If Ellis and co-screenwriter Anthony Frewin’s attention to historical detail hinders Anthropoid initially, it breathes life into what turns into an action packed and inherently cinematic second half.

Demon is a film that improves the longer it sits with you, as various images seep into your consciousness and reappear without warning.

Operating for much of its running time with an equal balance between guilty pleasure grittiness and decent father/daughter drama, the film’s conclusion tips toward the latter in an unconvincing shift toward sentimentality and Life Lessons that not only is out of place, but betrays John’s own code of stoic endurance.

As a filmmaker, Yeung has a keen eye for the quiet spaces where two people can learn more about each other than if they were holding a wordy conversation. If the director could just find a way to balance against his ho-hum dialogue and plotting, Front Cover would make more of an impression, instead of being the sweet but ultimately forgettable film that it is.

With a weak script and underwhelming performances, there’s nothing about the film to latch onto or celebrate, but there’s just enough craftsmanship on display to walk away not feeling like it’s a complete failure.

Suicide Squad isn’t a terrible movie per se and judged against its forbearer, ‘Batman v Superman,’ it resembles a shining beacon of coherence. But Suicide Squad isn’t a very good movie either, a mediocre effort with commonplace ideas of rebelliousness and salvation.

From a purely objective standpoint, the film’s pacing sags at times, and its energy deflates, as is so often the case in trying to turn a chronological story into a cohesive narrative. But above all, Steve’s spirit soars.

Embers attempts to be a complicated dissection of a possible world not too far ahead of us, but it lacks the imagination to make us soar along with its vision.

There’s no denying Jones’ magnetism, her amazing spirit and her otherworldly talent, and “Miss Sharon Jones!” is a fine tribute to her as an individual. But it leaves you wanting more — more from her history and rich backstory. It’s clear the whole story hasn’t been told — yet.

The trick the director pulls off is that “Lace Crater” weaves a comedic touch throughout the film, keeps the audience compellingly off balance when it pitches toward horror, and puts together a picture that slyly has much more going on beneath its laid back surface.

Though he gets fine performances from many quarters...the film is scuppered by an approach that sees it build on the bones of the novel without ever quite animating its heart.

It flails for the heartstrings, but instead of reaching them, it only tugs at that muscle that makes you roll your eyes at its old-fashioned, melodramatic attempts at emotion.

Bad Moms could easily skate along only on its very funny, often very raunchy jokes, but it also makes a much-needed argument for the difficulties of modern motherhood and how the pressure to be perfect is damaging both mothers and their kids.

It’s a lovely film that resonates all the more so in a summer of louder, more cluttered movies, and knowing that Disney had the confidence to allow Lowery’s vision to flourish is the icing on the cake.

Containing not one single jump scare, but building a disquieting atmosphere of dread that leads us to make some brilliantly gruesome inferences, it’s a classy take on the often trashy pregnancy horror category, with a subtle social critique underlying its neo-gothic texture.

As inviting as it is immersive and convivial, Nerve is bumpy, sloppy and rather unsophisticated, but it’s also ultimately sociable, warm, endearing and, most of all, pretty fun.

For all its problems, Bourne is still thrilling and an undoubtedly engrossing action film thanks to its taut construction.

London Road, on stage and celluloid, is an experiment likely to fall flat outside of the most devoted of cinephiles (and theatergoers), but an exciting one nonetheless, even if only for its boldness.

Despite presenting an environment enriched to weapons-grade plutonium levels with potential for interpersonal drama, Vinterberg can’t seem to find any.

It might not be as risk-taking as previous Shainberg gems, but his knack for expertly crafted drama remains.

As The Gods Will is a minor film from a major talent, but few middle of the road efforts from directors manage to retain the kind of wholly original sensibility seen here, and have as much fun as Miike is while doing it.

Even if it does shy away from harsher truths, Branciforte’s inaugural feature is a joy to watch.

The difference between Lights Out and any other mainstream horror movie is that it actually uses the dark as the center of its plot, organically drawing out the majority of its jump scares in the process.

For all the film’s faults, Saunders and Lumley still bring an addictive energy to the screen that finds you wanting more.

Unsentimentally romantic, there’s enough grace in Summertime to keep you enraptured.

