The now pat, unimaginative knock on McG was that he was the Guy Fieri of filmmakers, — loud, crass, garish, tacky, hacky, double fisted with Monster Energy drinks and reeking of Ax Body Spray. But you know what? Sadly, that shoe seems to snuggly fit and he seems more than willing to wear it.

Summer of ’85 is ultimately not entirely successful, because its disparate tones don’t always mesh. But more than that, the carefree, romantic stuff is so enjoyable, and so sincere, that in retrospect, one wishes the entire film had lived there – both in that flush of first love (or at least lust), and in reckoning afterward with the complexities of that emotion.

A brilliantly unflinching look at a society built on extreme disparities that reads more like an omen than a far-fetched fantasy, New Order repeatedly subverts any hope of redemption. It guts you with the worst of human nature, like Franco often does, but within a larger sociopolitical scale, and for that, it’s utterly unshakable.

Dear Comrades!, from veteran Russian auteur Andrei Konchalovsky, is a fascinating blend of dark satire and bleak archaeology.

Wéber’s writing and Kirby’s performance, working in concert with Mundruczó’s dazzling, multifaceted direction, Howard Shore‘s gorgeously mood-appropriate score and, again, Loeb’s drifting, searching, soulful camera together create, from so many disparate pieces, an entirely complete portrait, that even suggests further internal universes still to be explored, universes every one of us contains.

As a work of deep, committed research into real history, that provides a very handy four-way primer on the most famous Black men of their day and the conflicting approaches to Black resistence and liberation that each personified, One Night in Miami is an instructive and absorbing watch. But as a film with the potential to do more, push further and explore and maybe even in some ways explode those legacies in order to get at the men underneath them, it feels too timid, too talky, too conceptual in content for being so classical in form.

A wise, beautiful film summoned up entirely from things authentically seen, felt, and thought.

While all the makings of a soul-wrenchingly impossible affair seem to be here, Ammonite sadly feels too distant, underpowered and colorless for its own good, as if somewhere down the line, its heart had died and hardened like a fossil waiting to be discovered.

Lacking any thematic direction or narrative momentum, the film wanders around like so many Muscovite strays on the streets of Russia: aimless yet not exactly lost. A tough sit on top of all this, and lacking anything resembling a coherent point, this one should be shot into space without a return trajectory.

As the film becomes more of a conventional horror flick, it also leaves unexplored the darker realities of these contemporary fears for easier, gorier thrills.

Like so many characters in this glum, shaggy ramble of a film, Campos gets lost in the woods. Most directors in his position fall victim to overreaching, as ideas overlap and confuse and weaken one another. He makes no such error, instead spreading a humbler film’s sum total of content across an unwieldy canvas.

In the case of a film conceived by a clearly talented artist, one would hope that Sandoval’s work would mirror her potential, but “Lingua Franca,” a film preoccupied with formulaic ideas and distracted by speaking points, falls short of its goals.

If New Mutants is any indication, the future is bright for young adult horror, even when that future is being carved out of the husk of billion-dollar properties. Here’s to the future audiences who will unleash their inner fear bears.

David Byrne’s American Utopia is an ideal world; it’s exhilarating and joyful; and Byrne and Lee actually do make a perfect pair.

Huge fans of the performer will likely shed tears at few parts throughout, but there’s nothing especially unique or particularly thought-provoking about first-time director Tylor Norwood‘s filmmaking approach to make his documentary stand out.

While Enola Holmes empowering feminist message might feel a little on the nose at times, the film, is nevertheless, a witty and endearing little bauble with terrific elan.

Rather than focusing on the specific aspects that make the film unique, Centigrade turns into a mishmash of genres.

Coup 53 is a live-wire thriller that is one of the best documentaries of the year.

It’s rare to see a comedy so devoted to pacing and so concerned with driving to a satisfying conclusion.

Feels Good Man is an intriguing look behind an online curtain that rarely gets pulled back, and is investigated critically even more infrequently. Slick animation graphics and well-paced interview testimonials bolster the effort and paint a very clear (if regrettable) picture of how art can sometimes get away from the artist.

Critical Thinking shows that Leguizamo makes a good teacher on screen and behind the camera –he’s telling a story that is truly inspiring and educational, but also revealing its relevance and keeping it fun.

An epic coming of age journey with scale and spectacle, and rousing heart, Mulan, is a triumph and essentially boils down to a wholehearted tale of feminine resolve, proving the boys wrong and making a father proud while being true to one’s self. That sounds a little simplistic, but Caro’s movie has surprising layers, of color, contour, and shade to shape her magnificent new empowering fairy tale.

The Mole Agent is a perfect film. From a technical and emotional viewpoint equally, The Mole Agent possesses no flaws. Yes, as with every documentary, manipulation is openly displayed and validity can always be questioned, but The Mole Agent dissuades any inkling of pessimism or negativity through its unabashed sincerity.

Besides its emotional texture, which will take you by surprise, more importantly, at the end of the day, Becky is a lot of enjoyably perverse fun.

There’s no room for introspection or difficult questions here. Antebellum therefore reads like the corporate spawn of “Black horror,” pieced together from Twitter anti-racist soundbites and crafted for maximum clout.

The conclusion of Bill & Ted Face the Music is pure corn, and by that point, they’ve earned it. It’s a film that’s somehow both offhand and meticulous, shaggy yet crisp, and the apparent joy of its creation is infectious. I laughed through a lot of it, and smiled through the rest. What a treat this movie is.

It is an old-fashioned case of vision overstepping budget constraints and unchecked creativity exceeding much-needed limitations.

Watching Russell Crowe as a genuinely frightening villain sounds entertaining, but the bitterness and contempt seething through “Unhinged” is repellant enough to make you want to shower afterward.