Like the shadows dancing on their home, the film is overwhelmingly beautiful and agonizingly incomplete, a refraction of a refraction of a time that has now long since passed. It’s a work of rich layers that offers something new each time you watch.

The Devil Wears Prada 2 gives us a lot to look at, and Hathaway and Blunt in particular are a pleasure (they have a scene together, late in the film, that’s almost worth the ticket price right there), but it’s flat Champagne: maybe worth drinking in a pinch, but unsatisfying.

It’s faithful to the book without being overly devout, asking a multitude of deeper, more probing questions while reflecting on the same unsettling and existentialist ones that the book did. By the time it closes with its unexpectedly mournful yet gently searing final frames, reinterpreting and expanding on the enduring source material one final time, it names all that Camus did not.

The irony and meaninglessness of the violence rankles, especially when Ulysses is presented as such a nice guy who is prone to de-escalation and community care in his day-to-day work.

Yes, this is a standard rom-com, in all the best of ways — both playing with the genre’s well-trodden tropes, and letting us enjoy how much fun they can be.

It makes for an entertaining watch in which the attention to detail in every technical element helps smooth over the scattered and superficial story’s many residual shortcomings.

The film doesn’t have much to say about its central questions, and its ending feels inevitable but also unearned.

The prime attraction of this movie, and its predecessor, is that it envelopes the audience in the Mario world. Every square inch of the screen, from top to bottom, corner to corner, is packed with images derived from the game. Easter eggs abound. Watching it is akin being inside the 2007 Super Mario Galaxy game itself. Which is why it needs to be seen on the big screen. Seeing it on a phone or a laptop wouldn’t do it justice.

Both Weaving and Newton do great horror-comedy work, by turns beleaguered and enraged, and share some genuinely sweet, funny moments as they repair their relationship.

Byrne, a recent Oscar nominee for “If I Had Legs I’d Kick You,” holds it together.

By the time the film turns into this unusual buddy adventure, it is an absolute joy, the pair putting their big brains to the task at hand and playfully ribbing each other as they go.

In channeling his creative resources toward the sound of “Undertone,” Tuason conjures a lot out of a simple concept — a girl in a house. The marriage of this sound design to thoughtful, carefully placed camera movements makes for a horror film that’s a suspenseful slow burn.

What keeps Hoppers from drifting into Pollyanna-ish sensibility is its charming spikiness, and embrace of the weird, wacky and witty as it unfurls a high-tech action thriller about a strange, if brief, merging of the human and animal worlds.

More coming-of-age than love story, “Pillion” finds joy in Colin’s journey of learning who he truly is. His road there is a little bumpy — like riding on the back of a motorcycle — and it may be a path less traveled, but it’s a worthwhile one all the same.

Powell’s charm, along with some fun rich-person interiors (there’s a library near the end that gives a stellar performance), does a lot to get “How to Make a Killing” to the finish line. But you may well lose interest, as I did, before the murder countdown concludes; this one feels more like a rough draft than a truly well-thought-out movie.

This Wuthering Heights is a mess, but an occasionally irresistible one.

The Moment works best when examining the creative tensions between people with different agendas, the small passive-aggressive tensions and second-guessing generating the ripples of conflict. But perhaps Zamiri felt those stakes were too small.

Critically, the film’s many revelations aren’t neat and tidy, but they are revealing in all the ways that matter.

A Private Life is a murder mystery only on its surface; at its heart, it’s an exploration of a lonely woman’s extremely active mind, and an unexpectedly moving story of becoming more present in one’s real life, rather than one’s imaginary one.

Raimi can’t resist letting things get wildly over the top at times (there’s a lot of blood and vomit in this movie), but ultimately Send Help is a fascinating study of what happens when a power dynamic suddenly shifts — and when a skilled and charismatic actor is given space to try something entirely new.

Representationally, Clika is an important and worthy film. Cinematically, it unfortunately can’t find the beat.

Shouting and struggling, poor Pratt vainly tries to give his character dimension and some sense of sympathy. So genial and engaging in the Guardians of the Galaxy series, Pratt flails grouchily and ineffectively in Mercy.

It doesn’t hold a candle to the game, but there’s enough here to warrant another visit to this tragic little town.

