Hardwicke and Coogan are tremendously talented actors who give Roy and Mick, respectively, a story worth exploring.

Kahiu gives the film a brightness and vibrancy that works to counterbalance the perilous waters into which Kena and Ziki are venturing.

It’s a lightly-indulgent passion project that leaves us wanting so much more.

Etzler wields the film’s urgent satire like a scalpel, precisely cutting away at all the lies we so easily find ourselves telling that mask the darker truths about who we are.

Cretton has made and will make subtler movies, but probably none that will prompt as many mid-screening rounds of applause.

Somehow, the blistering comedy you would expect never quite manifests, and instead we get a lot of on-the-nose sermonizing and weak-tea social commentary.

A fabulously smart and entertaining film whose flaws stem from trying too hard… which are the best flaws a film can have.

Queens of the Dead may not be a timeless classic and it might not be a game changer for the genre, but more than any other recent zombie flick, it’s likely to play the midnight circuit for years. Not because of the camp. Not because of the unlimited cosplay opportunities. But because it fosters genuine good will from the audience. We love these characters, and we want them to stick around. Zomb-ay, you stay.

What’s perhaps most fascinating about this documentary is how sure-footed Allred has been in picking her battles over the years.

Tower himself contributes to the film’s appeal. Still elegant in his mid-70s, there’s no doubt of his arrogance, though that seems to be a prerequisite of the trade. He knows that his work has been extraordinary, he’s well-spoken, and he cares intensely about decorum and class.

Disarming and delightful, the sleeper indie comedy Feast of the Seven Fishes proves anew that the most universal storytelling is also the most specific.

In the end, Donnersmarck has it both ways: He’s sentimental and he’s provocative, a craftsman who has something to say and it going to take his time saying it.

What makes Neighbors exceptional, rather than merely great, is its successful attempt to reinvent the studio comedy.

At his most memorable, Cronenberg creates viscerally unforgettable images that horrify, yes, but they also provoke with big, shocking ideas about our very selves – the monstrousness of disease, the perhaps inevitable hybrid of the corporeal and the mechanical, the determination of the self. With Crimes of the Future, we’re left with a remove from the material, where no matter what happens, it’s all just performance art.

"Massive Talent” goes full fan service–y, tapping into the cult of personality shrouding its lead actor. But the actual finished product feels too inside-baseball; it takes a true Cage aficionado to be in on all the jokes.

Black Widow reminds us of the pleasure that can be offered by an MCU movie that isn’t having to do the legwork of setting up the next five chapters.

Some films thrive on twists, while others compel based on meaty performances. Volpe’s picture is squarely the latter: an introspective analysis of the human condition.

Z for Zachariah feels like a genuine rarity: an American movie that doesn’t tell you what to think or how to feel when the credits start rolling. Contemplating our doom doesn’t seem like a bad idea when it’s done this skillfully.

Despite the script’s lack of character depth, Miller gives a consistently phenomenal performance.

It’s a promising feature with an original focus, handled with romantic dexterity and thoughtful wisdom.

Sadly, Wolfe’s direction and the film’s overall visual palette fall flat when compared to Domingo’s mesmerizing performance as a tireless leader.

It’s an utterly fascinating, mysterious, and often experimental character study of someone who is hard to understand because they fundamentally don’t understand themselves.

It’s an unexpected commentary on filmmaking that layers metatextual zingers into its unbelievable rom-com intentions, somehow delivering what the title promises and more. In terms of mainstream comedies, we’re not in Kansas anymore—and that’s a win for Wain’s collective.

Though Monsters and Men isn’t the most fully realized work, its innate intelligence and matter-of-fact sensitivity are the kinds of storytelling assets we need more of, especially when the fabric of life for many continues to fray and tear in ways that demand a larger societal reassessing.

Volpe’s specificity with each characterization, including many of the men, humanizes what would otherwise be an issue-driven movie, and lends it an immediacy and resonance that fuels audience sympathies, not to mention understanding.

This impulse to do less, to avoid excess, is admirable — something the current wave of Conservative Evangelical filmmaking could bear to emulate — but in the end it reads as timid, eventually making “Last Days” feel small and insignificant, hobbled by its own restraint.

Band Aid might sound gimmicky, but Lister-Jones keeps the emotions firmly rooted and the characters believably contextualized.

Skarsgård is a captivating chaos gremlin, and Montgomery is — in an easily overlooked, but absolutely vital role — an exceptional foil.