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Some prognosticators these days are contending that humanity is headed for a plunge off the edge of a cliff from which there’s no return. Others have even said that we’re already past that point. Either way, it would seem we’re at a critical juncture, a turning point of potentially mammoth proportions. But can anything be done to save us? That’s the question posed in director Gore Verbinski’s latest offering, a wild, whacked out sci-fi satire about the unfolding collapse of mankind and the efforts of a seemingly crazed time traveler from the future (Sam Rockwell) to save humanity. This manic, eccentric protagonist unexpectedly shows up in a present day Los Angeles diner to recruit a team of combatants to help him battle an evil force that will set mankind on an irretrievably unalterable path going forward. The enemy is a nine-year-old computer whiz (Artie Wilkinson-Hunt) who’s about to unleash a malignant form of AI that will lock us into an existence where everyone is hopelessly locked into the distractions of cell phones, social media, virtual reality and fascist AI, a paradigm enforced by relentless attack drones. With the help of seven ordinary individuals (all of them diner patrons who either volunteer or are unwittingly conscripted), the man from the future sets out on his quest to vanquish the enemy before it’s too late – an undertaking that he has apparently unsuccessfully attempted many times before. And, as this bizarre adventure unfolds, viewers are clued in on the back stories of several of these warriors and how their experiences have contributed to the emerging scenario. This includes the recent histories of Mark (Michael Peña) and Janet (Zazie Beetz), high school teachers who are unwittingly (and hysterically) confronted by a zombie-like student body involuntarily controlled by their cell phones, a segment reminiscent of “The Night of the Living Dead” (1968); Susan (Juno Temple), a middle-aged single mother who loses her son (Riccardo Drayton) in a school shooting but who is stunned when he is miraculously brought back to life as a clone (of sorts); and Ingrid (Haley Lu Richardson), a child’s birthday party entertainer who falls in love with a pizza deliveryman (Tom Taylor) who unsuspectingly becomes obsessed with virtual reality. These seemingly unrelated story threads ultimately become intertwined with one another as the film’s unlikely hero seeks to save the day. But can he? If this all sounds highly unusual, you’d be right – this is handily one of the strangest releases I’ve seen in ages. But it’s also one of the funniest, most outrageous tales I’ve ever seen committed to film. Besides the bitingly cynical and immensely creative humor served up here, “Good Luck, Have Fun, Don’t Die” imparts a decidedly important cautionary tale about us and our unknowing surrender to technology that may well end up taking us places we don’t want to go. There’s also an inherently strong metaphysical streak running through the narrative, particularly when it comes to the nature of alternate timelines and probable realities, not unlike themes played out in “Everything Everywhere All at Once” (2022) (but better explored here). Admittedly, this offering is a little overlong (especially in the final act), but, considering everything this title gets right (excellent performances, great special effects, big laughs), that’s easily overlooked. And it’s a fairly safe bet that the frantic nature of the picture and some of its edgy content won’t appeal to everyone. But those looking for something truly fresh, different and over the top while providing much to ponder, this one is clearly right up your alley. Keep that in mind the next time you speculate about the future – or step into your neighborhood diner.

When it comes to summertime movies, many viewers expect fun thrill rides, escapist fare at its best. At the same time, though, as the summer movie season winds down, expectations tend to lower by the time August rolls around, when the dregs of its remaining releases are unceremoniously rolled out. But, every so often, audiences are in for an unexpected nifty little treat when a sleeper offering hits theaters. Such is the case with the latest effort from writer-director David Robert Mitchell, a Spielbergian sci-fi retrothriller that skillfully drops elements of the “Jurassic Park” franchise into 1980s suburbia, and it does so with a deft mix of heart-pounding action-adventure and raucous, often-campy humor. The film follows the adventures of the Platt family, mother Denise (Anne Hathaway), father Greg (Ewan McGregor), and teenage children Audrey (Maisy Stella) and Brian (Christian Convery), along with their mischievous but resourceful pooch, an Australian cattle dog named Starbuck. On the surface, everything seems fine, though, as soon becomes apparent, there are some simmering troubles in family household (marital discord, financial difficulties, potential problem drinking, the dashed dreams of adolescence). However, after a bright, intense light appears during a thunderstorm one night, the Platts’ world gets turned upside down as their neighborhood experiences a series of infrastructure collapses, along with the appearance of anomalous plant life, specimens that appear to belong to extinct prehistoric species. But that’s only the beginning, as these developments are followed by the presence of dinosaurs. Needless to say, the residents of Oak Street are stunned at what they find, and it’s not long before survival and escape become imminent concerns. But how? What’s more, how did all of this come about? Those are the questions the family and their neighbors face as their world crumbles around them. Admittedly, the premise of this story is a relatively simple one, and it occasionally turns repetitive and derivative as it plays out. However, these shortcomings are made up for by great action sequences and raucously funny laughs, many of them deliberately over the top and characterized by ample but restrained gratuitousness (though squeamish viewers may still wish to bow out). A number of typical Spielbergian tropes are also included here, such as the curmudgeonly neighbor (P.J. Byrne), the kindly old lady down the street (Anne Gee Byrd), the mild-mannered but unexpectedly tough, gun-toting mid-lifer (Emily Kuroda), the neighborhood bully (Hudson Meek) and the beautiful new neighbor girl (Jordan Alexa Davis), all of whose story threads figure into the flow of the narrative and are sufficiently wrapped up by the time the credits roll. But perhaps the biggest surprise here is the film’s integration of subtle but effective themes one might not anticipate from a production like this, such as messages related to second chances, redemption and forgiveness, which are skillfully incorporated without beating viewers over the head (credit the expertly penned script for this). Thankfully, while many critics acknowledge that there are numerous respectful nods to the “Jurassic” franchise, most astutely appreciate the big nostalgic fun in this, despite a cantankerously vocal minority of cynical peers who contend such attributes are out-and-out ripoffs of classic cinematic content. I suppose one could see things that way, but that spoils the fun, begging the question about the half-empty/half-full glass metaphor, one that ultimately comes down to your view/your choice. So what’s it going to be? Given the dearth of good, entertaining pictures at this time of year, in my view, “The End of Oak Street” is genuinely a welcome breath of fresh air in an otherwise-stale room, a late summer release that’s truly “dino-mite.”

Stories about challenged individuals who manage to turn their lives around are immensely popular with moviegoing audiences. But there’s a big difference between those that depict individuals who beat the odds against them and those featuring characters who have to dig themselves out of their own self-created holes (and it should be easy to guess which ones are more well-liked). Such latter circumstances are the ones in play in this biographical comedy-drama from writer-director Matt Johnson, an origin story about how celebrity chef and culinary travelogue host Anthony Bourdain (1956-2018) got his start. In 1975, Bourdain (who curtly and routinely informed others that he simply wanted to be called “Tony”) (Dominic Sessa) was enrolled at Vassar College in one of the first classes to which men had been admitted to the former all-women’s institution. He was seeking (with brazenly conceited confidence and no credible experience) a writing fellowship that would allow him avoid going home for the summer, a prospect he viewed with palpable disdain. However, when he was turned down for the opportunity, he needed to find a different path. He decided to head to the coastal resort town of Provincetown, MA to pursue his romantic interest (or, more accurately, romantic obsession) from high school, currently a Vassar co-ed, Nancy Putkoski (Emilia Jones), who was spending the summer on Cape Cod. Tony told others that he was making the journey to work on the fellowship he didn’t win as a cover for his pursuit of a relationship with someone who typically responded to his advances with ambivalence. These conditions ostensibly forced him to wing it in every conceivable way upon arrival in P-town. And, as fate would have it, the “aspiring writer” was the same loutish narcissist there that he was beforehand. After a series of questionable misadventures, he sheepishly ended up taking a job as a dishwasher in a restaurant run by a demanding taskmaster chef (Antonio Banderas) staffed by an array of colorful co-workers (Leo Woodall, Stavros Halkias) who were anything but positive influences. But, as Tony’s summer unfolded, he unwittingly began turning things around, largely thanks to the chef’s stringent tutelage, launching Tony down another new path that would lead him to a storied future. Bourdain’s subsequent success is not depicted here except in the film’s electronic epilogue, but it’s that implication that arguably grants this story its salvation in light of how it starts out. The protagonist is clearly depicted as an admittedly charismatic (though undeniably uncouth) bad boy who probably wouldn’t have otherwise been cut any slack were it not for his accomplishments later in life. Fittingly, Sessa capably makes the most of that characterization, turning in a badass portrayal and a remarkably on-point impersonation of the title character, even if it’s written rather monodimensionally and delivered through an uncannily familiar performance to the actor’s role in “The Holdovers” (2023) (which, unavoidably, raises potential questions about typecasting). It also doesn’t help that Tony’s back story is largely missing, with virtually no explanation behind his motivations, behavior and attitude at this time of his life other than through an epigraphic quote from Bourdain at the film’s outset. And this oversight, for what it’s worth, may leave viewers wondering why they should care about what happens to him. Those considerations aside, though, the picture has definite strengths of note, particularly the impressive supporting cast of Banderas, Woodall and Halkias, who do much to bolster viewer interest in the narrative. The film’s superb period piece production design and fine cinematography also add much to the picture, particularly the character of this release’s time frame. Overall, though, “Tony” feels as though it could have been stronger, better focused and more engaging. It’s modestly entertaining, but, in coming away from it, I felt as though I was only served appetizers and missed out on the main course.

