Lacorazza Samudio has pulled off a splendid feature directorial debut. Inspired by events in her own life and a sparse 90 minutes, the screenplay is layered but tight. The emotional beats are purposeful and not forced. There is a nuance and authenticity to the entire endeavor that is genuinely refreshing.

The film captures the what of Kneecap but also the why, which makes all the difference.

El Moudir, at long last, demands a reckoning, that will uncover old wounds, but also provide closure.

Until the final shot, the Zellner Brothers leave unclear whether all of their oddball observations are building to a grand statement about humanity or a punchline. Sasquatch Sunset can accommodate readings of both.

Hammel has talent and something to say that’s worth paying attention to. There’s a spark of something there, eventually. It’s a little messy, but it’s definitely there. It also just might take a while before you want to hear it.

If Suncoast ultimately lacks major insights, it is hard to argue that it at least combats its slenderness with a poignant sense of empathy and compassion for draining emotional hardships.

Aesthetically detached, clinical, and with murderousness always happening in broad daylight, Veni Vidi Vici might arguably be more clever than laugh-out-loud funny or insightful. Still, some of the facetious formalism goes a long way.

The Outrun begins and ends with Ronan. There are very few moments in the movie where she isn’t on screen, and to say she’s up for the challenge is an understatement. It’s a very strong performance and, somewhat impressively, not as showy as you might expect given the material.

It’s a sublime little travelogue, deceptively simple, engaging, and thoughtful.

As the pieces of Ghostlight continue to unfold, it becomes increasingly clear what a smart and moving narrative O’Sullivan has put together.

Serves as little more than an exercise in striking photography mixed with a series of vignettes that’s as slice of life as one’s likely to find.

Make no mistake, Exhibiting Forgiveness can be painful but rewardingly so; it’s complex, unresolved ending all the more honest and true.

The third act often feels more like a cinematic exercise than a filmmaker who has something to say.

Ultimately, Between The Temples is achingly, evenly deceptively sweet and from the heart. It’s a dexterously comic but moving examination of a life interrupted, seemingly demolished, and a life of unfulfilled dreams, clashing, colliding, and perhaps finding a tender togetherness that suggests second chances and no term limits on coming of age

Ultimately, not only has Park crafted an often hilarious and entertaining coming-of-age movie, but a surprise tearjerker.

As the film progresses, the decoding moves beyond just camera positioning and movement. Soderbergh understands that the real value in following a strict set of rules is breaking them to startling effect.

While Eisenberg is excellent on screen, especially during a dinner scene when he unloads his concerns over David to his fellow tourists, it’s Culkin who, rightfully, steals the film.

The rabble-rousing enthusiasm of the enterprise carries it throughout, allowing the raucous vibes to paper over some thin characterization. The script, which is often content to remain skin-deep, just does not pack the same muscle as the directorial verve.

The American Society of Magical Negroes is a gracious work that both shows and critiques the very nature of humility.

Margolin’s directorial debut is often super entertaining with just enough style and patience to avoid the trappings of a broad, studio endeavor. It also has a ton to say about senior autonomy, aging, ageism (two very different things), and the bonds between family members, young and old.

[Boden and Fleck] re-emerge carrying some of the hallmarks of comic book cinema as well: an overemphasis on in-jokes, a sprawling web of larger-than-life yet flimsy characters, and a belief that a kick-ass fight scene at the end can overwrite many of the wrongs that came before.

As Love Me unfolds, it becomes an exercise to explore how very human emotions affect evolving artificial intelligence beings. Although referring to it as an exercise sounds unfairly cold. The movie is certainly not that. Both Stewart and Yeun bring passion to their characters. . . But something feels off.

Where others could have made a less sophisticated pastiche, Schoenbrun has filtered the familiar through their nonconforming lens to beget a bona fide original.

Flawed but still engaging, “The Kitchen,” at least, has good intentions about togetherness and brotherhood and is a promising debut for Kaluuya and Tavares.

While “Frida” does show signs of promise, especially when it leans into the distinctive, and Kahlo’s penchant for magical realism, it’s never as vibrant as her. One wishes the doc could similarly unshackle itself, match the artist’s radiant spirit, and push itself into the next innovative frontier.