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.

For the Plasma immediately throws its viewer into the deep end. Unique beyond measure, its mumblecore, indie affectation is contradicted by a bold ambition in the form of big, complex ideas which don’t always make sense in reality, but pave the way for some interesting insights.

Though its verité aesthetics are often more serviceable than inspired, and its vague who-what-where-when-why set-up neuters some of its lingering impact, the film’s depiction of entrenched prejudice remains astutely realized.

The film is a mostly workmanlike biopic that unfortunately can never match the energy of the subject it’s trying to capture.

In trying to include as much as it does, ‘Outlaws’ finds itself as more of tonal soup than a cohesive narrative feature.

Haemoo is a picture worth seeing for its thrills, scrupulous tension-building and mischievous genre twists that will have you gasping one second, and laughing the next.

Regardless of how you define your diet, At The Fork is effective and affecting in its offering of a variety of viewpoints.

In Chow’s hands, the lens becomes an elastic guidance tool for comic energy: fixate on a single image, pull back the band, let go, and snap, his story and characters launch forward in a blur of madcap amusement.

There’s no heart in this movie, no urgency.

What makes Phantom Boy unique isn’t the questions it asks, but the way it asks them and the answers it arrives at.

In embracing the disorienting quality present in Frank’s work, 'Don’t Blink' is but an abstract portrait, muddled by a jarring messiness.

The Infiltrator is ultimately a solid, if not exceptional, Scorsese takeoff, one that has just enough spunk and wit to make up for its often-apparent shortcomings.

Hooligan Sparrow is a vital reminder of the importance of artistic and journalistic freedom, and that telling certain stories can be an inherently perilous proposition — especially when those stories reveal something that the government would rather keep under wraps.

Not even the funniest actors on the planet could save what is an occasionally humorous, but largely unremarkable rehash.

A true blue dark comedy that isn’t so concerned with its darkness that it forgets to be laugh-out-loud silly at times too, “In Order of Disappearance” is a bitter, bloody treat for the black of heart.

I can respect the intent to craft The Legend of Tarzan as a new chapter for the hero, one which is aware of all the shortcomings of many Tarzan stories that have gone before. And yet the film minimizes its own best ideas and falls back on adventure film tropes, old and new, in a way that undermines its attempt to decontextualize Burroughs’ aging swinger.

Everyone here means well and wants to make an epic war film, but it lacks a narrative strong enough to make it essential viewing for those beyond the genre’s fans.

The picture’s strength is in its honesty.

It’s a fascinating look not only at this particular character and his wide reach, but at the evolution of the Internet, its utopian possibilities for connection, and the dark side of its power to expose and harm individuals within the system.

Even when it’s in the shadow of other movies that have traversed this territory to greater effect, the talented young performers at hand bring a rooted sense of reality that still makes it sing with rhapsodic gravitas.

It is easy to feel the passion with which Yadav tells the story, and to feel intimately connected with her characters, even in the midst of heavy-handed and almost bloated commentary, which sometimes feels a bit too blatantly thrown in.

Bidegain certainly scores points for ambition with his first film, and in scenes or snippets...you can see what he was aiming for. Unfortunately, by the time it’s done, Les Cowboys feels like a missed opportunity.

By focusing entirely on Zappa’s outlook on his own work and the way it related to the outside world, Schütte manages to form a tight narrative around this fascinating man.

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.

This lack of visual energy, combined with the choice to forgo a score, leaves little to buoy the moments needed to propel the film toward its inevitable close. But where Land And Shade shines is in its outrage, and the heartbroken fury at the center of the film.

Any time the duo build up a significant amount of energy, the messy mechanics of the story come barreling in, shifting the narrative attention to the tedious developments involving encryption keys, which is nothing more than a Macguffin to begin with.

The animated story finds true buoyancy in its social value rather than its creative frontiers. Has the movie reinvented the animation game or Pixar’s standing within it? Far from it, but Finding Dory is a well-told promise that individuality and self acceptance always win.

With an enjoyable atmosphere, solid performances from Hawke, Travolta, Farmiga, and one gifted canine, In A Valley of Violence ends up a solid entry in a genre gradually fading from mainstream cinema.