The hopes most of us have for romantic comedy-dramas is that everything will ultimately work out in the end. But, in real life, relationships don’t always turn out that way. So when filmmakers try to fuse those two divergent scenarios, the results can be dismaying if not handled properly. However, when approached with a skillful touch, such stories can be surprisingly entertaining, even enlightening. So it is with this LGBTQ offering about a dysfunctional romance from directors Neil Ely and Lloyd Eyre-Morgan, who also wrote the script and stars in the movie. Told in an extended flashback that begins at the story’s end, the film follows the 18-month “relationship” (a term I use loosely) between Benji (Eyre-Morgan) and Jake (David Tag). They cruise one another in an airport bar before they both depart on a trip from England to Amsterdam. Benji, a sheepish middle-aged single who has a long history of bad luck in love (as illustrated in several flashbacks within the flashback), takes quite a shine to the chiseled, masculine Jake, and he’s quite surprised to find this Adonis return the attention. But, as Benji soon finds out, Jake is also a major tease, and he can’t tell if Jake is as interested in him as he might seem. However, no sooner is Benji ready to write off this prospect when he unexpectedly pounces, leading to some of the hottest sex he’s ever had. This encounter, in turn, leads to a series of weekend trips to the Netherlands, but the duo never seems to get past the casual level where they began, much to Benji’s disappointment. And, after a year of such meetings, things never progress to anything more serious. When Benji confronts Jake about this, he explains that he never intended for anything more than just a little fun to come out of this, especially when he makes clear that he’s actually more into women than men, behavior that Benji characterizes as bisexual (though “DL” (or “down low”) would probably be more accurate). This is where matters begin to sour as Jake tries to have his cake and eat it, too, while Benji struggles to figure out his next move. But can he? Indeed, can he let go of his obsession with someone who won’t reciprocate? In many respects, one might see this story as a downer, and a good case could be made for that argument. But, given the film’s deftly comic handling of the material, the story comes off as quite humorous and even charming. It skillfully combines the weight, oppressiveness and toxic qualities sometimes present in gay male partnerships, as depicted in movies like “Pillion” (2025), and the delightful sensibilities of off-beat romcoms like “(500) Days of Summer” (2009). These qualities are further enhanced through the use of clever animation, insightful voice-over narrations by the protagonist and even a music video sequence. Be forewarned, however, that this release is not all sweetness and light: It’s explicit in both its verbal descriptions and visual depictions of sexuality, and it features more than a little foul language and elements of envelope-pushing physical abuse, so sensitive viewers take heed. But, for all of the film’s cautionary qualities, there are also life lessons to be learned from what transpires, and they help to offset those troubling aspects. From this, one might contend that “Departures” is not for everyone (especially those outside the gay male community), but, for those who come from this part of LGBTQ society, this release may strike more than a few familiar chords, doing so in ways that are poignant, cringey and amusing all at the same time – just like gay male relationships themselves.

Whether we like it or not, life is full of new beginnings, and adjusting to them can indeed be difficult. Nevertheless, sometimes they present us with circumstances that we must find a way to address, given that we have no other choice. So it is for Erin (Katie Aselton) and Charlie (Daveed Diggs), a young married couple very much in love but who have been unexpectedly saddled with working out a change in the nature of their relationship: They find themselves on opposite sides of the veil between life and death, even though they have somehow managed to find a way to remain in each other’s company, an arrangement that only they’re aware of. So, to work out the remaining logistics of this unique situation, they seek a new venue for their deliberations. They journey to Joshua Tree in the California desert to regroup at the home of a friend (Brad Garrett), hoping that the change of scene, the wide-open spaces with their lack of distractions and the presence of New Age spiritual influences will provide a suitable environment to undertake this challenge. However, despite their sincerity, they have trouble emotionally coping with such a fundamental change in their marriage. By tightly holding on to what they had (and no longer do), they’re incapable of moving on to new paths in life and the afterlife. Others genuinely try to offer comfort, guidance and support, such as a healing masseuse (Leonora Pitts), an overbearing but well-meaning mother (Susan Sullivan) and a quartet of vivacious, fun-loving drag queens (led by D.J. Shangela Pierce). But the answers lie within Erin and Charlie, and only they can find them. Will they? That’s the challenge put to the protagonists in this latest effort from writer-actor-director Aselton, who gets some aspects right with others in need of work. On the plus side, this unusual love story’s excellent performances, superb character development and chemistry, gorgeous desert cinematography and fitting soundtrack all get deservedly high marks. However, the same can’t be said for the writing, which is frequently vague and assumes that viewers know what the script is trying to convey. The story also has a tendency to feel padded, despite the picture’s comparatively short 100 runtime. It’s truly unfortunate that these shortcomings impinge on this offering, for, if these areas had been stronger, “Magic Hour” truly would have earned higher grades. As it stands now, though, viewers will have to be satisfied with the film as it is, an earnest but incomplete effort that tries to address a hopeful but heartbreaking scenario that many of us may have to face at some point in our lives – or afterlives.

When I watch a movie, I expect to be entertained, enlightened and/or informed (not necessarily in that order or all at once). But what I don’t want is to be treated like a marketing prospect. And that, unfortunately, is one of the problems with many of the releases in the Marvel Universe, including this latest installment in the Spider-Man franchise. Given the studio’s intricate web of properties (no pun intended) in this overlapping assortment of superhero franchises, there are considerable character and storyline cross-overs in virtually all of its film projects. Now, because of that, some cross-pollination of the narratives is bound to occur. But, when this practice becomes a key element in developing the plots of these offerings, it begins to feel more like marketing manipulation than bona fide storytelling, as is the case here. I don’t particularly appreciate using existing efforts to purposely promote upcoming productions. It tends to make these movies somewhat formulaic and cookie-cutter in nature. And, even though that’s not carried to an extreme in this release, it’s present nevertheless, no matter how much director Destin Daniel Cretton may try to enliven whatever other distinguishing characteristics might have been incorporated into the script. In essence, the film continues the current Spider-Man mythology with protagonist Peter Parker (Tom Holland) working largely as a solo undercover crimefighter in New York going after bad guys in a world where he and his past accomplishments have been intentionally forgotten as part of a selfless protective initiative. Only he retains recollection of what came before, leaving him alone where this knowledge is concerned, since old colleagues, including his onetime love interest, M.J. (Zendaya), retain no personal memory of him. It causes him a certain sense of emotional weariness, but it’s also something that he doesn’t have the luxury of time to focus on, given his workload and the fact that he’s going through transformations of his own while battling a menacing new nemesis (Sadie Sink). True, he secures some assistance from past superhero kindreds (Mark Ruffalo, Florence Pugh), but they don’t remember him either, compromising their effectiveness. Can he overcome all of these challenges? That’s a question as much for viewers as it is for Spidey himself, given that, in telling this story, multiple narrative threads are introduced (and not especially clearly), a problem that plagues the flow of the material in the opening half. This could potentially hamper viewer understanding until the picture’s back end, when it finally finds a firmer footing to tell its tale (even if some of it isn’t always adequately explained). Judicious editing may have helped here, but then that may have meant trimming some of the marketing material for future releases (and we can’t have that now, can we?). In short, “Spider-Man: Brand New Day” is probably best seen as a mediocre Marvel offering that features some modestly entertaining enhanced character development but that nevertheless covers a lot of action-adventure ground we’ve already seen before in countless other studio releases and that could certainly use some shrewd pruning of its overlong 200 runtime, too. Diehard fans of the franchise will no doubt love this (or virtually anything else that Marvel chooses to put up on the screen) no matter what, but I can’t help but take issue with that assessment. After all, there’s quite an undeniable irony here in the bold wording of the film’s title, which would seem to promise something new but doesn’t follow through on that pledge as well as it might have.

Which is better – responsible planning or acting spontaneously? There’s something to be said for both, though they can each become problematic if carried too far. What’s more, it’s somewhat ironic that those of us who are preoccupied with one form of behavior over the other often long for wishing that we could more easily engage in its counterpart without becoming unduly neurotic. Yet finding someone who can successfully help us partake in such contrary behavior can frequently work wonders in shaking us out of our comfort zone. Such is the case with an unlikely duo who meet by accident – literally – in this new Canadian romantic comedy-drama from writer-director Pavan Moondi. Thirty-something Toronto wedding planner Andie (Leah Fay Goldstein) seemingly has everything she ever wanted – her own business, a successful husband, Chris (Luke Lalonde), and an adorable newborn, Theo. Everything arose from her meticulous penchant for planning (which, of course, helps to explain her line of work). But, if she’s been so successful in attaining what she wanted, why does she feel so unfulfilled? While wrestling with this idea, she unwittingly comes upon a traffic accident in which she heroically rescues the driver, Ryan (Peter Dreimanis), whose flipped-over vehicle has left him and his aging father (Mike D. Smith) injured on the roadway. But things don’t end there. Not long thereafter, Andie and Ryan run into one another in a chance encounter. The no-nonsense blue-collar plumber who specializes in the installation of bidets insists on thanking her properly for her help, a gesture that leads to **** that, in turn, sparks an ongoing friendship full of fun and spontaneity – the perfect tonic for relieving the tedium of her rapidly deteriorating marriage. Their good times together are freeing for Andie, but, when they result in an impulsive, unplanned whirlwind trip to Los Angeles, circumstances quickly get out of hand and cost them nearly everything – including their connection to one another. Can their friendship be salvaged? And what about Andie’s marital discord? It seems that responsibility and spontaneity can come into dangerously serious conflict, but, in the end, does that really matter? But, at6 the same time, can they figure out what needs to be done? As romcoms go, “Middle Life” breathes some much-needed fresh air into the genre, telling a decidedly quirky story that’s definitely breezy and fun but with surprisingly substantive undercurrents. The picture recalls the works of James L. Brooks, Rob Reiner, Neil Simon, Paul Mazursky, Woody Allen and others known for the subject of romantic comedy from a smart perspective and isn’t overly preoccupied with seeing how quickly it can get the aspiring lovers into bed together. It’s also one of the first films that I’ve seen that astutely takes realistic chronology into account in calculating what genuinely constitutes “middle life” (and even pokes fun at itself in addressing this notion). While it’s true that some story elements feel somewhat underdeveloped and a few others that feel incorporated needlessly, on balance, this a fine new offering in this genre and raises some important questions that all aspiring partners should consider in the opening stages of a romance, one where responsibility and spontaneity often play major roles in the course of any future amorous development. Indeed, as the protagonists in this tale repeatedly and optimistically observe, “Life could be great” – as long as the right steps are followed to make that happen.

