Maybe Marcos imagined this documentary would humanize her. Greenfield did. But not in the way that her subject would have preferred.

For all of the delightfully deranged places Primal could’ve gone, it stays drearily buttoned up.

For all its flaws, Last Christmas isn’t a bad time, despite being a bad movie. Credit Clarke and Golding — or that rum-heavy egg nog you should drink before the opening credits.

The only aspect of the film that even makes it watchable ends up being Shannon’s portrayal of Westinghouse.

Much like “It: Chapter Two,” Doctor Sleep is an odd generic blend. Part horror, part fantasy, part “The Shining” Oscars tribute, it engenders confusion more often than delight.

If Waddington’s fairy tale harbored any substance to counterbalance its external beauty, it might have established itself as a pleasingly subversive piece of pop art. Yet, despite its commendable goals, Paradise Hills will likely be lost to time.

Simply put, this is an expertly directed first feature. Clapin’s willingness to be patient as a scene unfolds, to let the hand experience the surreal images from its perspective, to let the quiet captivate the audience is beyond impressive.

Countdown is completely inessential and adds absolutely nothing of value to the cautionary tale genre of technology horror.

Hamilton, Reyes, and Davis do everything possible to inject emotional energy into this slashing, crashing sequel, but in the end, even their efforts are ground up by the action movie machine.

Counterbalancing a tongue-in-cheek treatise condemning the shallow obliviousness of the upper-middle class with niche comedic thrills, Greener Grass earns its reputation as a delightfully nauseating charmer that should be regarded as a salvia-covered tour de force for years to come.

A repetitive, uninspired, and ultimately braindead sequel.

The film is undeniably entertaining, it’s fun to see these characters and creators again, and hey, who am I to begrudge them a victory lap? But ultimately, the contrast between the epilogue film and the source material is undeniable.

Marcello brilliantly captures the circular nature of the perpetual expanse between the working class and the elite in the dense characterization of his subjects and the dialogue surrounding the rejection of Martin’s early writing.

Gripping, intriguing, and well-paced, Mary overcomes most of the issues with its overwritten script to emerge as a serviceable entry in the genre’s canon. Sure, the film lists from time to time, but it always manages to right itself when it matters.

Even if Varda by Agnes sometimes betrays its roots as a lecture, it’s a touching and memorable reflection on the life and art from a true legend of cinema, one whose ideas are as relevant as ever.

Packing a promising first act that quickly goes south and and a select few fun action beats, Ang Lee may be a disciple of technology, but if he’s going to trade the potential of meta-commentary on aging, youth, an actor’s legacy and more, for something meant to be slick entertainment, he’s still going to need a more convincing sermon.

This is a hearty, four-course meal for film fans, which, once again, demonstrates that the study of a film can be just as invigorating an experience as the actual film itself.

Despite a script that’s as obvious as a treasure map, Low Tide works because of its leads. The four actors have never been better.

In The Tall Grass proves a solidly spooky film, seeded with some tantalizing moments of terror. But it never grows to outright terrifying.

“Making Waves” covers an impressive amount of ground in 90 minutes and is a perfect introduction to the subject for a student or casual fan.

The Irishman, which feels like the work of an older, wiser, less flashy filmmaker, is much more preoccupied with the soul of Frank Sheeran and reckoning with his choices.

Beyond a commendable amount of love and effort, there’s nothing substantial to take away from The Disappearance of My Mother.

What Western Stars best achieves, a universal notion that will hook fans and non-fans alike, is the shared sense of community displayed in the infectious love shown for playing vital and moving music.

Red Penguins is utterly stuffed with memorable stories and unforgettable people. Therefore, the film is unquestionably entertaining for hockey fans. However, it has no more gravitas than, say, any random ESPN Films “30 for 30” entry.

Everything is subtext, as scenes float by with little grounding or purpose outside of compositional beauty.

A confidently crafted, well-acted three-hander ... But some viewers will find the hamster-wheel nature of “Jungleland” monotonous, and it’s hard to blame them.

