Countdown is completely inessential and adds absolutely nothing of value to the cautionary tale genre of technology horror.

Hamilton, Reyes, and Davis do everything possible to inject emotional energy into this slashing, crashing sequel, but in the end, even their efforts are ground up by the action movie machine.

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.

A repetitive, uninspired, and ultimately braindead sequel.

The film is undeniably entertaining, it’s fun to see these characters and creators again, and hey, who am I to begrudge them a victory lap? But ultimately, the contrast between the epilogue film and the source material is undeniable.

Marcello brilliantly captures the circular nature of the perpetual expanse between the working class and the elite in the dense characterization of his subjects and the dialogue surrounding the rejection of Martin’s early writing.

Gripping, intriguing, and well-paced, Mary overcomes most of the issues with its overwritten script to emerge as a serviceable entry in the genre’s canon. Sure, the film lists from time to time, but it always manages to right itself when it matters.

Even if Varda by Agnes sometimes betrays its roots as a lecture, it’s a touching and memorable reflection on the life and art from a true legend of cinema, one whose ideas are as relevant as ever.

Packing a promising first act that quickly goes south and and a select few fun action beats, Ang Lee may be a disciple of technology, but if he’s going to trade the potential of meta-commentary on aging, youth, an actor’s legacy and more, for something meant to be slick entertainment, he’s still going to need a more convincing sermon.

This is a hearty, four-course meal for film fans, which, once again, demonstrates that the study of a film can be just as invigorating an experience as the actual film itself.

Despite a script that’s as obvious as a treasure map, Low Tide works because of its leads. The four actors have never been better.

In The Tall Grass proves a solidly spooky film, seeded with some tantalizing moments of terror. But it never grows to outright terrifying.

“Making Waves” covers an impressive amount of ground in 90 minutes and is a perfect introduction to the subject for a student or casual fan.

The Irishman, which feels like the work of an older, wiser, less flashy filmmaker, is much more preoccupied with the soul of Frank Sheeran and reckoning with his choices.

Beyond a commendable amount of love and effort, there’s nothing substantial to take away from The Disappearance of My Mother.

What Western Stars best achieves, a universal notion that will hook fans and non-fans alike, is the shared sense of community displayed in the infectious love shown for playing vital and moving music.

Red Penguins is utterly stuffed with memorable stories and unforgettable people. Therefore, the film is unquestionably entertaining for hockey fans. However, it has no more gravitas than, say, any random ESPN Films “30 for 30” entry.

Everything is subtext, as scenes float by with little grounding or purpose outside of compositional beauty.

A confidently crafted, well-acted three-hander ... But some viewers will find the hamster-wheel nature of “Jungleland” monotonous, and it’s hard to blame them.

Even if the personal and political don’t always line up neatly in The Moneychanger, it’s an engaging character study of a man with little character, elevated by Veiroj’s unusual eye.

There are moments in “My Zoe” that are hard to watch, unthinkable in their emotional brutality. That Delpy finds her way to the ending she does—and earns it is—no small accomplishment.

While Hedlund and Macdonald exhibit incredible chemistry, the outlandishness of the twists “Dirt Music” takes makes their performances nearly impossible to appreciate due to their cartoon buggery. Working with “Notebook”-level cheese, here the story’s stale.

“The Friend” is successfully anchored by its three leading players ... The sensitivity of these performances, particularly from Affleck and Segel, offers a reckoning on sincere friendship and the limits of devotion that remains with the viewer, long after the days of waiting and the years of pain have finally come to an end.

Jackman shines, teasing us with suggestions of just how deep his performance runs.

The Burnt Orange Heresy stunts as a thriller, but it’s most intriguing when it gives way to soulful questioning of the career of criticism, a profession subjective enough to dodge checks and balances and neglect the significance of honesty, if it so chooses.

The metaphors are a bit too numerous and on the nose at times, but Rylance’s unbelievable performance overshadows the minor downfalls.

Marder believes devoutly in the power of actors and acting, preferring to get out of the way and let them show their stuff. Ahmed returns the favor by delivering career-best work by a wide margin.

Ultimately, the lack of risk-taking not only makes for a pedantic experience but ironically serves Tubman very poorly, never allowing for Erivo’s performance or the spirit of the subject to ever feel truly free.