Sex is one of those subjects that can be difficult to address on film. It can easily come across as shallow, silly titillation, as bawdy, shameless voyeurism, or as a veiled form of porn euphemistically garbed as a work of erotic art. What’s more, viewers going into theaters to watch offerings about this subject may have expectations that don’t reflect any of the foregoing examples or that don’t live up to what they anticipate, leaving many audience members frustrated and disappointed. But, every so often, a movie comes along that gets things right, as is very much the case with the new comedy from writer-director Gregg Araki. As the film’s title unabashedly proclaims, this release is unapologetically about what it says it is, at least superficially. In actuality, however, there’s much more to this offering than what it suggests, and that’s what helps to make this an insightfully worthwhile watch, sexual considerations notwithstanding. In essence, the film follows the outrageous exploits of an outspoken, freewheeling, perpetually thirsty erotic artist, Erika Tracy (Olivia Wilde), and one of her naïve, sheepish gallery assistants, Elliott (Cooper Hoffman), who engage in a wildly uninhibited relationship ostensibly built just on sex. In many ways, it’s a scenario in which submissive, clueless Elliott finds himself in way over his head. However, as a recent college graduate in need of work, he takes the job, which, despite the considerable demands of his indisputably dominant boss, ironically ends up being quite liberating and erotically fulfilling (especially since his cold, perpetually indifferent girlfriend, Minerva (Charli XCX), frequently leaves him and his needs unattended, prompting Elliott to engage in frequent acts of “self-satisfaction”). As time passes, though, relations between Erika and Elliott start to sour as he begins to take the nature of their relationship seriously (some might even say obsessively), something that she views as completely casual, easily dismissive and lacking in the same emotional intensity as her ever-hopeful would-be suitor. And this, in turn, causes Elliott’s life to fall apart on multiple fronts, even leading to specious suspicions involving murder raised by two perplexed, stone-faced detectives (Johnny Knoxville, Margaret Cho). What’s perhaps most fascinating about this film, though, is the many issues it examines through the lens of sex. The relationship between Erika and Elliott may begin with and be rooted in sex, but it raises questions about such matters as honesty, trust, control and obsession, as well as the relationship dynamics of dom-sub sexuality. The narrative also introduces passing but relevant observations about generational social attributes and how they’re reflected through sexuality, just like virtually all other aspects of life. This makes for an incisive, smartly written movie, one far different from what one might expect (and from conclusions one might draw from its somewhat misleading trailer, which occasionally makes this film look like the second coming of entries from the “Porky’s” franchise). It’s also refreshing to see an offering that isn’t afraid to talk about sex in a frank but humorous context without continually turning its story elements into little more than glorified punchlines. And, even though “I Want Your Sex” is erotically explicit (sensitive viewers take note), it’s never depicted gratuitously or in blatantly bad taste. This is all made possible by the film’s fine script and sustained pacing, backed by the excellent performances of Wilde (what a year she’s having!), Hoffman and the superbly cast ensemble of supporting players, including both those named above and the characters portrayed by Mason Gooding, Daveed Diggs and Chase Sui Wonders. It’s truly amazing how a picture about a topic that might typically be casually cast aside or summarily denigrated can be as thought-provoking as this one. But, as Erika so often astutely observes, sex can open the door to something that is remarkably revelatory in our creativity, our actions and our outlooks – and not just in the bedroom.

Those living on the fringes of society often face a difficult and challenging struggle just to survive. That’s especially true for the youth of broken households, forced onto the streets and into lives of crime and depravity in an effort to get by. Such individuals frequently have little structured support behind them, having to rely on the surrogate families of choice that they create for themselves. And so it is in this profile of the young gay hustlers who roam the streets of Manila’s seedy underbelly, turning tricks, cheating the unsuspecting, shoplifting and cutting questionable deals with corrupt authorities to fulfill their most basic needs and to stay out of jail. That backdrop thus sets the stage for this latest offering from writer-director Petersen Vargas, an inside look at the lives of a band of marginalized Philippine sex workers and the many nightly challenges they face. The film focuses on a loosely banded but fiercely protective quartet of enterprising hustlers and their nocturnal exploits: Uno (Jomari Angeles), Miguelito (aka “Ge”) (Gold Aceron), Rush (Tommy Alejandrino) and Bayani (aka “Bay”) (Angel Saycon). One evening, as he’s making his usual rounds, Uno meets a shy, sensitive, seemingly inexperienced newcomer, Zion (Miguel Odron), who’s unfamiliar with the ways of streets and nothing at all like his new acquaintance’s other “family” members. While working a job together, they quickly and unexpectedly develop a surprisingly intimate bond, one uncharacteristic of the kinds of relationships that form between individuals in their line of work. And, shortly thereafter, when Uno rescues the mysterious stranger from the aggressive, suspicious strongarm tactics and behavior of his cohorts (particularly the belligerent musclebound Bay), it creates tension between Uno and his kindreds. However, when a devastatingly tragic emergency arises, Zion and the others are forced into pulling together to resolve the issue and protect themselves from possible dire consequences. Through this experience, they learn just how different Zion is but also become aware of his willingness to step up and help them out when needed. This is especially true when they subsequently embark on an unusual, and even somewhat surreal, odyssey into the rural Philippine outlands, hoping for an agreeable outcome that remains ever stubbornly in doubt. Regrettably, however, the ambitious nature of this project at times seems to be beyond the filmmaker’s grasp. In essence, this production comes across like two movies that have been welded together into a single vehicle, a combination that doesn’t always flow as smoothly as it could have. It feels like the picture struggles mightily to address all of the bases that it’s attempting to cover, sometimes incorporating too much unorganized content and at other times finding itself lost for words and direction in a sea of awkward pregnant pauses. To its credit, this release truly does a fine job of examining the dynamics behind forging a family of choice and promoting humane acceptance among those who are frequently summarily denied it (except, of course, when sex and money are at stake). And, speaking of sex, sensitive viewers should be aware of the film’s explicitly erotic nature when deciding whether to watch this often-provocative offering. Without a doubt, “Some Nights I Feel Like Walking” seems earnest in its intent, though it regularly struggles with its execution. It genuinely has something to say, even if it doesn’t always know how to say it.

A time-honored adage astutely maintains that, in many cases, “less is more” – unless, of course, there’s little to hold someone’s interest in the first place, in which case “more” needs to be supplemented to create something more worthy of appreciation. At the same time, though, whatever is added to the mix needs to be inherently worthwhile to make its inclusion beneficial, because, if it’s not, it doesn’t matter what’s incorporated for improvement. And, sadly, that’s the core issue plaguing this latest dramatic release from writer-director David Lowery. After a protracted absence from performing, pop star Mother Mary (Anne Hathaway) is on the verge of making a comeback after an on-stage accident. However, the mesmerizing, immensely popular singer, whose works have a spiritual bent akin to some of Madonna’s biggest hits, is frazzled just days before her long-awaited appearance. She’s particularly upset that her costuming doesn’t reflect the “authentic” look she’s going for, one that’s indicative of her character and fitting for her new material. And so, sheepish and desperate, she calls upon her long-estranged former lover and costume designer, Sam Anselm (Michaela Coel), to create the perfect dress for her performance in a matter of four days. Of course, it’s a lot to expect that they’ll be able to get right down to business given that they haven’t seen one another in a decade and have a number of unresolved issues to address, which they proceed to do in a series of long-winded, incredibly overwritten and pretentious dialogues. And, not unlike the nature of Mother Mary’s compositions, these conversations quickly bring up matters of a spiritual nature. In particular, they revolve around ghostly (or is it ghastly?) issues that both parties have experienced and tie back to the unfinished business between them. They also strangely link to the dressmaking process, leading one to think that this picture might have been more aptly titled “Phantom Thread” (even though that was already taken in director Paul Thomas Anderson’s 2017 release of the same name). Without giving anything away, it’s not too hard to figure out where things go from here, though, rather than address these issues in a straightforward, reasonably plausible manner, the material is presented in a series of overproduced quasi-surreal sequences that tend to muddy the waters more than to clarify them. The result is thus an offering that is innately thin (despite efforts to convince viewers otherwise) and that heavily emphasizes style over substance. There’s no denying that the filmmaker’s visual stylings are indeed impressive for the most part, especially in the performance numbers (though some of the ghost story backdrops are a little too Goth for my taste). Comparable praises can also be sung for the film’s soundtrack, vocals, choreography and set designs, all top notch. And the performances of the two leads are generally solid, despite the often-laughable quality of the material they’ve been handed to work with. In the end, though, these strengths can’t overcome the woefully intrinsic weaknesses of the story and screenplay of this overwrought drama/psychological thriller. In fact, in light of what’s on offer here, I truly believe I would have been more satisfied with a simple concert film instead.

Editing oneself can be challenging in virtually any creative endeavor (especially for a filmmaker), so imagine how difficult that can be when eight contributors – three screenwriters, four story sources and a director – are simultaneously at work on the same movie project (talk about a production put together by committee). Unfortunately, that’s what bogs down this latest offering from filmmaker Rachel Israel, a comedy about life at a prototypical Jewish summer camp. One might be tempted to think that a setting as distinctive as this should be rife with singular comic potential, but it’s rarely tapped into as effectively as it could have been, incorporating a wealth of extraneous, incompatible material that dilutes what should have been the focus of its central premise. When 40-year-old struggling musician Nomi (Jackie Tohn) is kicked out of her rock band, she’s desperate to find work. Thankfully, her longtime friend, summer camp counselor Mara (Sarah Podemski), comes to Nomi’s rescue, offering her a job as a staffer at Camp Daveed, the idyllic retreat where they spent summers together in their youth. Nomi is assigned to work as a creativity facilitator, helping directionless campers “find their voices.” She’s charged with overseeing a group of residents affectionately known as “floaters,” campers who haven’t signed up for any particular activities and are essentially “floating” through the summer (not to mention their lives in general). In Mara’s eyes, who would be better than a creative sort like Nomi to help these lost souls find their way (even though, at middle age, she’s still something of a “floater” herself). Now, if the narrative had been limited to that story thread and the experiences of its primary players, the picture might have found a solid footing for itself. Regrettably, though, this release pulls in a wide range of other plotlines that detract from its core. The inclusion of segments that attempt to add thoughtful, heartwarming depth to the coming of age process (reminiscent of movies like “The Breakfast Club” (1985)) are certainly welcome and suitably complementary here, but so much else gets perplexingly piled on that it undermines the viability of the project. Moreover, for a picture billed as a comedy, it could stand to be a lot funnier and more on point with its principal subject matter. Ironically, it’s puzzling how a film about a Jewish summer camp somehow simultaneously manages to be both not Jewish enough or so “inside” that its humor may leave many unfamiliar viewers on the outside looking in (inspired though it might be). And some of the picture’s best cast assets, such as Seth Green and Steve Guttenberg, are relegated to little more than walk-on roles that one can’t help but wonder why they were brought in on the production in the first place. To be sure, I sincerely believe “The Floaters” had its heart in the right place, but it’s so sorely in need of focus and repackaging that its heart and much of its potential are watered down, qualities that were undeniably present in the director’s debut feature, “Keep the Change” (2017), that are noticeably absent here. I guess it must be true that too many cooks can ruin the stew. And that’s anything but kosher.