Revenge is often described as a dish best served cold, but with the way Mayhem! draws audiences into its compelling story, this film is white hot, and reminds audiences why revenge is on the menu in the first place.

Ambitious, impressive, and genuine, with a great sense of vast scale and awe, as its title suggests, Society Of Snow is not only a three-dimensional cinematic feat of wonder, terror, and emotion-stirring courage but a deeply felt portrait of togetherness, brotherhood, and survival, poignantly commemorating the painful memory of indescribable loss and tragedy.

Good Grief arguably doesn’t quite get there in the end, but there is a promising sense of possibility for what the future could hold for Levy as a filmmaker next.

Leave The World Behind isn’t as perfect as its best-written moments —the ones that are somehow expertly frightening, funny, stressful, and cleverly observational, all at the same time—and the movie even f*cks up its Chekov’s gun tease. But as a wicked, playful, tension-filled, and alarming treatise on humanity, its deep flaws, and how fragile, questionable, scattered, and thus vulnerable we are to attack?

James Wan has delivered. Don’t be fooled by the diminished fanfare because his good work should not go unappreciated.

“Rebel Moon” is nearly unwatchable and one of the most stunning misfires of this scale in quite some time.

[Clooney's] out-of-current-fashion movies can feel quaint in some ways, but more power to the filmmaker who can make whatever the hell they want and do it well and do so on their own terms.

It’s hard not to smile as Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget wraps things up, even if said smile comes unexpectedly; admittedly, this is the sort of surprising delight that serves to both remind an audience why the original remains such a gem while acting as a worthy successor.

Knock Helgeland’s unpersuasive plot, his broad writing platitudes, and some of the more ridiculous twists of the genre all you want, but the filmmaker at least seems to know, understand, and capture the milieu and people of these communities. Sure, that’s not enough to save Finestkind, but there is something there.

The movie has its issues. . . The wrestling though? The action in the ring? Durkin’s direction of those classic matches? It often looks more “real” than the WWE or professional wrestling you see on television today.

It is a delightful experience to embrace Wonka with the wide-eyed wonder it deserves.

When given the space to explore the knottiness of being a gay man in a world taking but tentative steps toward recognizing the community’s full humanity, Luke Evans provides the complex representation that audiences are craving.

The effort deserves a nod, but the execution stumbles, falls, and, whether intentional or not, can’t be saved.

It’s weird to want to rein in the sensibilities of any comedian, especially when their proclivities lean towards the farcical and ridiculous; there is a palpable joy that emanates from their collective weirdness. Sadly, little of it translates into a laugh beyond a guffaw and most of it is empty.

While Liebmann steals the show here, what Wagner realizes with his film is every bit as impressive. The writer-director’s script and steady hand behind the camera breathe life into a bracing, heartbreaking, and ultimately reaffirming picture.

Napoleon is one of the handful of movies this year that benefits from being seen on a big screen. It’s an epic crowd-pleaser with a stellar cast who deliver top-notch performances and Scott’s best work since “The Martian.”

It’s a film that not only works as a self-reflective biography and community portrait but also as a testament to the living nature of literature, where a work is able to be interpreted and reinterpreted by the generations to come.

It’s a solid, aspirant crowd-pleaser that may not reinvent the wheel, but it proudly boasts a good enough set of them and confidently stays on the tracks.

It’s a powerful, infuriating document of a family’s resilience in the face of massive communal pressure and to the notion that these types of small, necessary shifts can add up.

Perhaps it’s the fact that the first 45 minutes of “When Evil Lurks” is so great, but the dopamine rush does fade quite a bit in the second half of the film.

While other directors make grand gestures about societal inequities, dating themselves with their stories and form, Jude is happy to launch a Molotov cocktail at everything that came before him. He is one of the freest filmmakers working right now—unencumbered by rules, politesse, or good taste. Contemporary malaise has rarely been captured on screen with such thrilling vividness as in Do Not Expect Too Much From The End Of The World.

Maybe Evolution, more a scratchpad of half-developed doodles than a feature, will be an expiation of sorts for both Mundruczó and Weber, and better, subtler ideas will prevail in future.

This is as middle-of-the-road as it gets, something no one will remember minutes after it wraps and, for this reason, will likely prompt very few to express anything overwhelmingly negative or the opposite.