A thriller so turgid that its setting in logging country starts to feel like heavy irony: Lord, does it lumber.

Arguably the most persuasive and compelling of Ferguson’s films to date, Time To Choose is an imperative, essential essay on our climate change crisis, and if it ever feels didactic, it’s counterpointed by its very real and very human nature.

Fans of high octane, fast-paced martial arts action might be bored with the deliberately calculating style of The Final Master, but those who look for a more patient and meditative experience within the genre will get more than their money’s worth.

Your mileage will vary on Genius, depending on where you place Law’s performance on the irritating/entertaining spectrum and your tolerance for somewhat formulaic tales of creative ego and “The Price of Fame.”

Filled with plenty of ideas and a strong sense of identity, The Witness can still be somewhat unfocused, unfolding in a multitude of directions, but failing to provide a complete portrait about Kitty and her life, which is a truly fascinating one.

Art Bastard is a respectful and affectionate look into the life of a true outsider in the art world.

It’s successful in its aims and will ably bring the book’s readers and romance fans both joy and tears.

Unlike some mock biopics or music documentaries that rely on a particular kind of specificity to succeed, Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping is universally, gloriously stupid. And that’s not a slight — it takes a considerable amount of smarts to make something that so winningly observes the ridiculous facade of the pop music sphere, but gives it a wide-ranging reach.

As it fritters away character work and ideas about faith and devotion, this is a film clever enough to scare us but not smart enough to accomplish anything more.

Out of the Shadows’ barrels forward like such a rampaging beast that it decimates everything – plot, character, emotion, basic visual lucidity – in its wake.

While Holy Hell only offers answers about this particular group and the experiences of these individuals, it’s a riveting piece of work, a look into a tightly-controlled and private world of brainwashing, abuse and exploitation in the name of spiritual fulfillment.

Although “Olli Mäki” ostensibly belongs to the boxing film genre as much as it is functions as a romantic drama, it never seems truly invested in the underdog narrative of its title character.

For all its safe choices and standard narrative, The Idol succeeds in communicating its message that the Palestinian people deserve a voice and representation. Its most powerful images somehow aren’t shots of Muhammad’s wonderful singing; instead, it’s the reactions of the Palestinians to those performances and cheering on one of their own.

It’s just as predictably mind-numbing and tedious as any other comedy Sandler has attached his name to post-“Funny People.”

Although the film is rooted in arthouse film territory, and is particularly inspired by the films of David Cronenberg and David Lynch, Raw turns out to be its own wild animal.

Herzog’s latest proves a masterful inquiry into technological evolution.

According to Len, rock ‘n roll is "blood, bourbon, and napalm," and it’s exactly those elements that the film needs, but doesn’t provide.

After the Storm is a film that invites you in, and clears a space for you at the dinner table while you shuck off your shoes in the hallway.

The off-putting aesthetics of ‘Looking Glass’ are complemented by an equally putrid tale that’s determined to make its protagonist loathsome.

While The Ones Below doesn’t make it over the finish line, Farr shows good instincts, and has an ease for creating tension without overt manipulation, while keeping everything engaging enough that you’re willing to overlook questions that nag after the credits roll.

Warcraft may provide grand, thunderous spectacle as it transforms human actors into hulking Orcs, but when trying to perform the alchemy of transmuting genre archetypes into characters with soul, the magic fizzles out.

What The Wait really needs is more: more story, more character, and more reason to grieve with these women. Because what these women have to grieve is worthy of time and attention, yet these qualities are frustratingly absent from this film.

The film is a bullet train of laughs, gore, frights and folklore, making the two-and-a-half hour runtime feel like a couple of minutes. Blink and you might miss the whole thing.

His new film Zero Days may ostensibly be an investigation of the 2010 malware worm known as Stuxnet, but over its swift-moving 116-minute runtime, Gibney does a much broader and more important job: relating the rather airless, abstract concepts of cyber-terrorism and internet espionage to their real-world consequences.

Braga is simply riveting in this gift of a role.