DaCosta takes some big stylistic swings — particularly with the soundtrack — that sometimes makes you feel as if you’re watching a comedy rather than a horror film. It’s a welcome, offbeat balm to the more intense moments sprinkled throughout and reflects the movie’s more pondering approach to a story that questions who the real monsters are.

Greenland 2: Migration offers up a proudly, even defiantly, optimistic view of what comes after disaster, which can serve for the viewer as either cathartic fictional balm, or Pollyanna-ish fantasy — pick your poison.

The film may have begun with a joke on one man, but with the cutthroat world we’re increasingly building for ourselves, it may soon be on all of us.

There are moments now and then that register, particularly early in the movie when we meet the regulars on the musical-impersonator circuit.

There’s actually quite a bit to enjoy here, not least of which is Black and Rudd’s funny chemistry, some amusing sight gags involving that enormous CGI snake (who has a diva’s sense of timing), the term “snake funeral” and a rather sweet message about following your dreams. It’s all very, very silly.

Josh is flying solo this time, but Marty Supreme shows he’s capable of achieving a greatness that’s all his own. While brief plot elements weigh the film down, Safide defies gravity even as Marty cannot.

Feig, who’s made a specialty of stories featuring unlikely female duos, knows exactly what he’s doing here in the classy-B-movie genre, and “The Housemaid” ticks along like oatmeal-toned clockwork — a little scary, a little silly and very popcorn-appropriate.

Everybody involved seems to be having a blast making this latest “SpongeBob” a funny, fast-paced pleasure.

The action is fierce, kinetic and basically nonstop in “Fire and Ash.” The ending sequence goes on a bit too long (as does the movie in general, at 195 minutes), but it’s all generally entertaining, if you forgive the fact that the spectacle replaces the story for the most part.

If Brooks could have mustered up a screenplay half as good as “Broadcast News,” this movie would have been a delight; instead, it disappears into agreeable blandness and earnest platitudes. It’s not at all unpleasant spending two hours with Ella and her family and colleagues, but it leaves you feeling a little nostalgic for what it could have been.

Fackham Hall is a pleasantly silly diversion for “Downton Abbey” fans with a tolerance for raunchy sight gags and bad puns.

It’s the trio that gives this story liftoff, thanks to spectacular performances from Groff, Radcliffe and Mendez as friends who have seen each other through their best and worst moments.

The last moments of Hamnet are transcendent, and perhaps the most moving thing I’ve seen on screen this year.

Wake Up Dead Man is less funny and more meditative than its predecessors: Father Jud, a man of quiet faith, inspires a certain introspection in Benoit, and the two men ponder questions of religion and mortality, which wasn’t really on my “Knives Out” bingo card but was often utterly engrossing, with the two actors finding a thoughtful chemistry.

The sweetness in the original is absent in the sequel. The players, including Judy and Nick, have an edge to them. Maybe that’s to be expected in that the main characters are now more settled in their parts, but there’s a sharpness in tone that makes them hard to warm up to.

Wicked: For Good could have been better, but it’s still a glorious journey to Oz.

“Jay Kelly” is a playful movie made with palpable love for cinema and its magic.

There’s a lot to like in The Running Man, so it’s all the more disappointing that its most interesting elements get such short shrift. As a humorous action film, it’s an enjoyable experience. As a social commentary on a dystopian America, it mostly just trips over itself.

Ultimately, Now You See Me: Now You Don’t is never quite as much fun as you expect it to be, particularly when Pike isn’t on screen. Despite a character intoning that we all “need magic more than ever,” this movie didn’t have enough of it.

It’s a decent action movie that wears its influences on its sleeves. Some feel like intentional homages; others feed into the aforementioned identity crisis.

Yorgos Lanthimos’ particular brand of dark comedy can be an acquired taste, and his latest, the gritty conspiracy thriller Bugonia, pushes that taste to the limit.

There’s more going on here than pretty pictures: This fascinating portrait of a lady has ice and steel at its core.

Linklater really nails the atmosphere here; watching Blue Moon feels like sitting with smart people in a retro bar, covered in a gentle blanket of cocktail piano. And Hawke, often surrounded by wafting symphonies of cigar smoke, gives a beautifully shaded performance, of equal parts bravado and vulnerability.

This Frankenstein has no shortage of horrors, but it also finds notes of forgiveness and kindness; it’s a monster movie with a soul.