“You Have to See It to Believe It” is a well-worn movie cliché, but trust that it applies to this utterly bananas corporeal bath of cinema in all its glorious sound and vision. As the film ratchets up to its batshit, gnarly, and beautifully mutilated conclusion, man, prepare yourself for how transgressive and hypnagogic it gets.

As an intriguing and complex portrait of humanism vs. idealism (to be civil about it), there’s also a fine line between faith and madness, and to their credit, The Mission filmmakers leave it up to the audience to decide where they stand; perhaps the sign of sharp filmmakers hoping to leave their viewer hashing it out for hours afterward (something that doc certainly engenders).

Make no mistake, most audiences will find ‘Believer’ revolting, but that’s also the point. It’s fascinating in the way it swings for the fences, is full of conviction, and is overflowing with stimulating ideas about acceptance, denial, community, and more, many of them engaging, many of them handled with no sense of taste (to which Green would probably argue is what Friedkin’s film did; good taste be cast out!).

Like “Cruising” and “To Live and Die in L.A.,” to cite two of my favorite works by Friedkin, The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial does not stop playing with our heads when the credits start to roll.

Even if Story Ave occasionally dips into a well-worn narrative, it nevertheless features two powerful performances and acts as a showcase for its first-time director.

Tamahori successfully brings a sense of scale and scope to “The Convert” He displays an eye for wide-screen compositions, and the film is frequently visually stunning.

As imitative as Edward’s movie can be, it’s an undeniably impressive piece of work. Its concept and plot are easily identifiable, but the grand sci-fi dimension works well with a personal tale of love, heartache, parenthood, surrogate children, and consideration of humanity for all things living, breathing, or connecting data points with something that may even resemble a soul.

The actors are game, but their connection is more cutesy than romantic.

No One Will Save You is a very bizarrely unremarkable, abnormally lifeless movie, seemingly starting right out of the gate in the second act and then trying to reverse engineer the audience’s sympathy—and everything else— for the unknowable protagonist.

In the end, Widow Clicquot is a drama about turning heartbreak and tragedy into something brighter, richer, and spilling over into good fortune. And it’s tastefully made too.

It’s only when you realize that this is indeed an aimless feature film where any symbolism or real-life commentary isn’t going to make much of a mark. That and the fact that this fearless director sees this oddly flat, though congenial, project as a comedy quickly all fall into a narrative hopelessly lost in a sea of tedium.

The narrative proceedings provide sufficient interest for the duration, making it easy to recommend this film.

What’s most remarkable about His Three Daughters aren’t the performances. As you’d suspect, Coon, Moss, and Lyonne complement each other perfectly (although we should note this is without question the best work of Lyonne’s career). It’s the fact that Jacobs and cinematographer Sam Levy have crafted a drama that takes place almost entirely in one enclosed space and somehow avoided the dreaded claustrophobic aesthetic that makes one feel like they are watching a filmed play.

Even when it tries to swing for the fences as some commentary on what motivates hate speech, it may not always work, but Macdonald does the best with what he’s been given, and that’s enough to warrant a look, at least.

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

If the audience can look past the maudlin conception, certain insights are definitely to be had from this flawed portrait of an autistic child and his family’s attempts to give him a good life.

Even with the real-life nature of the narrative, this is decidedly a minor tale with minimal stakes.

Wildcat should provide interest to audiences that have read and enjoyed O’Connor’s work and might even spur new readers to seek her stories out.

The end result is often so insightful and entertaining that it makes you immediately wonder what subject matter Jefferson will tackle next.

The aspiration itself—what seems to be the clear desire to elevate a conventional murder drama to something greater—feels unmistakably tangible. And ambitious attempts are often intriguing even if they don’t always land.

It’s inoffensive, possibly even heartwarming, and an undeniably terrific story in terms of adversarial triumph, and as history looks back on “A Million Miles Away” as much as it remembers the real Hernández, unlike the man himself, the movie will likely find itself forgotten.

For what it is, the film is immaculately directed and staged with the quiet competence of a superlative filmmaker.

This may feel like familiar territory to another U.K.-set disaster film, “Children of Men,” or the recent mini-series “Station Eleven,” but Bellow has crafted something singular here. And you won’t forget it.

