It leans a bit heavy into big swing emotional moments and has a few shouting matches too many, but Asgari gives an absolutely tremendous performance that hits like a wrecking ball and may make even the most stone-hearted tear up.

While the first act feels dynamic despite its stationary setting, the latter sections unravel oppositely. The gags that played so well the first time around grow tiresome through repetition, and the mystery around the big event that seems to lead them all into doom takes center stage to the detriment of the relationship between the characters.

In a film lacking in nuance, Mozdah brings needed depth to her performance.

The biggest failing of this mostly enjoyable documentary is that it works like a Michael Moore film. It probably won't convince those outside the circle, it will only serve to push them further away.

As Odysseus returned home after his troubled journey to find yet more strife, Coogan and Brydon go back to their familiar schtick—long drives and touristy rambles punctuated by expensively minimalist dinners, all of it borne on a tide of joshing, snarky banter—only to discover more discomfort.

Moving, rousing, funny and at times even haunting.

Has its moments, especially any time Streep is on screen, but as it strains on at an overlong two hours, the glitter of fairy tale movie magic diminishes, leaving only a pale shadow.

It's a stinker of an ending tacked on to a disappointing third act (which is at least lifted up by Bartlett's performance), and it's a shame because so much of what went on before was so good: a tender, unsentimental, unexploitative look at an existence that all too many people have, and what it is to be someone who looks after them.

Lehmann’s real imprint isn’t found in the visuals, but in the performances evoked from both Duplass and Paulson. While the former may have the showstopper moments, it’s the latter who stands out.

Leto sadly feels more like the conclusion of summer than the start of the year’s brightest season, and is too devoid of energy to warrant a recommendation to anyone other than diehard fans of Serebrennikov’s prior work.

Some occasionally awkward performance moments aside, though, the film is very compassionate towards its characters and finds just about enough original insight within the well-worn family drama genre to keep things from feeling too familiar—it’s a just a shame there couldn’t have been a little more vitality injected early on.

There are so many interesting ideas and concepts that could have been spun from this framework. Instead, it's the work of a bunch of filmmakers who seemingly wanted to offer up a WTF-worthy twist ending and tried to reverse engineer a movie from it.

This strange, deliberately naïve film plunges a high-concept romance into a banal, lifeless world.

Peck’s genuine admiration for the sharpness and clarity of Orwell’s writing, combined with the rich tonality of Damian Lewis’ narration, gives the author as grandly respectful a presentation as “I Am Not Your Negro” did for James Baldwin. If “Orwell: 2+2=5” gets one more person to discover Orwell’s work for themselves, then its job will have been accomplished.

There are pleasures to be found in "Chicken with Plums" to be certain, but we'd hope for something a little more satisfying next time out from the directing team.

You Resemble Me is a challenging film that tests the limits of empathy, but one whose lessons are ignored at our own peril.

Tenet is, as breathless as it can feel in its best bits, ultimately, no more and no less than a consummately arranged film about a group of people who arrive, get the job done with enormous skill and at great expense, and leave.

She Paradise is a love letter not only to the autonomy of a young Black woman but the culture of a proud island nation, too.

Tarsem’s direction throbs with moral rigor and righteous anger previously not evident in his work.

This is exhaustingly exhibitionist cinema, that wants to be looked at for the sake of being looked at — for the crispness of its moves, not the complexity of its concepts, and that can get wearying after a while.

The picture clangs clumsily for stretches, particularly in its second half; Selick is trying to merge the doomy darkness of “Coraline” with the high spirit and good humor of “Nightmare Before Christmas,” and they don’t always mix.

The Bastards feels like what happens when an undeniably great filmmaker stoops to sensationalism -- it’s a smarter, odder film than someone else would make with the same material, but it’s still smart, odd sensationalism.

In script and performance, the film is an articulate howl of anguish and rage given depth by a discerning comprehension of the ways various communities can rely on faith for very different means.

