world and by the public at large. And, at worst, you just hope sometime soon, another filmmaker tackles an extended film or docu-series about him and really gives him his due.

There’s a floor for entertainment with a cast this strong, especially two leads who can contort themselves bodily and emotionally with such dexterity. But “The Bride!” spends too long operating at that level because it cannot escape the mire of confusion about its own identity.

Once the basic parameters of Franco’s thought experiment in Dreams are grasped, what’s left is an obvious parable about immigration with little to offer beyond spitefulness and a smugly superior sense of self-loathing.

The material’s dualities trap Ford between continents, not to mention genres and tones.

Frank & Louis slips into being a film that’s observed and admired from a distance, not experienced emotionally.

“American Pachuo” is just a nice movie about a visionary guy. Entertaining and educational, to be sure, but so frictionless it barely sticks.

The downside is that Lagos is a more interesting character in this film than Lady herself, who Nwosu outlines with far less finesse. Such a glaring imbalance is symptomatic of the script’s overall flimsiness, which stands in contrast to this debut’s heartfelt performances and staggering visuals.

There’s a good movie about therapy and PTSD inside Jay Duplass’ See You When I See You. The trouble is, it’s buried in a so-so family ensemble film about shared grief and recovery.