Even within Schrader’s own back catalogue, Dog Eat Dog feels like a lukewarm retread of elements he has achieved, as a writer and director, much better before. It’s just that here they’re mashed together gracelessly, with a kind of bullying undercurrent, as though designed to get a rise out of you, just so it can deliver two for flinching.

An excoriating, gripping, intricately plotted morality play, Mungiu’s film is less linear, more circular or spiral-shaped than his previous Cannes titles...but it is no less rigorous and possibly even more eviscerating and critical of Romanian society, because it offers its critique across such a broad canvas.

Once it ends, you may be panting from exhaustion while still appreciating that Endless Poetry is greater than the sum of its parts as it feels naturally necessary and appropriately organic to the series.

The list of the film’s transgressions against the culturally acceptable is almost gratuitously long. But the spine of self-aware intelligence that runs through even its most grotesque, exploitative, and offensive twists, and the basically incredible, irreplaceable central performance from Isabelle Huppert, make this queasily hilarious mass of contradictions just about cohere.

Fumbling between broad comedic strokes you’d find in a Disney film and the kind of darkness that usually creeps out of heavy Danish dramas, “Two Lovers And A Bear” is tonally off-kilter on top of failing to engage on any deeper level.

It’s less a convincing, involving narrative than an episodic picaresque that rambles loose-jointedly from absurdist encounter to vaguely fable-like incident.

From the performances to the repetitive jokes and bizarre actions that have little bearing on anything, Slack Bay exhausts you with its intense spirit.

Puiu scoops up storylines and arguments and revelations armful by messy armful and the inexplicably titled “Sieranevada” becomes by turns pit-of-stomach-sad, flight-of-fancy funny and pin-in-heart moving. And never less than wincingly true in its deadpan acknowledgement of the beautiful absurdity of family life.

Though it is dense in allusion and rich in texture, there are choices he makes that ultimately pull The Salesman back from the greatness, and the engulfing universality of his best work. It is as compelling as anything Farhadi has ever made, but it’s also somehow smaller.

Laura Poitras has done it again. Much like the celebrated Edward Snowden documentary Citizenfour, “Risk” is instilled with a sense of immediate urgency as an apprehensive cloud hovers over every action, every word, every wayward glance.

An unfeasibly charming film full of little wisdoms and quiet comforts where we might expect to find provocations, its only deception is that it is so much richer than it seems at first glance.

A dexterous, mischievous, almost incomprehensibly intelligent film that has such invention packed into every frame that the only real danger is overload, Neruda works most thrillingly as an effusive love letter to the very concept of fiction and all the ways it can set you free, written in lyrical but staccato meter, perhaps with a rose between the teeth.

It’s, all told, a preposterous and pretentious mess of a film, and all the good intentions in the world don’t mean anything when the execution is as ham-fisted as it is here.

Purposefully joyless and bereft of any kind of aesthetic gratification other than the one found in Mendoza’s use of cinema verite and non-sentimental approach, Ma’ Rosa is tough-as-nails, and leaves you with a heaviness and a pulsating sympathy that’s impossible to ignore.

Harrowing, uncomfortable, and heartbreaking, Pervert Park is an important film with an urgent, compassionate message.

The biggest lesson to take away from I, Daniel Blake is how a movie doesn’t have to be psychologically complex or cinematically dazzling to dig beyond its surface. It’s rudimentary in terms of technique, but how the film generates its power is through the themes of humanity and kindness at its center.

An intensely pleasurable, lavishly shot dessert tray of utter hokum, The Handmaiden is a prime example of why we should be glad that there’s someone out there still invested in the overwrought Gothic melodrama, and that that person is Park Chan-wook.

It’s timely, it’s entertaining, it’s a blast of energy, but Weiner also drills down into the unique nature of American politics in the media saturated, smartphone-enhanced, Twitter hot-takes age.

Even if you don’t agree with Jarmusch’s introductory claim that The Stooges are the greatest rock and roll band ever, there’s still a lot of pleasure to be gleaned from Gimme Danger; most of it coming from Iggy’s love of the band, the music, and inability to be anyone but his incomparable and uncompromising self.

Your time would be better spent staring at a postcard for two hours. No, not even the presence of the usually magnetic Marion Cotillard will stave off the boredom of Garcia and Jacques Fieschi‘s screenplay.