When telling an individual’s life story, there are basically two ways to go about it: a documentary or a narrative biography (or docudrama). The former format is generally an objective (and, hence, credible) way of telling the story, while the latter is essentially a form of fact-based entertainment (an informative, if not always accurate, account). However, in this latest offering from writer-director Giuseppe Tornatore, the filmmaker has taken a different path by fusing these two approaches, and, even though it may be an arguably inventive storytelling technique, it doesn’t always work. The subject in this case is clothing designer Brunello Cucinelli, who rose from modest beginnings in rural Italy to become a global force in cutting-edge fashion, style and comfort while becoming a leading advocate of humanistic capitalism and sustainability, noble concepts rooted in philosophical principles associated with beauty, creativity and humanity. The film’s opening half focuses on his upbringing, featuring re-creations of that time in his life, accompanied by asides from the protagonist, who serves as narrator and on-set tour guide in leading viewers through these sequences. In this portion of the film, audiences are introduced to the influential events and ideas that shaped his outlook in fostering his fervor for how to treat others and how to implement a form of capitalism that’s based as much on people (employees, clients and retail customers) as it is on profits. This narrative approach is in place up to the point where he launches his clothing company, a manufacturer of cashmere pullovers in vibrant colors, a radical departure from the traditional neutral hues associated with these garments. From there forward, the picture’s second half adopts a more conventional documentary approach, showing how Brunello built his organization and implemented the principles he learned in his youth into the company’s current operation, one that’s run more like a family than a heartless corporation. Without a doubt, the film’s back half is a vast improvement over the tiringly tedious material that preceded it with all of its superfluous, easily excised content. This second act is more to the point and more trained on what this release should have focused on all along (even if this offering is decidedly heavy-handed in its self-congratulatory accounting of the company’s civic and altruistic accomplishments). In fact, I’d even go so far as to say that this second half is what ultimately saves the film (my rating wouldn’t have been nearly as generous if it were not for this). But there are other elements that could use some work, too: interview segments with the protagonist and his family, friends and colleagues could have been sharper and more insightful; discussions of the company’s products could have been handled a little less gushingly to avoid appearing like a high-gloss infomercial; and Brunello’s role as a producer on this production might at times lead one to believe that this is more of a vanity project than a bona fide documentary venture. As a consequence, these considerations make my recommendation here quite conditional. To its credit, the film incorporates ample gorgeous cinematography, its production design in the re-creations is top-notch (even if the segments in which it’s employed could have been more compelling), and the discussion on humanistic capitalism is indeed informative, inspiring and enlightening. In light of that, then, I’d recommend bearing in mind both the foregoing positive and negative observations when deciding whether to give this one a look. “Brunello: The Gracious Visionary” may be more worth a streaming watch than making a special trip to the theater.

For many, life in Lebanon is a paradox – a country that simultaneously embodies the qualities of hope and despair (even though the focus tends to be more on the latter than the former). Nevertheless, both traits are present, and, in this latest feature from writer-director Cyril Aris, that seeming contradiction is brought down to a human level through this bittersweet love story. Set across three decades beginning in the 1990s, the film follows the youthful romance of childhood sweethearts Nino (Mohamad Farhat) and Yasmina (Alex Choueiry), classmates at a Beirut grade school who were born one minute apart on the same day. Their sweet, innocent attraction is truly endearing. But, when Nino and Yasmina, respectively, fall victim to the troubling conditions of their homeland and home life, they become separated. As fate would have it, though, they’re unexpectedly reunited years later as adults. In the interim, the elder Nino (Hasan Akil) has developed into an eternally optimistic restaurateur, while Yasmina (Mounia Akl) has become a skeptical, somewhat cynical government-contracted consultant. Still, the old feelings come flooding back, and they resume their relationship. However, life as adults is different than when they were children, and their respective outlooks and experiences have come to characterize their worldview of life in the conundrum that is Lebanon. Those conditions have turned their partnership more bitter than sweet, forcing them into making difficult choices, especially where their living arrangements and their young daughter, Amal (Valentina Hachem), are concerned. Will they be able to work things out? In theory, a story in which a pair of individuals whose personalities come to reflect the duality of their country’s character should make for an intriguing and engaging tale. However, their respective natures come across as so diametrically opposed to one another that it’s often difficult to understand how they ended up with one another in the first place. Indeed, is love itself enough? And where is the chemistry? It often feels more forced to fit the narrative than to tell a convincing and compelling tale. What’s more, the structure of the script is somewhat choppy and meandering through its alternating use of flashbacks and depictions of contemporary events. And, in contrast to the wording of the film’s title, the picture ultimately becomes more sad than beautiful, leaving viewers more depressed than hopeful, with attempts at correcting that impact somewhat insincere. That’s unfortunate, given that this release appeared to have potential, especially in its thoughtful premise. In today’s world, “A Sad and Beautiful World” is a label that could be applied to prevailing conditions in many nations, though it seems particularly fitting for a land like Lebanon, which repeatedly swings back and forth between opposite ends of the spectrum, just as it has for many years. It’s regrettable, though, that the finished product didn’t end up capturing that sentiment through its protagonists as effectively as it might have.

As one of the 2026 summer movie season’s most anticipated releases, writer-director Christopher Nolan’s screen adaptation of Homer’s literary epic, The Odyssey, has generated more than its share of reactions and for a variety of reasons. So I’ll come right to the point on my view of this release: I liked it, but I didn’t love it. This retelling of the diverse experiences of Greek warrior Odysseus (Matt Damon) on returning to his Grecian home of Ithaca after fighting in the Trojan War explores the many adventures and profound soul-searching of his 10-year journey, the second half of a 20-year-long absence. Waiting for him back home are his devoted wife, Penelope (Anne Hathaway), who has long been courted by a band of would-be suitors like Antinous (Robert Pattinson) who believe her husband is dead, and Telemachus (Tom Holland), the son who’s never met his father and stands to succeed him as King of Ithaca should he be officially declared deceased. This historic drama, a common reading selection in many high school English lit classes, thus follows the intrigue and adventures from the perspectives of the trip and the homefront, many of which viewers are likely to find familiar in this cinematic depiction. However, not everything works in this adaptation. For starters, the film is too long with its 200 runtime, especially during the picture’s languishing, talky opening hour. Then there’s the writing, which incorporates more than its share of ill-fitting contemporary dialogue, material that should have never made its way into the final script. And there are noticeable exclusions and underdeveloped sequences from the source material that could have been included and/or tweaked in the film narrative with the removal of overlong, extraneous material. For example, despite frequent references to the Greek gods, their presence in the film is largely absent save for a few conversations between Odysseus and Athena, the Goddess of Wisdom (Zendaya). A similar fate befalls Helen of Troy (Lupita Nyong’o), “the woman who launched a thousand ships” and prompted the Trojan War in the first place, and Calypso (Charlize Theron), the mysterious caregiver who loves an ailing Odysseus and nurses him back to health for seven years in the midst of his journey. With those shortcomings aside, however, “The Odyssey” has its share of strengths, too, such as the picture’s decidedly engaging second half, as well as its fine performances, especially those of Hathaway, Pattinson, Holland and Samantha Morton as Circe, a witch whom Odysseus encounters during the trip home. Those looking for action-adventure segments will find plenty of those here as well, although the special effects depicting them are noticeably inconsistent – great in sequences like the Greeks’ ambush of their opponent’s stronghold with the ploy of the Trojan Horse and the soldiers’ dangerous encounter with the massive, menacing whirlpool Charybdis, and not so great during their contacts with the seductively voiced Sirens, the one-eyed giant Cyclops and the multi-headed cliff-dwelling monster Scylla. It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly how and why this production failed to live up to some of the high expectations that had been set for it, though it’s a safe bet that it might have fallen prey to believing its own pre-release hype, especially coming off of the impressive and well-earned success of Nolan’s previous effort, “Oppenheimer” (2023). Obviously, viewers will have to make up their own minds, but keeping the foregoing impressions in mind may prove helpful in formulating those opinions as audiences wend their way through their own personal odysseys.