Unlike its subject, Radical Wolfe would rather be liked than start something.

The whiff of play-acting hangs over the entire enterprise as even director David Yates seems entirely unsuited to the material, and the whole project seems misconceived and half-baked from top to bottom.

What is certain is that there’s at least something here everyone should find appealing, even if the film that houses these special moments isn’t quite there.

It’s like listening to a joke, hearing an intriguing set-up, and waiting for a punchline that never comes. You’re just left wondering what’s the point?

Thankfully, the film has Jamie Foxx on the bench in a truly funny and passionate turn as legendary lawyer Willie E. Gary.

Though Keaton conveys the deterioration of Knox’s psychology with diligence as an actor, trying and failing to hide his glances of searching confusion, his narrow facilities as a director can’t keep pace with his performance.

Holland has made a righteous, masterful work, arguably her best since “Europa Europa,” but it’s not for the faint of heart or those inclined to turn a blind eye to suffering. And again, that’s the point.

Will success spoil Taika Waititi? The answer implied by “Next Goal Wins” isn’t encouraging for the future of an original comic voice still audible but slowly fading into the chorus.

To say Farber’s screenplay is plot-heavy is an understatement.

What is truly, and thrillingly, new here is Morris’s thematic interest. The deeper he goes into the rabbit hole with Cornwall, the more his true subject becomes apparent, as the picture becomes a penetrating investigation of the idea that great artists freely use fiction to work through the very real pain of their own lives—even in work that’s not explicitly or even transparently autobiographical.

When was the last time someone who has so mastered the stage – Baker is a Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright, mind you – crafted a directorial feature debut of such artistic confidence? A film that feels a million miles from the confines of a sterile theatrical setting. A movie that is creatively propelled more by a filmmaker’s eye than the words composed by a screenwriter.

For all its simplicity, Boy Kills World does pull off a pretty neat narrative switcheroo late in the game that completely turns the film over its head and significantly alters the stakes. Think of it as a secret level unlocked after you think you’ve reached the end of the game.

Lee knows exactly how it wants to look, yet it has little that’s new or interesting to say.

Kendrick leans more into the dark comedy and general dread of the situation, winding the picture tighter the deeper she goes, and her work here is ambitious and impressive.

Somehow, Gillespie manages not only to make it feel fresh but its own distinct chapter in this never-ending story.

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.

The two veteran actors share a lukewarm chemistry but settle into a competent balance between the diametrically opposed nature of their characters. Alas, as sharp as the duo might be, they cannot fight the moroseness that sets into the film’s latter half.

After co-writing and producing Romain Graves’ own epic of civil unrest, 2022’s “Athena,” he steps behind the camera once more for his second feature directorial effort, “Les Indésirables,” and while the subject matter is just as timely, the overall result is slightly less scintillating.

Foster is so good you’re often rooting for Stoll to succeed more than Nyad. And sometimes a performance like that is all you need for a feel-good story like this one.

The bitter aftertaste of dullness remains in its place, an unforgivable sin within the art form Constanzo seems so set on paying tribute to.

A handsome historical drama featuring plenty of gorgeous gowns, powdered wigs, and bored aristocrats, the film is, however, an unusually earthy proposition where nature, in its most unmanicured and unwieldy form, plays a major role.

There are pockets of joy and wonder, but they’re not quite enough to let “Riddle of Fire” stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the cinematic classics that inspired it.

Sure, the story hangs on by the thinnest of threads, it loses momentum in the second act, and one or two of the songs are just a bit too repetitive. Then again, you’ll laugh. Likely a lot.

The Boy and the Heron is Miyazaki’s strong-willed encouragement for us to persevere. If this is, in fact, a swan song, then it’s a ravishing one because no one has the ability to distill elemental truths into vividly rendered moving paintings like Miyazaki.

Something is missing from making it a knockout.

For all the dicks of varying turgidity on proud display, it’s the intimations of true insecurities that leave these characters most nakedly exposed.

Trained to precision and cute to the bone, the four-legged cast serves as a much-needed distraction from the trainwreck labeled by many as Besson’s return to the limelight. If this is all he’s got, then I guess the director will deservedly remain in the murky limbo of mediocrity.