You believe this woman exists. And Leigh and Jean-Baptiste ensure she will haunt you.

Nightbitch operates in too many modes at once, making a muddle of most of them.

Ultimately, Casa Bonita Mi Amor is a worthy watch, just for the Parker and Stone of it all. These two are hugely entertaining and surprisingly sweet in the film. And if you’re someone who loves watching shows about fixer-uppers and renovations, then you’ll absolutely adore this film.

Any novelty in the film is provided by watching spirited kids being themselves, something Green does manage to capture.

Crowley and Payne owe a considerable debt to Pugh and Garfield. But for their presence, the film might not have been able to rise above its borderline twee mundanity.

The resulting film is truly as real as it gets. For a movie about the apparent world beyond our own, that’s saying more than any psychic could ever predict

At one point, she connects the beliefs of these conservative evangelicals with the post-colonial idealism of Brasilia’s builders, whose faith was “not in God but in the equally abstract ideas of progress and democracy.” That sense of inquiry and curiosity stops Apocalypse in the Tropics from veering into hyperbole without ever losing its harrowing urgency.

There are meta-movies, and then there’s Alex Ross Perry’s Pavements.

Of all the things Phillips does better in Joker: Folie à Deux than he did in Joker, the best is by far his course correction in catering to radical misogynists. The director isn’t subtle in his nods to the controversy stirred by the original.

Saulnier’s overall mise en scene is impressive. Everything from precision camera work, rigorous composition, framing and blocking, nimble, tight editing, and stress-inducing music, Rebel Ridge kicks ass in the best possible sense, entertaining, thrilling, and always captivating.

All that being said, the songs are impressive enough that it’s not hard to envision “The End” becoming something of a cult musical. Five years from now, maybe less, some excited college freshman is going to convince the head of their college drama department to let them put on a stage version of this musical. And chances are, it will be a smash. This is material that, with some editing of its book (er, script), a spotlight on the songs, and natural physical intimacy, could flourish on the stage.

It’s somewhat remarkable a new work exists that sparks such conversation in the first place. Even if it doesn’t completely succeed, that’s art. That’s dynamic. That deserves your attention.

Queer feels unsettled and inconsistent—but never anything less than fascinating to watch unfold.

Given the unhurried pacing and general underplaying of the situation’s gravity, the film feels like visiting a museum exhibit rather than living through a flashpoint of history. Here, the past’s horrors are but pictures nestled safely behind glass.

There is something not quite right about this one Almodóvar film, a dramedy that emulates all that makes a story Almodovarian but bypasses its essence entirely.

While the poor, urban setting of The Deliverance is a little bit unique for the supernatural genre, the way the suffering and dreariness within the backdrop collides with the ghastly misery of the unrelenting horror of it all is just several steps out of bounds.

At a time when more and more filmmakers seem to be looking back at the basics of classic genres like cop procedurals, romantic comedies and crime thrillers, Watts brings to the table a tightly written and directed action comedy that is reminiscent of the era that crowned the genre without alienating itself from the time in which it was made.

Regrettably, any sympathy the film has mustered is diminished by at least three, maybe four, additional endings that are frustratingly superfluous. These never-ending epilogues add nothing to what has come before it and, in many ways, curtail any emotional heights the film has garnered to this point.

It is hard to conceive of a director this young and early in his career to be able to deliver a film that comes out of the gates with the confidence and grandeur of a classic. And not a classic in the making, but one already made.

Beyond Reitman and Keenan’s tight screenplay and a fantastic recreation of Studio 8H from production designer Jess Gonchor, the movie would not fly without an ensemble that may end up being legendary in its own right.

[Kurzel's] depiction of the action scenes is as close to a filmmaking tour de force as you can get. Even for those who know the fate of The Order and its members, Kurzel and editor Nick Fenton will keep you riveted. Until, alarmingly, they don’t.

Like any good page-turner, Conclave is full of twists. Some you’ll see coming, and others will genuinely shock you. But this is smart, fiery melodrama.

A taught 91 minutes, September 5 is captivating on multiple levels and, frankly, a surprising success considering Fehlabum‘s previous work.

This back and forth between assuredness and doubt also makes “Babygirl” a refreshing look at BDSM and questions of consent and desire. Reijn is unafraid to have her characters play out all the wobbles that come with negotiating one another’s boundaries, reinforcing how pleasure comes from good communication. That the Dutch director manages to do so while crafting some of the hottest sex scenes in a major film in years and without dropping the ball in pacing this satire on the era of the politically correct feels almost impossible.