There are no dull moments in this ridiculously brutal, often severely dumb, but enjoyable, film

By the end, Are We Good? transcends its conventional biographical trappings to land somewhere soulful. Dragging us through the wreckage of grief and out the other side, it suggests that Maron’s legacy isn’t merely acerbic stand-up or podcast milestones, but the more complex work of becoming human in public.

Strikingly bold in its dramatic construction, and adept at folding the macro issues into the lives of everyday residents of a tumultuous area of the world, “Huda’s Salon” is contained inside an expertly paced plot that seems ready to combust at any second.

Subtlety proves a scarce commodity as the debuting duo chops at this cautionary tale until its fragile narrative bones are fully exposed, dialogue stripped of any valuable nuance.

Ultimately, Spider-Man Far From Home turns all its intelligent themes into a triumphant story of self-belief for Peter Parker.

Gentle but sharply observed, Good Posture is an uncommon cinematic look at an intergenerational female relationship.

Beautiful, yet dark and moving, unsparing, but told with a sympathetic eye, Ginger & Rosa is sometimes relentless in its examination of emotional pain.

What should be a gripping, true crime/mystery story gets often bogged down by a lack of focus from filmmakers Dayna Goldfine and Dan Geller, who don't always realize the central saga can stand well enough on its own.

Berg’s approach is blunt and effective. With Patriots Day, he’s made an action film that grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let up.

Mona Lisa and the Blood Moon is a blast.

The Armor of Light condemns the organizations that create cultures of fear in order to line their own pockets, cultures that end up putting human life below profits.

The Fault in Our Stars wins points for being more complex and stylish than most similar films feel they need to be. Most movies with this target audience are maudlin and manipulative, but Boone's film never feels like it's trying too hard to win our tears—or our laughter.

None of this would be as funny if it was done by anyone other than Wiig, who has never been funnier. Her crass, narcissistic, capricious Alice is her greatest creation.

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.

The documentary feels more like a mystery and almost like fiction itself as it unravels the multiple layers behind Amina’s real identity. The revelation is jaw-dropping and infuriating, and the outrage only increases as each additional detail is uncovered.

Emphasizing Selah’s discovery that cliques are kinda dumb and that her actions have consequences, Selah and the Spades loses momentum, despite a witty framing device that places characters as tiny figures in the school’s vast, empty rooms.

There’s simply too many stories to contain about the Chelsea, but “Dreaming Walls” does well to show how the ghosts of the residents past can, hopefully, inform the hotel’s future.

The Deepest Breath isn’t hiding the fact that there are daring hazards involved with athletes risking their lives for world records, but it isn't exactly forthcoming either, and the failure to effectively thread that needle is its biggest problem.

Gregg, who wrote and directed, has mostly written for television, and while this is her feature directorial debut, she’s a born filmmaker.

Teen Titans Go! To the Movies is one of the biggest surprises at the movies this summer. In fact, it’s downright super.

An uninspired movie, The Drop would be utterly forgettable if it weren't for the fact that you’re left wondering how all this talent created something so unexceptional.

For the most part, One Life is chronicling very familiar WW II territory. It’s not difficult to prompt genuine tension from these horrific events, but Hawes’ depiction of them is simply too conservative.

It’s what we don’t see, at least not in full, that makes the film scare so effectively. Bertino holds his monster in reserve, conceding its presence through brief and mostly obscured glimpses of its shape.

An angry, provocative conversation starter designed to shake viewers loose of their political indifference and inspire them to take up the charge, the rousing picture deserves to sit at the table recognized as one of Moore’s best work.

“Boyz in the Wood” is a jolt of irreverent fun that wants you to laugh at the stupid and depraved behavior of teenage boys but also to know that at the end of the day, the kids will be all right.

Gainsbourg is riveting in her portrayal of the intricacy of this pattern, her hands grasping for the tangibility of doorframes when words seem far too futile, her back arching and contracting to respond to ecstasy and sorrow.