Even if the personal and political don’t always line up neatly in The Moneychanger, it’s an engaging character study of a man with little character, elevated by Veiroj’s unusual eye.

There are moments in “My Zoe” that are hard to watch, unthinkable in their emotional brutality. That Delpy finds her way to the ending she does—and earns it is—no small accomplishment.

While Hedlund and Macdonald exhibit incredible chemistry, the outlandishness of the twists “Dirt Music” takes makes their performances nearly impossible to appreciate due to their cartoon buggery. Working with “Notebook”-level cheese, here the story’s stale.

“The Friend” is successfully anchored by its three leading players ... The sensitivity of these performances, particularly from Affleck and Segel, offers a reckoning on sincere friendship and the limits of devotion that remains with the viewer, long after the days of waiting and the years of pain have finally come to an end.

Jackman shines, teasing us with suggestions of just how deep his performance runs.

The Burnt Orange Heresy stunts as a thriller, but it’s most intriguing when it gives way to soulful questioning of the career of criticism, a profession subjective enough to dodge checks and balances and neglect the significance of honesty, if it so chooses.

The metaphors are a bit too numerous and on the nose at times, but Rylance’s unbelievable performance overshadows the minor downfalls.

Marder believes devoutly in the power of actors and acting, preferring to get out of the way and let them show their stuff. Ahmed returns the favor by delivering career-best work by a wide margin.

Ultimately, the lack of risk-taking not only makes for a pedantic experience but ironically serves Tubman very poorly, never allowing for Erivo’s performance or the spirit of the subject to ever feel truly free.

A wildly misbegotten mess, a goulash of incongruent tones and unclear motives.

A film that takes so much care to spend time on a different perspective—on the woman juggling ambition and love without sacrifice—feels vital. At the same time, during the restrained and contemplative journey that precedes liftoff, “Proxima” often feels like it is waiting for a more devastating threat – you can do all the preparation in the world, and it still won’t prevent the fallout of the big leap when it happens.

The kind of brainy, absorbing, all-out thrilling cinema that’s in dangerously short supply these days.

There are enough subplots to fill every room in the estate, but none of these stories are fleshed out.

Stanley ratchets up the off-kilter humor while playing down the deep melancholy present in the short story’s original text. This observation could be seen as a knock on the director’s approach, but for audiences going in with zero expectations beyond a good time, the interlaced humor feels like nothing more than playing to Cage’s unique strengths.

Tonally confusing ... For all its strange and specific flavor, "Clifton Hill" is too tame and tepid to truly work as weird noir.

Kurzel’s prismatic view of Kelly’s life and times goes to gnarlier and more vivid places than superficially similar period pieces.

Unfortunately, Iannucci and Blackwell are so intent on making every quip funny, they lose the story.

Larraín’s Ema will grate some. Even so, it’s one of the most ambitious and visually stunning films of the year.

While the non-linear structure of Guest of Honour makes for a more thrilling watch than if it had played out chronologically, the story can be uneven and unsatisfying in places.

It’s a mighty snoozy affair, in which we discover that Doremus’s cinematic style —intimate, personal, and improvisation — has not so much solidified as cauterized.

Given the subject matter, it’s difficult not to stray into mawkishness of some kind. But even with mistakes, the power of the main narrative is hard to erode.

Taika Waititi’s self-proclaimed “anti-hate satire” “Jojo Rabbit” exists in service of a single idea, a notion so desperately idealistic that it lands somewhere between naïveté and disingenuousness.

The problem, unfortunately, is that Hope Gap is based on Nicholson’s play “The Retreat from Moscow” and the proceedings never really leaves the theater. Despite the director’s attempts to throw in [a few] drone shots to break up the drama and make the affairs inherently more cinematic, there are few scenes that don’t seem as though they would be more intriguing played out in front of a live audience.

Perhaps the pieces could have held together with the right leading man as glue. Elgort is, assuredly, not that.

In playing a man who was so clearly among his comic ancestors and influences, we see, for the first time in a long time, Murphy’s sheer joy of performance, the thing that made his early work in films like “48 HRS.” and “Beverly Hills Cop” so electrifying.