It’s an impressive performance by Byrne, who embodies Linda with unhinged pathos; however, it just as often felt like watching a spiral for spiral’s sake. But, perhaps, viewers with kids of their own may find comfort in the moments Linda vulnerably faces her sense of ineptness as a mother and wrestles with her responsibility for her child’s illness.

If The Black Phone dabbles in crimes that are taboo, even unforgivable in its depiction of brutality against innocent children, Black Phone 2 commits its own unforgivable crime of being dreadfully boring. This movie is a snooze — and not just because all of the action takes place entirely during Gwen’s dreams.

A soggy thriller in which every scene, even a daytime one early on at the newspaper where Lo works, seems to take place in ominously blue darkness.

It’s odd that Guadagnino clearly wanted to make a movie that people would talk about, but doesn’t seem quite sure of what he wanted it to say.

Condon doesn’t shy away from the violence and tragedy at the heart of this story, but he lets us see the tender, hard-forged connection between Molina and Valentín, and also lets us disappear into a world of tinselly Hollywood beauty, just as they do.

If all you want out of your Tron movie is amazing visuals, a great score and some fun action sequences with light cycles, cool weapons and even a Recognizer, “Ares” will execute that command. Anything more, though, and it all starts to get a little glitchy.

It’s a promising but uneven debut, not quite worthy of its star.

The picture itself is more workmanlike than transcendent. It marches along but doesn’t soar.

Paul Thomas Anderson’s One Battle After Another — the most entertaining, exhilarating movie you’ll see all year — is an incision into a raw nerve. A thrilling, tense portrait of modern life, it’s Anderson’s most urgently relevant work yet.

Him is a bit like the red-faced drunk next to you at the Seahawks game: loud, fun at first, wearing thin after a few drives — asleep by the end.

When everything’s clicking, there are moments of real beauty and introspection to be found here.

It doesn’t have the same wild unfamiliar sparkle as the original, but that’s the point. The joys of this film are similar to the joys of a beloved (real) band’s reunion concert: watching decades of personal and musical history play out onstage, cheering for the revolutionaries of their day and, in the case of the actor-creators of Spinal Tap, seeing what more than 40 years of commitment to a bit — and to each other — really looks like.

It’s a visual spectacle, a 155-minute fight-to-the-death battle anime held together by a series of emotional lows told in flashbacks covering the worst demons in each hero and villain’s past.

Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale is as good as it needs to be, though like the other movies it’s probably a complete puzzlement to anyone not already familiar with the franchise, and creator/writer Julian Fellowes can’t resist having someone earnestly intone something about Things Change And We Must Change With Them every two minutes.

Executed and performed with precision, the focus is on the relationships, but not breaking the system itself. The message of The Long Walk is muddled, at once hopeful and despairing.

With the dour drudgery of “Last Rites,” it has never been more clear that it’s time to move on from their story, even as the memories of better installments linger.

It’s a whiplash journey of humor bordering on callousness, and sadness just shy of suffocating, but you’ll want to hold its twisted, bruised heart in your hands all the same. It deserves some comfort after all it’s been through.

Both star and director are at the top of their game here, and that’s as good as movies get.

Aronofsky has always been an actor’s director, and even though he’s playing in the pulp sandbox with “Caught Stealing,” he lets Butler shine. There are a few choices to side-eye in the script, to be sure, but Butler, Kravitz and Libatique are unimpeachable on this wild ride.

The satisfaction of a cozy mystery doesn’t always come exclusively from a complex puzzle solved; it also comes from justice done and, ideally, comeuppance savored. Despite being beautifully made, this tepid, moralizing story denies us any of those pleasures. Rude.

For those who like their comedy so dark that it’s practically blackened, may I present The Roses.

Even if the weave is loose and the big final reveal takes such a hard-left turn it could cause another traffic fatality, Honey Don’t! is a bleak and breezy good time. Don’t overthink it.

Ne Zha II deserves all the attention and accolades: It’s an empowering film that makes you believe that you, too, can change your fate.

Glander’s debut has vibes to spare, but he never coasts on them even as Billy coasts around the Florida landscapes. In the end, he delivers a full meal of a film that, like the giant hot dog we see in one shot in the middle, is a mesmerizing work of art worth taking a big bite out of. It will never be to all tastes, but to those who find themselves on its wavelength, it couldn’t be sweeter.

