Hill’s basically remaking Larry Clark’s seminal 1995 film “Kids,” a picture inherently more authentic because it was a snapshot taken in that moment. And if you prefer the rose-colored lens of nostalgia, that’s been done too, in Jonathan Levine’s 2008 effort “The Wackness.”

Fogelman clearly gets a thrill in constructing a tapestry full of one random tragedy after another (seriously, almost nothing good seems to happen to these people long term). And he also appears to love manipulating the audience’s emotions with these subsequent tragedies.

Meant to appear as some kind of tribute to the victims and families of the Kursk, Vinterberg’s poorly strategized film barely justifies its existence.

As usual, Strickland’s latest is delirious, deeply delicious in sumptuous form and sly humor. It’s an oddball film, even for the unusual filmmaker.

Despite the melodramatic ending, you leave the theater wanting to root for the film and its characters.

Greta is one of those thrillers where you see almost every twist coming, but the actors are so into it that you still get sucked in.

It aims for simplicity, for a celebration of his unrivaled talents, and often fails to explore the complexity of the very man at its center.

High Life feels longer than it is, and is occasionally so squirrely that it becomes off-putting. But in spite of the aforementioned traceable connections, it’s a true original — sometimes strange, sometimes scary, sometimes kinky.

While its story is thin, its emotional undercurrent has a strong pull with poignantly topical notions of empathy, grief, and mercy.

Jenkins captures the humor, verve, and considerable complexity of the prose.

Ultimately, the chilly Sunset recreates a version of 1913 Budapest that crackles with life but lacks spirit and emotional connection. Nemes shows viewers the smoke and then the fire but provides no reason for them to care about the world as it burns.

Halloween is a love letter to the original picture and entertaining on its own terms. Thrilling, atmospheric, and brutally violent, Green delivers exactly what fans want from the series and then some.

Widows is definitely a good film and one that often has greatness in its grasp. But it often feels like, at some point in the process, McQueen needed to decide if he was making wallpaper or art.

An angry, provocative conversation starter designed to shake viewers loose of their political indifference and inspire them to take up the charge, the rousing picture deserves to sit at the table recognized as one of Moore’s best work.

By working in such a deliberately muted key, the emotional payoffs we’re conditioned to require from a story like this never quite arrive, and Van Groeningen never finds a workable substitute for them.

Demange, who earned glowing reviews for his debut “’71,” tries to guide all these plotlines and characters with a steady hand, but it often feels too unwieldy. There are simply too many storylines and threads competing with each other. The result is a movie that it feels like snippets of a life instead of a portrait of one.

For fans of Ashby, or even just lovers of good cinema, Hal serves as a wonderful examination of a masterful director who had a lasting influence on generations of cinephiles. Had Scott dug a bit deeper, though, she might have stumbled across something as profound as the filmmaker she supposes to glorify.

Insanely violent, packed with off-color jokes, and of course, sentimentality, “The Predator” is one of the most enjoyable popcorn flicks hitting multiplexes this fall season.

Assayas has often shown great wit in his screenplays (most recently in “Clouds of Sils Maria”), but there is a rhythm to his writing here that is surprisingly good.

There are nuggets of potential underneath, but they’re ultimately buried in a loud, monotonous experience that plays out like a bad haunted corn maze and you just want to cut through the cornstalks for a faster way out.

Beyond its aspects of romantic comedy, Sierra Burgess Is A Loser offers an authentic examination of identity in the confines of high school stereotypes.

Crudely put: it is distancing to hear people cry for help or speak anguished, halting truths from their hearts in a second language, and for all the bruising effectiveness of the filmmaking at times, it’s a distraction which 22 July never quite overcomes.

Wrapped up in Portman’s like-it-or-loathe-it-you-cannot-ignore-it performance (I love it, for the record) and Corbet’s astonishingly confident filmmaking chutzpah — all fast-motion montages, off-kilter framing, and bravura soundtrack collisions between Walker’s score and Sia/Celeste’s pop tracks — it somehow becomes a jagged, messy but endlessly intriguing whole.

Admirable and charming, yet uninspired and un-engaging, Anna and the Apocalypse doesn’t use its genre mash-up to subvert the respective clichés but more so brings the baggage of coming-of-age movie and zombie movie tropes with it.

Israel, as noted by her own writing, had a caustic wit that works with McCarthy’s comedic talents. She also brings a depth of emotion to Israel that comes to a head in a wonderfully composed scene with Grant at the end of the film.

Boy Erased has problems depicting the fear, intimidation and psychological trauma such programs can inflict on even the most willing of participants. But that’s likely because, at its core, the film isn’t really about the gay conversion experience.

When Kusuma, Kidman and Destroyer finally kick it into high gear it’s so, so worth the wait.

The film works best when at its simplest — two brilliant actors sparring with each other, Kingsley attempting to justify the horrific, Issac attempting to stay human and just while grappling with the embodiment of the Third Reich’s unfathomable legacy.