Like many other minority members of society, the transgender community has been steadily gaining visibility and acceptance of late (despite the undeniable prejudices that stubbornly persist among the bigoted and uninformed). And, curiously, one of the ways in which this has come about is through an unexpected means – comedy. Many of the strides that have been made by the trans community in this area have emerged over the past decade, but this progress arguably arose from the popularity of a comedy icon that appeared on the scene more than 30 years ago – the geeky, socially awkward, sexually ambiguous character of Pat Riley (better known as just “Pat”) on Saturday Night Live. The brainchild of cast member Julia Sweeney, Pat quickly became a huge national sensation, a regular character routinely featured on the late-night sketch comedy show for four years and in one big screen (albeit financially and critically disastrous) feature film. However, decades later, the character of Pat has come under mixed degrees of reactionary scrutiny. While Pat gave visibility to this segment of society as its only widely recognized public figure at that time (even though the character was not specifically created to represent trans individuals), many have since come to ask, was Pat a symbol for those leading alternate lifestyles or the butt of a veiled, insulting transphobic joke? Was the public laughing at Pat’s qualities and nature as demeaning, or were fans laughing with Pat for the comically cringey attitudes and reactions that the character evoked among others? Indeed, who was the joke really on here – Pat or the uncomfortable, mostly heterosexual individuals in Pat’s company? That’s a debate that has been drawn into focus in this comedy/documentary from writer-director Ro Haber. This overarching question provides the basis for a film in which contemporary transgender performers seek to assess the humor associated with Pat. Is the character a politically incorrect stereotype that hasn’t aged well, or is Pat a comedic pioneer who opened the door to greater community visibility in general (and who arguably helped make possible the careers of so many transgender performers)? In addition, the movie’s panel of comics seeks to determine if Pat is a character capable of being revived today through strategic updating aimed at remaking this figure as someone more reflective of today’s prevailing conditions and sensibilities. “We Are Pat” thus makes for an engaging, often-lighthearted, sometimes-serious look at issues that are simultaneously profound, funny, questionable and nostalgic. In presenting this debate, the film incorporates numerous clips of Pat from the 1990s, along with recent interviews featuring Sweeney and a plethora of transgender comedians, including a number of Pat impersonators. And, in the process, this offering takes a candid, wide-ranging look at questions related to androgyny, the nonbinary community and gender identity through a seemingly unlikely lens. In any event, regardless of where one’s views on the subject may lie, Pat and this release give us much food for thought, not to mention a few good laughs along the way.

In 1916 England, when the nation was embroiled in its intense World War I confrontation with Germany on the European mainland, the country toiled mightily to maintain its civilized prewar status quo on the homefront as much as possible. But, try as they might, British subjects nevertheless had to contend with the unavoidable impact of that distant conflict on many aspects of life at home. And that discrepancy, ironic and paradoxical as it may be, is a major theme in the latest offering from director Nicholas Hytner. Set in the fictional Yorkshire mill town of Ramsden, the film follows the resolute efforts of its local choral society – the cultural heart of the community – to stay afloat at a time when many of its male vocalists are volunteering or being drafted for the war effort, including its beloved choir master. This inescapable reality thus forces the society’s leadership (Roger Allam, Mark Addy, Alun Armstrong, Ron Cook) into making some hard choices about how to keep the organization going as its talent pool is steadily depleted. Chief among these decisions is finding a suitable replacement choir master, a job that ends up going to the gifted but controversial Dr. Henry Guthrie (Ralph Fiennes), a talented musician who spent a number of years living in, of all places, Germany (Horrors!) and a “bachelor” known for leading a “questionable” lifestyle. Although initially reluctant to take the job (believing the English cultural scene to be inherently inferior to that of the enemy), he begrudgingly accepts the position. In doing so, he launches a far-reaching campaign to recruit new members and agrees to help bolster domestic patriotism through his choice of musical selections. He eschews performances of the works of renowned (and, in his view, vastly superior) German composers in favor of home-grown material – in this case, a production of The Dream of Gerontius, a little-known, underappreciated, seldom-performed oratorio by English composer Sit Edward Elgar (Simon Russell Beale). With this stage thus set, the film proceeds to follow preparations for the performance of Elgar’s opus, backed by the individual stories of a number of the vocalists, including, among others, the limbo imposed on young men facing the uncertainty of conscription (Taylor Uttley, Oliver Briscombe), an avowed conscientious objector conflicted about how to handle his draft notice (Robert Emms), townsfolk dealing with the grief of lost and missing loved ones (Emily Fairns, Eunice Roberts), and a Salvation Army volunteer with an angelic voice who doesn’t fully recognize the depth of her talent (Amara Omereke). This combination of story threads makes for an engaging, well balanced, evenly integrated, sufficiently resolved narrative. However, the sheer number of tangents incorporated here occasionally becomes a little unwieldy, with some being left less developed than others, leading one to believe that this project may have worked better as a PBS miniseries than a standalone theatrical release. But this shortcoming is largely made up for by its solid performances (particularly those of Fiennes, Allum, Fairns and Omereke), backed by gorgeous cinematography and a superb period piece production design. To be sure, “The Choral” may not hit all of the right notes, but it successfully manages to land quite a few of them, making for an enjoyable, entertaining story – something that’s always welcome during times of adversity, issues arguably just as pertinent today as they were a century ago.

For what it’s worth, celebrities are often regarded as vain, narcissistic, self-absorbed and unapologetically materialistic, generally consumed with their own ambitions, being the center of attention and lining their pockets. Seldom are they widely recognized for qualities like artistic integrity, personal fulfillment and noble intentions. But those generalizations do not always provide realistic depictions; there are individuals who indeed embody sincere motivations that drive their craft and their lives. But how do they defy the so-called model and turn out like that? Such is the point behind director Lawrence Kasdan’s Netflix documentary profile of actor-comedian Martin Short. Like many films that examine show business personalities, this offering chronicles the history of the prolific performer’s work. But, rather than just present a laundry list of accomplishments, “Marty, Life is Short” delves into how his career evolved and avoided incorporating many of the aforementioned shortcomings typical of his peers. Born in Canada in 1950 into a nurturing, creative, fun-loving family, the youngest of five children hadn’t initially considered a career in entertainment but took an avid interest while in college. Given his proficiency at it and with the encouragement of good friend and classmate Eugene Levy, he took the plunge. He quickly became a cast member of the Toronto production of Godspell and then part of the Canadian company of the Second City comedy troupe. These experiences subsequently launched him into stints on SCTV and Saturday Night Live, a string of Hollywood movies (including such titles as “Three Amigos,” “Innerspace” and “Father of the Bride”), and a Tony Award-winning run on Broadway. However, despite this impressive résumé, not all of his endeavors proved successful, but Short didn’t care. He pursued these opportunities – and virtually all others that subsequently came his way – for the sense of joy and creative fulfillment that they provided, as well as the freedom they afforded him in developing signature characters and practicing improv comedy. These motivations arose from life lessons he learned during his upbringing and that he still employs in his professional life today. It typically hasn’t mattered much to him whether his projects succeed; the fun they provide is what matters most. Short is fully aware (as he puts it) that “98% of projects ultimately fail,” but, even if they do, in hindsight, did they provide the good time he sought? Consequently, in building his body of work and amassing an abundance of personal enjoyment, he has made this his yardstick for satisfaction. And, in the process, he has created a large professional family paralleling that of his own personal tribe, an achievement that has made him one of the most connected, most sought-after individuals in show business. In addition, through all of his experiences, he has developed and retained a strong sense of gratitude, even through periods of personal loss, that has kept him going in the face of adversity. This is a trait that emerged in his adolescence with the deaths of his parents and his eldest brother, a perspective that acknowledged grief but that also emphasized gratitude for having had experiences with these lost loved ones rather than wallowing in sorrow over their passings. It’s a notion that also helped him cope with the loss of his beloved wife, actress-singer Nancy Dolman, in 2010. The development of the foregoing qualities thus goes a long way in explaining his success both personally and professionally, attainments that many cinematic show business profiles overlook or understate and that help to set this film apart. Credit the narrative approach employed by filmmaker Kasdan in this effort. As a longtime friend of Short, Kasdan has added a valuable dimension to the core of this story (sometimes familiarity trumps objectivity when telling a compelling biographical tale). The picture is also replete with many clips from Short’s film and television work, as well as ample archive footage (much of it in the form of sidesplitting home videos) showing the subject’s on- and off-screen life. There are also numerous enlightening interview segments with Short’s friends, family and peers, both from the recent past and years ago, including such luminaries as Steve Martin, Tom Hanks, Steven Spielberg, Catherine O’Hara and Andrea Martin. In a nutshell, this release presents a balanced. insightful and heartfelt look at a comic genius, one who defies the image often associated with so many others in his profession, and gives us lots of well-earned laughs along the way.

Family secrets can pose an irresistible temptation to those left out of the loop, yet those hidden matters often remain out of sight for a reason. However, when circumstances necessitate their revelation – especially for those on the outside looking in – those mysteries may be forced to emerge, regardless of how painful, awkward or shocking they may be. And those are the very conditions faced by an 18-year-old woman in the latest, and semi-autobiographical, feature from writer-director Carla Simón. Set in 2004, the film follows the odyssey of Marina (Llúcia Garcia), an adopted adolescent who makes a pilgrimage (hence the movie’s title) to the Atlantic Coast Spanish port of Vigo, where she was conceived by her now-long-deceased biological parents and the home of her blood relatives. Marina is about to enroll as a university film student and seeks to apply for a government grant to cover the funding. But, to complete the paperwork, she needs to provide proof of her parentage. Specifically, she needs to obtain a sworn attestation about the identity of her father (Mitch Martin), whose records at the time of his death indicated he had no children. That discrepancy, however, can be corrected with testimony from her grandfather (José Ángel Egido), whom she has never met. In fact, she has never met any of her relatives, which is another reason for the trip, an opportunity to help her discover her roots and, by extension she hopes, her own identity. She also hopes to learn more about her biological parents, since her late mother’s diary is the only tangible connection she has to them. Marina initially connects with her two genial uncles, Lois (Tristàn Ulloa) and Iago (Alberto Gracia), as well as a number of cousins, all of whom she universally makes positive connections with. However, over the course of her meetings with her estranged family, she slowly begins learning unflattering information about the character of her grandparents and disturbing revelations about her parents, disclosures more stunning than anything contained in her mother’s diary. Revelations about drug addiction, health issues, a freewheeling lifestyle and inadequate, indifferent familial support surface, giving Marina pause to consider the implications of what she learns (and may have ultimately been better off not knowing were it not for the need to obtain the attestation). While the film examines a number of touchy issues on multiple fronts, and undoubtedly provides a much-needed **** outlet for the filmmaker, its disclosures nevertheless are a little too subtle and meandering, not coming across as powerfully or demonstrably as they probably could. Granted, prevailing conditions in the 1980s (where Marina’s life story begins) weren’t as accepting and tolerant as today (or even during the time frame in which the narrative here is set). But, considering the nature of the story and its messages, the picture feels underplayed, lacking the immediacy, urgency and indignation that it should invoke. In that regard, then, this offering feels underdeveloped. It also incorporates segments that don’t mesh especially well with the overall production, such as a protracted flashback re-creation of the romance between Marina’s parents based on her mother’s diary, much of which had already been revealed through conversations between the protagonist and her family members, making for a somewhat redundant exercise. The character of the flashback is also inexplicably surreal at times, a storytelling approach that may be visually interesting but seems out of place. As a consequence, “Romería” often feels like a lost opportunity, one in which the director may have been too close to the material to do it proper justice. This fact-based biography/domestic drama might have been beneficial to the personal well-being of the filmmaker, but, as a work of cinema, it comes up short, especially in shining a bright light on the sins of the past that must not be forgotten or allowed to occur again.