Lohan was, and is, a charming and funny screen presence. And if you think this all has nothing to do with the movie, I’d say you’re wrong. This movie’s existence is predicated on our nostalgia for the original film and our parasocial relationship with Curtis and Lohan, as a duo. These feelings matter.

This “Naked Gun” tries hard, but the magic simply isn’t there.

The Bad Guys 2 is not as fun or slick as it thinks it is — especially in its emotionally underwhelming yet visually dazzling third act — but it still carries just enough charm to warrant a trip to the theater.

For vast swaths of this movie, despite excellent, unsettlingly comic performances from Brie and Franco, all I could see was the Big Idea, rather than two people on a horrifying journey. But the more gruesome the story gets . . . the stronger it is, as the over-the-top ick kept my brain present.

Incisive, insightful and very funny.

Caught by the Tides is a beautiful time capsule that holds a record: Humanity can survive wildfire, displacement, disease and heartbreak with music, dance, song and film.

It’s heartfelt, action-packed and just plain fun (and comes with an intriguing mid-credit scene you don’t want to miss). Fantastic indeed.

Do I think we need more reheated IP that uses our collective nostalgia as catnip to cover up the fact that we didn’t actually care that much about the original film? Nah, of course not. But if you’re gonna make it, make it well, make it fun and make it stand on its own two narrative feet. This update pulls that off, and with a bloody high body count to boot.

There are no safe places in his pictures. And Eddington is dense with multiple levels that stoke the ever-present unease.

This is a dynamic, delightful film and the introduction of an exciting, uncompromising new voice.

Parts of that story may be hard to watch, but, anchored by Venter’s extraordinary performance, it’s not hard to enjoy.

But there is bashing aplenty, and it all looks gorgeous. The action sequences are top-notch, the stunning visuals adding a delightful crunch (bones do break) and a sense of scale appropriate for someone like Superman. (There’s so much property damage, it’s ridiculous.) Throw in heat-vision lasers, freezing breath, Mach-speed punches and a superpowered flying dog, and it’s a rollicking good time. (Go see this in IMAX, if possible; you won’t regret it.)

Despite excellent performances all around, that balance is off in this follow-up, which has more characters but is less character-driven.

The bottom line, for any movie that purports to be a thrill ride, is whether the end result is thrilling — and I’d give a definite yes to that.

As "M3GAN 2.0" drags on, it's impossible to shake the sense that Cooper's voice was the key to the original.

Though it’s fun watching Pitt swanning about in his nonchalant way — and a delight to see Kerry Condon, as a F1 technical director, finding some playful chemistry with him — this movie is entirely about the driving, and the speed.

Not that it was ever in question, but 28 Years Later is an invigorating reminder that Boyle, as a technician of dizzying, daring cinematic style, has never lost his fastball, and he employs it to great effect emphasizing Spike’s visceral emotional experience.

This gem of a film manages to draw together our questions about the universe and ourselves into one single adventure story that hits every emotional beat. It’s what Pixar does best, and “Elio” is another knockout, a quiet but determined shooting star that earns its place in the galaxy.

It’s ultimately a gentle exploration of what we think we want from love, and how those things can change when the right person arrives. It’s also, disappointingly, about what happens in a movie when only two-thirds of the principal casting hits the mark. Materialists is a wistful near miss.

There are plot levels here that are deeper than the original, which is quite complex and moving in its own right.

Flanagan’s trick is simply how he imparts this eternal lesson to us: We know life will end, so how you spend the time is all that matters. It’s simple, and it may be delivered in a way that’s a bit too clever by half, but it’s still a gut punch, and a message worth absorbing now, and always.

It’s not terrible, but it’s an elegantly filmed stumble.

You expect lots of fight scenes in a Wick movie, and Ballerina certainly delivers on that score. Overdelivers, in fact. It’s one damn dust-up after another.

Telling the story of an obstetrician working in a rural town in the country of Georgia who also performs abortions outside work, it’s a quiet wail in the darkness of the night, hurtling along with all the force of a lightning bolt.

Jane Austen Wrecked My Life is a gentle treat, sure to leave any book-loving viewer happy.

Lively, fast-paced and ever so familiar, the picture is a happy addition to the holiday. It’s worth leaving the house to see.

Each sequence is cleverly planned and staged, but timing is everything, and the rhythm and cadence of the edit is perfectly executed by Sabrina Pitre.