By creating — and persisting — on this on-the-nose parallel between the tragedy of opera and the one of Callas’s life, the duo sees this woman solely through the tragic value of her woes, denying her talent and her craft from the light that is true human connection, built not only through shared griefs but the deep understanding of one another that only great art can promote.

It’s unmistakably a return to joy for a legendary director, and that goes a long way in making this film stand out in a sea of ill-conceived sequels.

Dinklage remains one of the finest actors around, and Lewis is undoubtedly more than capable of something better, with evidence seen here as she disappears within Bill, but all that holds “The Thicket” together does barely enough to qualify all that unfolds as just another movie.

It also portends to be a sincere moral fable about avarice and the way it corrupts people—via the bookends of the beginning and end of the story—but it hardly convinces and leaves one a little puzzled at the jejune attempt at blurting something meaningful after 90 minutes of wacky crime tales and dishonest people.

Sorelle may not offer much hope in terms of how one can fight against these systems that preach continual change, but her film is still a striking if slightly overstuffed, debut from a filmmaker to watch.

A monstrous return to form, similar to its placement in the timeline, “Alien: Romulus” nestles in the franchise’s top three podium position. The blood, sweat, and tears shed in bringing this vision to fruition weren’t in vain.

For as many laughs as they’re trying to get, only about half of them land. All told, Jackpot is an action comedy that is light on laughs and heavy on repetitive droning fights. Jackpot even fails as a social commentary.

Honestly, you almost wish Singer had the foresight to ensure everyone involved took the proceedings completely seriously. That might have resulted in a camp classic that would be more memorable than this often aimless and thematically thin endeavor.

This is a B-movie of the week at best, which should be starring also-ran actors looking for a paycheck, not some of Hollywood’s finest.

Gray and his leads ably demonstrate how quotidian encounters and minute actions speak volumes. What’s missing is space for those little details to fully speak.

Shyamalan’s crafts a deceptively simple experience. The plot is rather ingeniously straightforward, at first, but the fraught journey of a father and killer trying not to upend and upset the carefully constructed delusional fabrication of his life—and how the two identities crash into each other on one fateful day— is exhilaratingly multifaceted.

It does not take much imagination to imagine a version of “Rob Peace” where, given the room to sit with events, Rob’s journey provides a damning X-ray of American society’s shortsightedness. But far too often, the film settles for simply conveying information through dramatization.

The overall shape of the movie can sometimes be akin to F-word abuse for comedy. It can be thrillingly funny at first, especially coming out of the mouths of heroes you don’t typically hear such foulness from (not Wilson, obviously), but by the 90th time you hear an F-bomb, it starts to lose its value and power. Still, despite all its flaws, ‘D&W’ humorously diverts in the moment, but as a durable movie or even a long-lasting MCU film, it’s no slam dunk. Nostalgia doesn’t necessarily cause deep self-harm in the picture, but it arguably doesn’t help the aim to create a memorable and enduring movie either. LFG? Sure, I guess.

Even though Exhuma may exist as a wellspring threatening to drown in ideas possibly better suited for multiple films, Jang Jae-hyun has still managed to bring to life a compelling story about something that should remain dead.

Unlike a Ryan Coogler, who always brought an emotional, thoughtful touch to his superhero films, all of the empathetic grace notes Chung was previously known for are nowhere to be found, drowned out in a wet, soggy tempest of noise, screams, yee haws! and catastrophic weather.

Nothing here could be considered a dull watch, and if it leaves the viewer thinking about how we, as a society, treat one another, it could very well be a lesson learned.

Mother, Couch is a delightful, sometimes hard-hitting family drama that will stay with you for a long time after you watch.

Longlegs is a film that will crawl under your skin and live there for 100 minutes. It will make you uncomfortable.

The concept of performance is barely distinguishable from the act of living these days, as being filmed in one capacity or another is ubiquitous. Silvia and Beba yet manage to bring an element of intimacy that makes us invest in their lives and stories.

Nash’at may have started the filmmaking process looking for something resembling humanity in the Taliban fighters, but what he found instead was a shocking level of resolve that we, and the US military, underestimated.

Eventually, the comedy coalesces enough to chalk up a small win. Mind you, Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F isn’t reinventing the wheel, and low expectations might help. But it does make a remarkable transition from something that initially feels dire to something that eventually lights up, pleases, and produces some foul-mouthed ‘Beverly Hills Cop’ energy to feel familiar in the best sense.