When a film struggles to prematurely avoid playing spoiler, it can be quite an arduous task for a filmmaker to pull off successfully. Fortunately, there are times when directors achieve this accomplishment brilliantly. At the same time, however, there are occasions when keeping a lid on important revelations can be so challenging that a film ends up becoming cryptic or needlessly enigmatic, leaving viewers feeling like they’ve been unduly strung along. And that’s one outcome to which filmmaker Cole Webley comes perilously close to fulfilling in his otherwise-engrossing debut feature. In 2008, at the height of the nation’s economic crisis, a financially strapped single father (John Magaro) faces foreclosure on his Utah home. With his back against the wall, he decides early one morning to hurriedly pack up his family – nine-year-old Ella (Molly Belle Wright), six-year-old Charlie (Wyatt Solis) and the family dog, Rex – and head out on a road trip to an undisclosed destination. Needless to say, the children are perplexed by the hasty, unexpected move, so, when they press Dad about it, he curtly tells them that they’re travelling to Nebraska, without any further elaboration. Saying much more at this point would reveal too much about the film, but suffice it to say that it chronicles their cross-country journey, with all its ups and downs. Little is said about how the family got into these circumstances, but one thing is clear: Dad dearly loves and cares for his kids, and he does all he can to comfort them and to shield them from the harshness of the reality that has befallen them. (It’s a narrative not unlike what’s been seen before in such other single-parent stories as “The Pursuit of Happyness” (2005), “Grace is Gone” (2007), “Kramer vs. Kramer” (1979), “Biutiful” (2010), “Signs” (2012) and “Rebuilding” (2025), to name a few.) Once in Omaha, though, matters become clearer, although the full impact of this story’s significance isn’t revealed until an explanation is provided by way of electronic graphics inserted before the closing credits roll (better late than never, I guess). It’s at that point that viewers finally begin to understand why the filmmaker has been so deliberately evasive in the way the picture has unfolded. And I can appreciate why the director approached telling the story in this manner, but the question that came out of this for me is, “Was the wait worth it?” The answer to that, of course, depends on the sensibilities of individual viewers. As for me, I was on the fence – sufficiently moved, but did I really have to work as hard as I did to let my feelings surface? I would have preferred that they emerged a little less effortlessly and a little more naturally than having to rely on an 11th hour “a ha!” moment. A few hints along the way and a more complete back story would have gone a long way to bolstering the narrative and its message. Mind you, however, this shortcoming is not meant to denigrate the film’s many other fine qualities – its excellent performances (especially from the young actors), its superb character development and its solid chemistry among members of the ensemble. It also makes an impassioned plea for empathy, a serious need for fixing a broken system and an initiative to restore faith in the validity of the American Dream – all qualities and concepts on the verge of abandonment, fitting metaphors for the themes raised in this story. But, while this domestic drama does a more than adequate job of addressing the foregoing issues, it truly could have spent a little less time on well-intentioned but diverting soft-pedalled nuance and more on a deeper exploration of this offering’s core subject matter. Kid gloves and sensitivity are one thing, but when they overshadow what really matters most, the impact can become lost, as it nearly does here. “Omaha” is by no means a bad film, but it’s one where it’s easy to see how viewers might come away from it having expected more than it delivers.

To me, fewer cinematic experiences are more frustrating (perhaps infuriating) than wasting time on allegedly acclaimed arthouse films whose narratives are based on contrived, pretentious, underdeveloped material. In fact, it’s one of the reasons I’m convinced (and legitimately so) that many moviegoers eschew these releases. Indeed, nothing’s worse than this when it comes to giving the genre an often-dubious reputation in the minds of theater patrons. And that’s why I’m unable to recommend this latest offering from writer-director Ildikó Enyedi. The film tells three stories loosely (and I mean very loosely) connected to one another by a common element: the comfort and companionship afforded to the protagonists by the presence of a century-old specimen Ginkgo biloba tree in the botanical garden on the campus of Germany’s Marburg University, an institution widely known for its research facilities (talk about a compelling premise). The first, set in 1908 and shot in black and white, follows the challenging experiences of Grete (Luna Wedler) as the first woman accepted as a student, a radical notion at the time. The second, set in the turbulent on-campus times of 1972, explores the on-again/off-again flirtation/friendship between Hannes (Enzo Brumm), a farm boy who’s grown tired of tending to the constant care required by plants, and Gundula (Marlene Burow), his housemate and a botanical researcher trying to “understand” how plants respond to humans in the same way that we respond to them, a quest to essentially determine whether talking to our chlorophyll-based buddies makes any difference in their well-being and their relationship with us through documented interspecies communication practices. And the third, set during the COVID-19 pandemic of 2020, chronicles the experiences of visiting Chinese neurology professor Dr. Tony Wong (Tony Leung Chiu-wai) who becomes trapped on campus, virtually alone except for the presence of resident custodian Anton (Sylvester Groth), who’s skeptical about a quasi-neurologically-related study that Tony has begun conducting on his prize ginkgo, aided virtually by French botanist Dr. Alice Sauvage (Léa Seydoux). In telling these three stories, the film appears to be leading up to some grand, unified, philosophically poetic revelation, but, unfortunately, it never materializes. Instead, viewers are left with a haphazard collection of modest insights that bear little relation to one another or to the greater state of the human condition, prompting one to ultimately heave a big, well-deserved “So what?” Admittedly, “Silent Friend” is gorgeously filmed, featuring some of the best cinematography I’ve ever seen. It’s also atmospherically constructed that recalls the works of filmmaker Kogonada (especially “Columbus” (2017) and “After Yang” (2021)). But, unlike those fine releases, this offering may have matched them for aesthetics but certainly not for substance, the source of this effort’s downfall. Perhaps this production may have fared better if it had focused on only one of the story threads (in my opinion, the 2020 sequence, given that its two predecessors add previous little to the picture), but that would have required some considerable retooling to make it work. It also might have fared better if the plot had symbolically incorporated more of the widely known attributes associated with ginkgoes (a unique reproduction method, long life and living botanical dinosaur status, to name a few), but the screenplay virtually drops the ball on this almost completely, fascinating horticultural qualities that are largely left ignored. Because of all this, I’m at a loss to understand why so much praise has been heaped on this effort (especially in terms of film festival honors), save for its photography and ambiance. Maybe I’m missing something, but, as someone who has been a longtime cinephile and a seasoned journalist with years of specialized experience related to botanical matters, this one was pulled up by the roots and left to get by on its own, conditions under which nothing can realistically grow and prosper.

Fusing supposedly incompatible genres can be tricky business, a practice whose results may seem like a surefire way to an inappropriate mix. Yet, every so often, moviegoers get pleasantly surprised by such unlikely ventures, as is the case in this latest effort from director Kyle Balda, a delightfully whimsical cross between a comical murder mystery and a live action talking animal feature. Shepherd George Hardy (Hugh Jackman) lovingly tends to his flock, treating them more like children than livestock. In fact, he raises his animals purely for their wool, not as fodder for the butcher’s knife. He lives a simple life, caring for their needs and making them feel happy and comfortable, even reading to them (mostly murder mysteries) every night before bed. But, despite his genial relationship with his herd and likeable personality as an upstanding citizen of his rural community, there are people in his world who don’t necessarily have his best interests (or those of his flock) at heart. And, when George ends up dead – apparently poisoned – everyone wonders how this could possibly happen to such a gentle, caring soul. That’s especially true for his sheep, who communicate with one another as if they were human (even if their singular perspectives on life are anything that we might consider conventional). And, because of the kind care he provided them for so many years, they’re committed to helping solve the mystery of his death. But how can a group of sheep make their suspicions known to human investigators? Therein lies the charm and wit of this release, one that’s fun, engaging and entertaining on many fronts. It’s quite insightful, too, especially when conveying interpretations for what it means to be “sheep” (in both literal and metaphorical terms). The film’s animation in depicting the talking creatures is truly superb and made all the more enchanting by the stellar cast of voiceover performers, including Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Patrick Stewart, Bryan Cranston, Chris O’Dowd, Regina Hall and others. Then there’s the fine supporting cast of investigators and suspects, including Emma Thompson, Nicholas Braun, Nicholas Galitzine, Hong Chau, Conleth Hill and Molly Gordon. This combination thus makes for a harmonious balance between man and beast as the conundrum is unraveled, a mix suitable for a wide range of viewers. But, if this genre fusion seems challenging to grasp, think about combining talking animal movies like “Babe” (1995) or “The Lion King” (2019) with humorous whodunnits like the “Knives Out” movies or Neil Simon’s “Murder by Death” (1976), and you’ll have an idea of what’s going on here. Admittedly, this is certainly not groundbreaking cinema (the editing could have been tighter in spots and the humor could have been amped up a bit more at times), but it’s pleasant enough fare when one is in the mood to watch something that won’t tax the gray matter too much and to get some modest chuckles along the way. And there’s nothing the least bit sheepish about that.