It’s just uninspired, a by-the-books courtroom drama, full of big speeches about justice and equality and Doing What’s Right, moved along by montages and fake-outs.

The picture’s biggest flaw is that it’s so mellow it occasionally veers into inertia.

Around the two men, Heller creates a world that blurs the lines between every form of communication to serve the panoramic impact of her sensitive, almost magical design.

The genre maestro has his audience in good hands, “good” in this instance meaning both “skilled, capable, expert” and “decent, ethically sound.” He’s assembled a dazzling contraption that, if twisted in just the right way, pops open to reveal a nugget of wisdom crystallized by the cathartic final shot: we only really own what we earn.

What elevates Hustlers from an entertaining con job flick to something noteworthy is that the racket isn’t inherent to the story Scafaria wants to tell. Many filmmakers will say their film tackles female empowerment, but few do the legwork to make an integral and authentic part of the story.

Chu’s performance is astonishing.

The beauty of Lina Ronstadt: The Sound of My Voice is the sound of other voices.

First Cow is faint, deliberately paced filmmaking where you can often hear a pin drop. But in its tiny way, the modest and gentle little film is moving and poetic.

Clinical in nature and matter-of-fact (but still affecting), The Assistant is essentially a procedural about being a personal assistant to a powerful Hollywood man and all that entails.

A hodgepodge of a story that only really works when Glaisher and Wren are in the sky. And when they are it’s absolutely gorgeous.

Somehow the filmmakers found lightheartedness and – gasp – laughs in a story of political intrigue at the top of the notoriously buttoned-up Catholic Church.

In spite of all the reasons that this film should have been another "Outlaw King" – silly and self-important – it manages to cleverly duck and dive around nearly all of them. It’s a feat that speaks to the deftness and intelligence of the approach that Michôd and Edgerton take with their writing and direction, giving us an epic period piece that actually fulfills much of that ambition.

Despite some misplaced comedy, a few questionable creative decisions, and tonal inconsistencies, It: Chapter Two brings it all home with a remarkable third act that provides one of the most relatable, moving, and emotionally satisfying conclusions.

It may be too gentle to leave a deep impression, but its sweetness is also well-earned and nice to savor.

There’s intricate, and then there’s messy. In a story of unspooling complexity and multiple double-crosses, the biggest trouble with Wasp Network is that it can be flat-out confusing.

Comparisons to Adam McKay‘s “The Big Short” and “Vice” are unavoidable. But though The Laundromat is similarly breezy, unsubtle, and disposable—it is not, we’d wager, one of the Soderbergh films that will best stand the test of time—it is still a better movie.

With exquisite costume design, cinematography and a talented supporting cast, there’s plenty to admire in Seberg. However, the film’s sprawling and unwieldy narrative is ultimately what hinders it, leaving a drama that focuses in on a single person somehow feeling shallow and impersonal.

Zellweger’s poise and presence make the entire affair more than worthwhile.

Uncut Gems is an insane ride with no respite that will grind your senses down to their last nerve.

In amongst Joker’s fire and blood and chaos and its blackest of blackhearted laughter, there is the sense of a grotesque, green-haired genie being let out of a bottle, and whether it wreaks havoc or not, we’re not going to be able to put it back in.

When Shults soars under this structure, he composes some brilliant moments. When he falters, it seems like the movie doesn’t know where to go or when to end (if it even wants to).

It’s a middling historical drama, finely crafted and ever so slightly stodgy in spite of a compelling last act.

It tells a lot of great stories and illuminates a city-wide tragedy, but given all the heartbreaking and enraging stories within, one wishes Decade Of Fire could emotionally sear and rage just as well as it educates.

Kim’s film is a compassionate piece on interpersonal connection that’ll touch your heart when it’s at its most vulnerable

Ford v Ferrari is the sort of cinematic entertainment that sucks you in and won’t let you go until you cross the finish line.

Before You Know It packs a lot of character development into 98 minutes. By the film’s end, tears are shed (perhaps including yours, the audience member’s), jealousies uncorked, and secrets aired – but while each player has their disparate arc, they defy contrivance.

