Ultimately, Autonomy doesn’t have the sort of attention-grabbing hook that can really elevate a doc – there’s no stunning footage or unique personal connection to the material. That overarching lack keeps Horwitz’s doc from being more than something to watch on your couch on a lazy afternoon.

Adding to the fraught complexities of economic insecurity and environmental devastation, When Lambs Become Lions wraps its story in a sweep of broodingly gorgeous imagery.

The director’s best asset remains his indelible style. In his films, he usually doesn’t employ much fluff, limiting how often he cuts. Instead, he relies on pans and savvy blocking. That’s imperative in Richard Jewell, a steady biopic whose best upticks arrive through patience.

Shooting the Mafia is most fascinating when it uses Battaglia’s story, her reminiscences, and her unforgettable photographs, to show rather than tell the painful circumstances of Sicilian life under mob rule.

While lacking the surprise and simplicity of the original “Frozen,” the sequel is still largely wonderful in its own right. It fearlessly transforms the original characters and even its own storytelling format, eschewing the familiar for something grander and more complex.

Queen & Slim is an extraordinary Black Odyssey; a film whose tracks reverberate with echoes of the underground railroad.

Both performances at the film’s center are just outstanding.

It’ll be much too easy to bail on what is a very slow-building first 30 minutes for those watching on a streaming service in the near future. If they make it an hour in, they’ll be pleased to know that John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads” is prominently featured, as any West Virginia film seems obligated to boast. But outside of that, the lack of respite is rightly suffocating and will be unfortunately repelling for those who approach film as a mindless escape.

The Battle of Long Tan is fascinating, not only for its tactical outcome but for the historical blindspot, which has effectively marginalized contributions to the war made by Australia and New Zealand. After the film ends, what lingers is the photography and archival footage that accompanies the end credits; with a little bit of context, that’s a film that needs to be told.

There’s no big action set piece à la “Mission: Impossible” here and no single line of memorable dialogue to reference. But someone will have created a supercut of Kristen Stewart’s best moments on whatever app replaces YouTube, and that will remain more indelible than the movie as an actual movie, especially for the girls who see themselves or women they want to see on screen.

Maybe Marcos imagined this documentary would humanize her. Greenfield did. But not in the way that her subject would have preferred.

For all of the delightfully deranged places Primal could’ve gone, it stays drearily buttoned up.

For all its flaws, Last Christmas isn’t a bad time, despite being a bad movie. Credit Clarke and Golding — or that rum-heavy egg nog you should drink before the opening credits.

The only aspect of the film that even makes it watchable ends up being Shannon’s portrayal of Westinghouse.

Much like “It: Chapter Two,” Doctor Sleep is an odd generic blend. Part horror, part fantasy, part “The Shining” Oscars tribute, it engenders confusion more often than delight.

If Waddington’s fairy tale harbored any substance to counterbalance its external beauty, it might have established itself as a pleasingly subversive piece of pop art. Yet, despite its commendable goals, Paradise Hills will likely be lost to time.

Simply put, this is an expertly directed first feature. Clapin’s willingness to be patient as a scene unfolds, to let the hand experience the surreal images from its perspective, to let the quiet captivate the audience is beyond impressive.

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.