When one hears the French word “couture” (or, as it’s often more fully termed, “haute couture”), one generally thinks of the concept of “high fashion,” a symbol of sophistication and elegance expressed through clothing. In turn, the word also often connotes the industry that grew up around this sartorial artform, one that got its start through the craft of sewing and has since spawned the alternative meaning “stitches” or, when applied more metaphorically, “connections,” particularly where the women who have become the representatives of couture are concerned. And, over time, the women of couture have become a diverse sisterhood of sorts, one connected by their commonality as symbols of fashion and as exploited participants in the industry in which they work. It’s a complex set of variables simultaneously at play, one that the latest offering from director Alice Winocour struggles mightily to capture through a drama focusing on the lives of three women during Paris Fashion Week. The result, however, is a largely unfocused production whose story threads only skim the surface of their potential and largely fail to enliven the development of those aforementioned connections. This makes “Couture” a film that’s not nearly as profound as it likes to think it is. The primary story arc follows American filmmaker Maxine Walker (Angelina Jolie), a director of mostly independent horror films who’s hired to make a picture to be shown at PFW’s opening ceremony. In the midst of this frenzy, however, she learns she has developed breast cancer and must choose between her work and her treatment (soul-searching that’s frequently touted but not extensively depicted). The second thread examines the budding career of South Sudanese model Ada (Anyier Anei), who has somehow managed (and quite inexplicably at that) to be selected for Ms. Walker’s movie and to appear at the opening festivities. However, as someone who is new to all this, she’s like a fish out of water, unsure if this is what she wants, if she knows how to play the part or if she’d rather return to Africa and attend school to pursue a pharmacy career. And, finally, the third storyline chronicles the life of Angèle (Ella Rumpf), a makeup artist who would rather become a writer. However, as noted above, none of these stories is particularly well developed, often presented in a disjointed manner with many threads left hanging. In addition, its primary narrative topics – the dynamics of the fashion industry, coping with breast cancer, and professional and personal disrespect toward women – have been explored in any number of other films – and better – especially since they’re frequently clumsily tied together here (if at all). And, by the time the opening ceremonies roll around, the picture turns terribly pretentious (almost surreal) with self-important, overdramatic voiceovers that are genuinely hard to take seriously. To the film’s credit, Jolie gives a fierce performance, no doubt impelled by her own experiences dealing with this subject matter. And, considering the material she has to work with here, she does a commendable job in the role, continuing to build on the comeback she launched with her superb portrayal in “Maria” (2024). But, beyond that, there’s not much else to recommend. That’s unfortunate, given that “Couture” might have made for a more compelling and insightful release with better writing, editing, direction and supporting performances. However, given how this disappointing offering turned out, that calls for the application of a lot of much-needed patchwork, to be sure.

Nineteenth Century Irish novelist, playwright and raconteur Oscar Wilde, widely known for his witticisms and observations about life, is generally credited for the following arguably astute advice: “One should always be in love. That is the reason why one should never marry.” And it’s most fitting that those very words should eloquently serve as a cinematic epigraph at the start of the latest feature from actress-director Olivia Wilde, her best work behind the camera to date. Based on the 2020 Spanish comedy-drama, “Sentimental” (released domestically as “The People Upstairs”), this American remake presents an incisive, sometimes-brutal, often-cynical look at the subject of marriage through the eyes of a long-wedded San Francisco couple, Joe (Seth Rogen) and Angela (Wilde), when they invite their upstairs neighbors, Piña (Penélope Cruz) and Hawk (Edward Norton), to their place for dinner. Admittedly, Joe and Angela don’t know their guests well, but they certainly seem to know a lot about them and have developed well-defined opinions about them. The sparks start to fly before Piña and Hawk arrive, however, when it becomes apparent that the hosts are ill-prepared for the festivities, a scenario that reveals much about them and the state of the marriage. And, when the guests arrive, they pick up on the emotional turmoil quickly. Their keen observation skills, in turn, prompt a series of hilarious, intense and tension-filled episodes with Joe and Angela and, by extension, within each partnership. To say more here would reveal too much, but suffice it to say that the evening is filled with unexpected and provocative twists and turns that leave both couples drastically changed by night’s end. Their time together is replete with witty and scathing humor that frequently goes for the jugular, as well as moments of deep drama, heartwarming tenderness and stunning insights about one another. While the film occasionally tries a little too hard to evoke viewer responses (especially at the outset), once the picture finds its groove, it effectively fires on all cylinders, thanks to the outstanding writing and stellar performances of the perfectly cast quartet. “The Invite” feels very much like a Woody Allen movie from the days when he was at the peak of his career but without being a blatant copycat. What’s more, given that the bulk of the film takes place on one set, it comes across like a play but never feels the least bit stagey, maintaining a steady pace and effectively holding audience attention. This release defied any expectations I might have had about it going into the theater, a pleasant surprise in itself, but the fact that it shines on so many fronts makes it all the more worthwhile. The picture is admittedly sometimes a little cringey to watch, but it always rebounds, redeeming itself by making you laugh. And that’s one invitation I’d always be eager to accept.

When one watches a movie and leaves the theater wondering who the picture was supposed to be made for, it doesn’t bode well for the film. Unfortunately, that’s very much the case for one of this summer’s most anticipated blockbusters, the latest effort from director Craig Gillespie. So why the confusion over the target audience? It’s simple: this action-adventure superhero release is all over the map, an offering that decidedly feels like it was put together by committee (and probably a marketing/product development committee at that). The picture includes a little of this, a little of that, and, ultimately, a whole lot of nothing. “Supergirl” plays like yet another cookie-cutter release in this genre, except that it also can’t really decide what it wants to be. From what I could tell, this is supposed to be an introduction/origin story (told in flashbacks) about Kara Zor-El (better known as the film’s title character) (Milly ****), a refugee from the doomed planet Krypton. She makes her way to Earth with her beloved pooch, Krypto, where she reunites with her cousin, Kal-El (aka Clark Kent), better known to the residents of his adopted world as Superman (David Corenswet), subject of a 2025 release by the same name. However, despite the reunion with her cousin and living on a planet whose yellow sun has imbued her with an array of fantastic superpowers, our heroine laments the loss of her home world and subsequently leaves Earth to roam the galaxy with her unruly canine sidekick in search of a new home, answers and herself. She spends much of her time hanging out in dive bars, usually three sheets to the solar wind, and in the company of unsavory characters when not cleaning up the messes created by her dog. Her odyssey eventually leads to a chance off-world encounter with a zealous, articulate would-be teenage warrior, Ruthye Knoll (Eve Ridley), who seeks revenge against the evil Krem (Matthias Schoenaerts), a marauding villain who murdered her family in cold blood. But, given Ruthye’s limited combat experience, she needs help in taking him on, so Kara comes to her rescue but pays a big price for doing so – Krypto is shot with a poison arrow and only has three days to live. Consequently, Kara and Ruthye team up to exact revenge against Krem and to procure from him an antidote to save the pup’s life. Sadly, though, the execution of this adventure leaves much to be desired. For starters, the narrative is simplistic and not particularly compelling, meandering from fight scene to fight scene with action that’s pretty generic, punctuated with some incredibly cheesy special effects and trite cinematography. The story is often derivative, too, tapping many other movie franchises to move the picture forward, including elements reminiscent of the “Star Wars,” “Road Warrior” and “John Wick” films. Furthermore, several brief appearances by Superman and by Jason Momoa as Lobo, one of Kara’s colorful brawling allies, serve as little more than shameless visual marketing plugs for the respective existing and upcoming cinematic franchises of these characters. But perhaps the biggest problem is the character development, especially that of Supergirl herself. She’s definitely not someone made for kids, what with her frequently inebriated behavior, salty language, repeated graphically violent encounters and questionable cohorts, but she’s also not someone who’s going to appeal much to adults, either (and it doesn’t help that **** seems wrong for the part and that her character development is wildly uneven at times). And all of this leads back to the question I rhetorically asked at the beginning: Who is this movie supposed to be made for? I’ll admit I found Schoenaerts to be a surprisingly convincing villain. I also thought the idea of taking Supergirl’s character in an unexpectedly dark direction to be an inspired (albeit risky) choice. But the clumsy handling of this decision (among many others) undermines whatever value it may have otherwise added. In short, there’s nothing especially “super” about this release, something that the creators should have more consciously borne in mind when bringing this project to life in light of its title.

Nature films generally do a great job of capturing the intrinsic beauty of our world and in explaining its function and attributes. They’re often gorgeous to look at and quite educational. However, these documentaries sometimes tend to be a little on the “clinical” side, keeping viewers at something of an emotionally arm’s-length distance. But, every so often, a release comes along that pleasantly surprises audiences, serving up nature’s bounty with an eloquent, poetic touch. Such is the case with the latest documentary from writer-director Sara Dosa, an offering that provides intriguing parallels between the world of nature and the world of man, delivered from a highly personal perspective and imparting a crucial cautionary tale for both realms. “Time and Water” presents a stunning and insightful cinematic essay about Iceland, specifically the special bond between its people and its landscape, particularly the island nation’s glaciers. Told primarily through the lens (literally) of writer and poet Andri Snær Magnason, the picture draws intriguing, thoughtful comparisons between Icelandic family histories (his own in this case) and the natural history of this magical land. This is accomplished by equating Magnason’s extensive and detailed personal multigenerational family history archives (writings, photos, and home movies, including numerous conversations with relatives) with the contents of the ice found in the country’s extensive network of glaciers. Both represent chronicles of both a natural and cultural/historical past, preserving what came from before and making it available for a current audience to examine, providing an understanding that stretches across time. Both make for important, irreplaceable time capsules and, in many regards, reflecting the symbiotic ties that exist between a people and their environment, one that has amassed over countless centuries. But the film also raises a significant question: will those archives last forever? Given the impact of global warming on the glaciers, they’re disappearing – along with their historical contents – at an alarmingly fast rate. Indeed, what took nature eons to compile could vanish in as little as a single lifetime. And, once they’re gone, they’re gone for good. As Magnason (who also serves as narrator) so poignantly observes, how can we tell those in the future about what exists now if no future will ultimately be in place? That’s something to think about, and this film raises thought-provoking questions like that throughout, backed by stunningly beautiful cinematography. These observations and images are accompanied by cinematic and other records of Magnason’s immediate family, as well as those of his parents and grandparents, documenting the connections among them in a way that the glacial ice comparably chronicles the island’s past. Admittedly, the home movie aspect of the finished product probably could have been pared back at times with its incorporation of some incidental footage that adds little to the overall narrative. Nevertheless, this combination of elements thus generally imparts a strong sense of continuity on both fronts and with one another, offering viewers a comprehensive look at how the two are, in many ways, one. And, if you take away one, it’s entirely possible that you might end up taking away the other, too, no matter how much time and water are available to help preserve them both.