The trio of Nicole Kidman, Zac Efron, and Joey King create an interesting dynamic; the ultimately well-intentioned film has some interesting things to say about late-in-life love, the many facets of self-absorption, and the way we use the notion of protecting the ones we love under the guise of selfish self-interest.

Sarnoski is working on an auteur wavelength. He often lets the momentum stagnate just enough so the viewer can truly take in the staggering annihilation of a city now in ruins, full of death, and inherent quiet beauty. None of this would come close to fruition, however, without Nyong’o and Quinn’s stirring performances.

Despicable Me 4 is just messy and wearying, even at a scant 95 minutes.

It’s all fun and murder games (until it’s not), but something is missing. “Maxxxine” feels a bit emptier than the first two installments. Goth is quite good at reprising the role, but Maxine is sort of already a fully-baked character.

Previously, the filmmakers Franz and Fiala brought audiences into “The Lodge,” and 2014’s “Goodnight Mommy” and “The Devil’s Bath” is their finest, possibly most upsetting work yet.

There are moments of genuine magic that make you wonder what this movie could have been. But do they linger like that imaginary friend you’ll never forget? In this case, perhaps not.

What’s often most striking about Inside Out 2, however, is how the arguments and conflicts between these emotions often feel as though they are speaking directly to the adults in the audience.

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

There’s certainly necessarily nothing off with Diane Von Furstenberg: Woman In Charge in terms of its craft, its breezy structure, its slick pace, etc. It’s a handsomely made documentary, but it always borders on fawning puff pieces, letting us into the life of the fashion mogul but still making you feel like it’s a surface portrait meant to resell something vintage, like a classic dress everyone already knows and admires.

No one tries to reinvent the wheel, and everyone plays the greatest hits, steering things right off the cliff into explosive, slow-motion ecstasy, where ‘Bad Boys’ thrives and survives best.

Although the changes in tone don’t always work, and the third segment towers over the rest of the film, there is something to be said for filmmakers willing to approach history as something malleable.

The fact Pusić is able to pull off such complicated visual effects with her actors in scene after scene while keeping her chosen tone is extraordinary for a young director (not to mention the confines of a relatively independent film budget). This sort of world building would absolutely falter in the wrong hands.

Johnson and Penn’s connection is genuine, and there’s an awful lot to like here. Shame about that title.

A victim of a politically motivated jail sentence for supporting the 2022 Masha Amini hijab protests, Rasoulof‘s latest feature will likely anger the Iranian government even more. Especially considering how brilliant “Sacred Fig” is at deconstructing the rampant injustice in the totalitarian state.

This is rigorous filmmaking of the highest order, controlled and precise to the exclusion of anything extraneous —evidenced by its taut 100-minute runtime.

Not one to shy away from sincerity, Desplechin brings his beloved Paul Dédalus full circle in a satisfying project about the grandeur of the force that unifies the fictional character with the real man.

Kapadia’s gentle voice disguises her subversive spirit.

Atlas is rote and routine, using the concept of sci-fi and artificial intelligence in the most obvious way: A.I. runs wild, attacks humans, and becomes the central enemy of the entire world; the ultimate threat that humanity must face, battle, and hopefully defeat. But all of it is conventionally realized, uninspired, dull, and something you’ve seen done more inventively a thousand times before.

As the film progresses, the narrative choices somehow become even less believable and Lellouche begins to throw everything and the kitchen sink at the screen.

While the cinematic moments and winks at French pop culture history will be nostalgic for many, it’s the bond between Deneuve and this new Marcello that resonates the most.

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.

If the movie only serves as an appetizer for Liminov’s fascinating life, that’s something, I guess.

Parthenope’s fictional life story may actually not be as intriguing as Sorrentino thinks it is. A movie that begins with blistering sex appeal really starts to lose momentum in its third act.

Considering the entire film takes place in the confines of the school building, it’s a testament to Tøndel’s direction and Reinsve’s enthralling performance that the film avoids feeling claustrophobic.

What is grief if not a non-linear, mood-spanning, incongruous mess? In this, The Shrouds feels like one of the greatest encapsulations of loss and one we might look at more and more fondly as time goes by.

While Baker has proven his worth as a true cinematic auteur, his greatest skill has been guiding his actors to new heights wherever his stories may take them. You’ll have to decide if that’s enough to gloss over the rough patches this time around.