Melding the anxiety of the unknown and the fear of who we truly are in our core, all that we try and compartmentalize emotionally as human beings, Gray crafts a movie that is deeply personal, thought-provoking, and thrilling.

Baumbach pulls no punches, and exhumes a personal calamity, most people wouldn’t have the stomach to sift through again. It’s wrenching stuff to be sure, but it’s also excruciatingly funny, loaded with empathy, compassion, and understanding too, featuring outstanding performances from its leads, Driver and Scarlett Johansson.

There’s the potential for melodrama, but despite the misleadingly grandiose title, The Truth is not in the business of the grand, tormented revelation. Instead, it’s an accretion of little moments, often very funny, sometimes a little sad, but always embedded in the reality of these sharply drawn, idiosyncratic characters.

The work is emotionally instructive but thematically unfocused. Despite having a fascinating story to tell and some illuminating subjects, American Factory comes off as slightly over-zealous, educationally speaking, and is without a manageable sense of moral edification as an observational documentary.

Aquarela is truly a theatrical experience that benefits from the dark, distraction-free nature of the theater, in which the cycles of water, from frozen lakes to hurricanes, becomes an all-consuming force.

At its heart, the film tells an incredibly touching – and altogether unexpected – human story. Entertaining and educational in equal parts, Simó’s animated film is one you don’t want to skip.

Try as the filmmakers do to conjure a restorative kind of magic in its searching, yearning storyline of renewal, they are not able to come up with much more than a limping comedy about a woman with all-too-easily-explained mental issues.

Angry Birds Movie 2 fills the screen with flashy characters, appealing set pieces and a voice cast filled with lively voices.

Similar to the cringeworthy performance art that wraps itself around the core of the film, This Is Not Berlin is emotionally hollow, more than a bit confused, and regrettably forgettable.

Because we’re living in the worst timeline, these actors and concept are wasted in a movie that lacks spark, flavor, spice, and generally anything that generates or even resembles substantive heat.

Overall, despite a few profound explosions of emotion, the remake is more tonally overbearing than it is dramatically rewarding.

Shadyac’s movie may ask difficult questions about the ills that society grapples with today, but it tackles them in a shallow, facile, sometimes uncomfortably out of touch manner.

Love, Antosha isn’t revelatory in its treatment of Yelchin’s life and career but it profoundly serves as a reminder of just how talented he was, and further reinforces the fact that he was just beginning to burgeon as a creative force.

Tel Aviv on Fire is a summer gem unlike any other you will see this year–an invitation to laugh at a world in decline.

Possibly led by nobler intentions, the Israeli writer-director ends up cashing in on the mettle of those involved in a bold rescue mission, tweaking a terrifying reality until it resembles little more than a banal thriller.

Making the plunge into full-on Saturday Morning cartoon territory with its ludicrous over-the-top-ness, Hobbs & Shaw is a quippy, explosively kick-ass, utterly preposterous buddy romp that injects some much-needed nitrous oxide into an otherwise stale summer movie season.

Similar to RGB, Raise Hell preaches to the small choir that adored Ivins, but this documentary sings a beautiful new psalm that will reach new disciples and renew the follower faith like a tent revival.

With the bar for breakout genre flicks being set so high in recent years, one can’t help but feel that Radio Silence is capable of something more substantial and memorable in its craft. Like most of Grace and Alex’s wedding gifts, Ready or Not is certainly diverting but hardly essential.

This is often an insightful film, but it’s full of delights for journalism, history, and political junkies alike. It doesn’t fully answer the challenging problem of where the line between the two needs to be, but at least it’s asking the right question.

The problem is Estes’ script. There are some real clunkers twisting around in the dialogue, and this viewer was way ahead of its big twists (and I never figure out big twists).

The film’s title isn’t just referring to the past, but what everyone involved witnesses in their communities everyday. By letting this fester and not confronting it dead on are we not saying we’re fine with being “barbarians’? It’s a credible question the filmmaker leaves you to ponder in private.