Even with a relative lack of action, and a confusing attitude towards introducing and removing characters from the narrative in rapid succession, The Outfit is still a wonderfully atmospheric film and fresh new addition to the genre – thanks in large part to Alexandre Desplat‘s heady score, sharp dialogue from writer-director Graham Moore, and Rylance’s consistently impressive leading performance.

Cha Cha Real Smooth is an affable, heart-on-its-sleeve winner.

Edwin declines to make a choice between idiosyncrasy and action, and his work winds up feeling like a loosely related assembly of material instead of a finished film.

The film is rife with contrivances and clichés, but it engages with them in a respectful and clever manner, enough to sell even the silliest ideas. Man Up knows what it is, and the result is unexpectedly refreshing and exceedingly charming.

While the surface glance of the film does feature a standard array of American indie signifiers, it’s worth emphasizing again that Abbasi’s voice is distinct, and is sure to become more sharply defined as his career evolves.

It’s a perceptive film about the way men of a certain age act around each other. (Which, is to say, like boys.)

Crudely put: it is distancing to hear people cry for help or speak anguished, halting truths from their hearts in a second language, and for all the bruising effectiveness of the filmmaking at times, it’s a distraction which 22 July never quite overcomes.

Carry-On works because it keeps it simple, because of its no-fuss-no-muss approach and two actors who can really elevate compelling material. Sometimes that’s enough.

If Atkinson’s presentation is just a hair above “competent,” it does the job of exposing the corroded heart of American policing.

Sightseers homicidal holiday isn't just a pitch-black comedy made with skill, will and brains; it's also another demonstration that Wheatley is, to use an all-too-appropriate phrase, going places.

When it rides off into the sunset, what you’re left with is a diverse, reimagined fable of iniquity, holy retribution, and comeuppance that is as entertaining as it is surprisingly soulful.

Compliance is as much a meta-textual gauntlet as it is a movie; its subject matter not only deserves, but demands to be discussed and argued about, rather than being simply accepted at face value.

Sometimes silly, outlandish, and sentimental in its fan service-y callbacks, Star Trek Beyond and its sense of entertaining urgency often trumps its insubstantial qualities, as illogical as that may be.

The world of the film is bracingly immediate and constantly overflowing—dubious sound design or a shift in image quality, while glaring, can’t puncture the holistic nightmare of Matti’s vision.

First Match is a culturally significant, capably-crafted film, but it leans on safe familiarities when it should seek risky rewards.

While the film elegantly considers the relationship between Feña and their father in the third act, it still feels like something is missing from that aspect of the picture. Especially after Feña’s anxious build-up to his arrival.

Too often the mechanisms of plot can be felt, the beats of the story seen, and the obvious intentions of the story heard in a line of dialogue. So, while at times it’s easy to see the great film that Tunnel could have been, that never stops it from being perfectly watchable thriller that it is.

Even given the shapelessness of the picture, Hoback does the best he can in providing an imperfect timeline to a possibly worsening issue.

My Love, Don’t Cross That River serves as a testament that romantic love can endure, particularly when it is nurtured by people who care deeply for one another and don’t hesitate to show that feeling with every breath.

Straightforwardly shot and sensitive of its subject, Art And Craft is a intriguing depiction of counterfeit impulses (both wrongly perceived and irrepressible), immense talent gone awry and what lies behind the desire to create.

Ultimately, Ross hasn’t just successfully mounted an adaptation of a hot literary property, or even launched a film series that earns the right to be a franchise. He’s produced an engaging, thoughtful, populist piece of entertainment that transcends gender, genre or source material.

His film feels more like a collection of wonderfully envisioned set pieces that don’t fully form a coherent whole.

Rey prods at the mundane indignities of adulthood with a keen eye and a gentle touch, creating a movie that is daffy but not dumb and a heroine who is complicated but not a lost cause.

Outside of the Berg’s incredible depiction of the Deepwater’s destruction and the escape of a majority of its crew, the picture also benefits from two fantastic performances by Wahlberg and Rodriguez.