Abbasi manages to thread the lines between tabloid fodder and veiled endorsement with great skill.

A bold dissection on aging and self-hatred Fargeat’s latest work is an utter visual marvel and features superb performances from its lead actresses; Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley.

Even at its most unwieldy, Audiard’s cinematic skill and Zoe Saldana‘s at times dazzling performance make it hard to ignore.

Despite the shootouts, some epic vistas (frankly, not as much as you’d expect), and a few fleeting moments of genuine tension, it all feels flat.

Schrader’s gaze is patient — tired, almost. He frames Gere’s aged face in tight close-ups, and it is as if we are seeing him for the first time, wrinkled and ragged and oh so very beautiful.

Institutional corruption has been a centerpiece in Romanian film, especially over the past two decades. It’s no surprise then that Emanuel Parvu‘s Three Kilometers to the End of the World is driven by that narrative even when it’s not the most compelling part of the story.

There is so much beauty in Bird, both within the relationships unraveling onscreen and on the screen itself — bright reds and whites and blacks lusciously captured in the film, the edges of the image burnt and remade, almost like yet another bird, the phoenix.

A deceptively dense piece of work filled with moments that articulate the complexity of the human condition.

I’m not yet convinced it works, but my goodness, am I thrilled it exists.

Taylor-Joy also has to convey a tremendous amount of character arc in what is often a non-verbal performance (Miller recently revealed she only has 30 lines in the movie). No surprise, she absolutely kills it. But, miraculously, for a movie that doesn’t seem to leave the door open for further adventures, she’ll teasingly leave you wanting more.

The People’s Joker is deeply weird and often feels like the first draft of someone’s first attempt at using genre as a type of autofiction. But it’s also heartfelt, fascinating, and a really compelling introduction to an original cinematic voice.

It is a thoughtful and intelligent film, and it finds a gifted actor doing some very tricky things quite well.

Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes works as a movie in its own right and as a reset on the rebooted franchise. It seamlessly sets up a sequel or sequels that you are left wanting to see. See this in theaters, and we might just get them.

It’s maybe not excruciatingly bad, but certainly even less nourishing and satisfying than even the most fleeting and calorically empty of sugar highs.

When the film firmly goes off the rails in the second act, [Cronenberg] still showcases an ability to play up tension as the four children hunt each other in the expansive mansion. In isolation, the bifurcation works but, taken together, it suggests an underbaked concept that was never fully realized and, alternatively, a slasher that never makes its characters feel human.

Mortensen is playing with iconography here, so it’s less about that destination than the journey — and he finds the right, delicate, evocative note to conclude on and holds it exactly as long as he should. “The Dead Don’t Hurt” isn’t your typical revenge Western, but audiences willing to stick with it will find a picture rendered with grace, patience, and artistry.

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

The film, then, is a useful primer for historicizing and contextualizing the relationship between methods of social control and the rise of policing, both as an unchecked institution and a term associated with the history of the United States. One just wishes the film would slow down every once in a while.

"Rather” is ultimately a valentine, which is fine. But as such, it’s not as tough on Dan Rather as he would’ve been to such a subject himself.

The drama in Downtown Owl often feels stilted and too locked in to Klosterman’s observations instead of the character’s actions.

Much like ‘A Child Of Fire,’ “The Scargiver” is exhausting, enervating, and exasperating, frantically flailing around with explosions, lasers, laser lightsaber-like swords, grenades, et al., but always failing to make you give a damn.

Despite all of the film’s time jumps and questionable character motivations (and there are some), when it needs to, the filmmaking is completely ace.

Baghead cannot grapple with bigger questions; instead, it is mostly just satisfied with cheap jump scares that don’t provide any value or comfort to those who have suffered loss. And even as a basic scary horror, it just doesn’t hold the goods.

Arcadian is more than a mere horror film; it’s a haunting meditation on the fragility of humanity and the enduring power of hope in the face of despair. It turns out that mixing heart with horror still works.

North of Normal hits occasional false notes, but it finds just the right ones when it really matters.

Overthinking Sting is a proper exercise in futility, and shedding such a tendency makes enjoying the adventure easy. It’s a minor little effort, with only a tiny venom, but its bite should do the trick for any genre head with 90 minutes to spare.

Beyond its subject matter one of the reasons Scoop is genuinely compelling is Philip Martin’s direction. The pacing is brisk, but not rushed. And time and again, “The Crown” veteran smartly lets his actors play to their strengths.