Death Metal Angola is deeply involving and, in its own way, completely and refreshingly unusual.

Lamb indeed is more of a slow build-up of dread than it is a real shocker, and Jóhannsson does know how to rack up the tension with long takes, long silences, and sparse set design.

Overall, “Fighting” works thanks to Merchant’s witty screenplay, Pugh’s transformative performance, Vaughn’s inspired off the cuff one-liners (likely improvised) and a cast that clearly respects the Bevis family story.

Holland’s focused effort doesn’t let us forget the respect we owe to the writers behind the headlines and stories we idly click through that often come to us through great personal and spiritual risk.

Floyd Norman: An Animated Life is as joyful as its subject, and is heartily recommended to every artist who might have lost their way and are looking for some inspiration.

You Can Call Me Bill isn’t a travesty; hearing Shatner discuss his life is always fascinating. But instead, the film’s a missed opportunity to unpack one of the more enigmatic figures in our public consciousness.

It doesn’t happen too often, especially from modern studio fare, but Parker Finn’s Smile is the kind of horror movie that earns the unique qualification of “genuinely scary.”

As a “release it during an election year” film and response to the world’s current political crisis, clearly cobbled together at the last minute, it’s perhaps a fitting goodbye to a flawed character who has resurfaced suddenly to say, in the fleeting final minutes of the film, maybe we can change.

The Conjuring, at points, is terrifying. Wan really understands how active, acrobatic camerawork can enhance the storytelling without breaking the fourth wall, a technique abused by today’s horror craftsmen.

While slight, the film’s genuine feeling and overall comedic consistency has enough breezy charm to make it go down easy and pleasurably.

The Kindergarten Teacher is too lackadaisical in its execution to be as profound as it thinks it is.

The use of body horror allegories in cinema to address the physical, physiological, and mental changes brought on by puberty could hardly be called original. However, by delightfully and intelligently remixing symbols and metaphors Malaysian director Amanda Nell Eu refreshes the concept in her zesty debut feature Tiger Stripes.

Unclenching the Fists isn’t perfect. Rather it’s a daring and complex leap by Kovalenko.

The meandering narrative flow leapfrogs without any sense of rhythm, almost as if the collection of scenes was augmented by a haywire randomizer.

While it’s an awkward, uneven picture, that doesn’t mean that it isn’t a fascinating one.

Buoyant first-time actor, Levan Gelbakhiani goes from unknown to galvanizing star in a unique role. His presence is one of stunning physicality, proving there’s strength in what others see as a weakness in his character.

For all of its careful observations, it’s still an absolute slog to get through.

The filmmakers brilliantly set-up an atmosphere that feels uniquely cinematic and wholly original. But when impressive world-building is established and story takes over, Prospect quickly devolves into a mess of contrivances and overstuffed characters in its more problematic second half.

Thunderbolts* isn’t an MCU game-changer, by any stretch, but it’s not aspiring to be either. Is it a two-hour therapy session about self-compassion, being kind to ourselves, and giving ourselves a break from all the transgressions we have tortured ourselves about, wrapped up in a comic book movie? Maybe, but it’s got a big heart, a strong emotional point of view, a good sense of humor when needed, and has something touching to say about forgiving ourselves enough to transform our pain into something that can do good, and that feels like a small but meaningful victory to me.

As beautiful as the picture is, the pleasures of Early Man are fleeting. Aardman’s own high bar isn’t quite reached this time around, and it might be best to temper your expectations.

The East is definitely a movie that's going to divide people but it'll be a conversation worth having.

For In a Violent Nature, careful calibration of chills just feels like second nature.

There is nothing underneath the glossy surface and no real insight into what made this man tick — and despite how creepy he looks here, Bulger was a man, not a devil.

Shot in pedestrian fashion, it is set in an intriguing and entirely foreign milieu, but the film ends up just too inscrutable and oblique for us to really engage with it, or its often incomprehensibly motivated characters.

It’s arguably Tarantino’s ugliest and most political film, but not his best by some distance.