It’s genuinely heartening to see how much LGBTQ+ cinema has progressed over the part 30 years. When the genre was new, most of its releases fell into a limited handful of storylines, which, though groundbreaking at the time, have since been surpassed by numerous other works that have moved beyond the basics. And that’s why the debut feature from writer-director Hayley Kiyoko is such a huge disappointment. The film is a rather uninspired throwback more typical of pictures released in this genre in the 1980s, making the material seem quite dated compared to more contemporary offerings. Even though this story takes place in a small town in the first decade of the new millennium – a setting somewhat less progressive than others at that time and certainly much more so than compared to today – it nevertheless comes across like something more akin to LGTBQ+ movies from years earlier. And, to make matters worse, it falls back on a lot of trite story elements and clichés, making this tale of young lesbian love look terribly antiquated. At the risk of playing spoiler, the film follows a shopworn formula for most love stories in general, albeit with a girl-on-girl twist: girl meets girl, girl gets girl, girl loses girl, girl tries to get girl back again. Consequently, it’s difficult to think of that as being in any way original, engaging or different. It also doesn’t help that the screenplay is laden with superficial dialogue, endless montages of cloud shots and bicycle riding footage that feel like padding added to fill out the relatively scant 100 runtime, and a few too many music video-style sequences (something not entirely unexpected, since this is where the director got her filmmaking start). But perhaps the most egregious issue for me was the utter lack of chemistry between the two leads in their attempts to overcome sexual confusion and forge a same-sex relationship. Sonya (Myra Malloy) is a flirtatious but confused tease who can’t make up her mind about which side of the fence she wants to put down roots, and Nicole (“Coley”) (Maya da Costa), the new girl in town, can’t make up her mind about much of anything, a problem made worse by the actress’s inconsistent, positively dreadful performance. Where’s the alleged attraction between these two? Indeed, how is anyone supposed to take any of this seriously? As a gay man myself, I’m well aware of the difficulty involved in coming out (not to mention coming of age as well) as an adolescent (and I did so at a time when it was far more challenge-ridden than it is today and even during the time frame depicted in this film). But its treatment here leaves much to be desired, and it’s a subject that LGBTQ+ cinema really should have moved beyond by now unless special extenuating circumstances are involved in the story (which isn’t the case here). And, because of this, I find it frustrating that there are so many other – and better – works of LGBTQ+ cinema are out there that never get picked up for distribution deals yet something underwhelming like this does (and as a Pride Month release to boot). Girls may like girls, but I find it hard to believe that anyone would realistically like this.

Surreality is an intriguing premise in entertainment, and, when skillfully employed (generally in a sci-fi context), it can make for compelling viewing. But deft handling of the material involved is what makes all the difference, and that’s where this latest effort from writer-director Mark Jenkin doesn’t quite hit the mark. Life in a coastal fishing village in the UK’s Cornwall region hasn’t been what it once was for 30 years. Overfishing, coupled with the mysterious disappearance of the fishing boat Rose of Nevada, left local anglers without a resource to exploit, not to mention more than a little bit spooked. However, when the craft suddenly and inexplicably reappears in the harbor one day three decades later, the remaining residents of the now-rundown community are even more mystified. That’s especially true for the boat’s owner, Mike (Edward Rowe), and the widow of one of the missing crew members, Tina (Rosalind Eleazar). They wonder what to do now that the trawler has reappeared, but they ultimately decide to put the boat back into operation. Mike hires a crew of three, skipper Murgey (Francis Magee) and two down-on-their-luck mates looking to better their lives with new jobs, Nick (George MacKay) and Liam (Callum Turner). And, on their first voyage, they bring home a huge catch. But what surprises them when they return is that the village appears to be bustling with people and activity again – just as it was 30 years earlier (before Nick was even born). The reason for this is that it actually is 30 years earlier, and the crew members are viewed by the locals (including the past selves of individuals from their own time) as the crew of the boat when it went missing. It’s mind-boggling to the returnees, to be sure, prompting them (particularly Nick) to try and figure out what’s going on. In this sense, the story has very much the feel of an episode of The Twilight Zone or The Outer Limits but dressed up in what it likes to think of as slicker packaging. And I say “what it likes to think of,” because, frankly, this view of itself is somewhat inflated. For instance, in an effort to avoid revealing too much too soon, the film’s pacing is needlessly dragged out and overly cryptic, qualities that easily try viewer patience. Things admittedly get better when the big plot twist finally emerges, but it also remains somewhat enigmatic, as if the narrative doesn’t quite know which tangent to take. In many ways, this offering ends up following a trajectory very much like that found in the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine episode “Things Past” (1996), suggesting a dearth of originality in scripting. In addition, the picture’s cinematography seems off, too, through its use of a purposely grainy, pock-marked filming technique to suggest that the story is indeed being depicted on film shot in the past, an approach used by the filmmaker in his previous offering, “Enys Men” (2022). In that case, however, the story was set in the 1970s (and effectively captured the period as such), while this one takes place 20-50 years later, with footage that comes across as out of place. Hence, because improvements in photographic quality and film preservation emerged in those ensuing years, it’s difficult to fathom how the film quality would have degraded to such a degree during that time frame (yes, it’s truly possible to go to the well one too many times). Given all of these issues, then, “Rose of Nevada” ultimately feels a little too needlessly padded for its own good. As I noted previously, this release reminds me a lot of two classic sci-fi TV series, and a work of those vehicles’ length (30-60 minutes) probably would have been more suitable than the current nearly two-hour runtime. To its credit, the picture features fine performances from Turner and MacKay, who gives one of his most polished and most mature performances to date. But that’s hardly enough to save this adrift vessel. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it should have remained lost at sea, but it certainly could have used a more capable navigator.

Coming to terms with the craziness of today’s world can be a difficult, maddening undertaking for many of us adults. So imagine how innately confusing it can be for someone looking at it from a child’s perspective, particularly for a youngster who is impressionable, astute and curious and who hungers for the truth (or some semblance of it). When looking at an existence pervasively replete with qualities like rigidity, prejudice, indifference, deception, cruelty, conventionality, hypocrisy, death, religion, unassailable faith and unquestioned mystery, not to mention grown-ups who willingly tolerate such traits, it’s no wonder that a child can be perplexed and unsure of what to believe. And that can lead to the development and embrace of erroneous, shallow or misguided perceptions. Such is the case for eight-year-old Elena (Alessandra González) as she grows up in Madrid in 1988 (a time, ironically, when the world was far less complicated than it is today). She’s naturally curious about her world but often thoroughly confused by it, especially when she asks for answers from her quarrelsome, often seemingly uncaring parents (Lorena López, Pablo Pereira), who rarely provide adequate answers and frequently imply that they might be better off without her. This all comes at a time when Elena struggles to deal with the recent death of her beloved, free-thinking grandmother (Gloria Munóz), her parents’ refusal to let her become friends with a visiting genial gypsy girl, Serezade (Juncal Fernández), and preparation for her upcoming First Communion, a rite of passage for which she feels like she’s receiving inadequate guidance from her inflexible, condescending yet hypocritical priest (Enrique Villén). Because of this, Elena’s often drawn to unconventional (some would say “heretical”) thinking, a seed that had been planted in her consciousness by her abuela. At the same time, though, she’s not so sold on her own ideas that she’s willing to completely abandon Roman Catholicism, despite its inexplicable aspects and contradictions, which she’s expected to accept without question. Most notably, she readily embraces some of the fears that accompany the foregoing, such as teachings that goats are inherent symbols of the devil, a troubling thought for her, given that Serezade’s best friend is her omnipresent pet goal, Lola. Eventually, however, the strain of Elena’s circumstances overwhelms her, and she runs away from home, seeking to live in the country with her gypsy friend and her family, where a series of new (and hoped-for pleasant) experiences and adventures awaits. On the surface, this might seem like an intriguing premise for this story. Unfortunately, there are problems with the execution of the narrative. The film tends to meander, with multiple story threads that go unexplained and come across as somewhat implausible. In addition, the film’s capacity for understatement is so pronounced at times that it’s difficult to discern the relevance of certain events (nuance is one thing, but enigma is something else entirely). In essence, writer-director Ana Asensio’s story and screenplay just don’t come across as substantial enough to fully flesh out the themes it’s striving to convey and depict. There are also a number of references to contemporary events of the time that remain largely underdeveloped, such as the highly publicized activities of ETA, the Basque Separatist Movement, and the organization’s high-profile kidnapping of Emiliano Revilla. It’s unclear if this is simply time frame background material or something more, but, either way, it remains fundamentally cryptic. And the foregoing shortcomings, perhaps, are the biggest pitfall with “Goat Girl”: There simply isn’t enough “there” there to make this a worthwhile watch – no matter how cute and endearing that “devilish” little goat and girl might be.

Director Steven Spielberg’s filmography is legendary, to say the least. Movies like “Jaws” (1975), “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” (1977), “Raiders of the Lost Ark” (1981), “E.T.: The Extraterrestrial” (1982), “Schindler’s List” (1993) and “Jurassic Park” (1993) have gone down as classics in the annals of filmmaking. And, even though some of his works in more recent years haven’t quite lived up to the quality of past efforts, it’s comforting to know that he’s still got what it takes when he gets behind the camera. This is where his latest release, “Disclosure Day,” comes into play, easily his best picture in years. This sci-fi/conspiracy theory/personal discovery thriller sports a multifaceted narrative that’s probably too complex to detail here, but that’s likely to be beneficial to viewers who walk into the theater knowing little, if anything about it in advance. In fact, I’d actually recommend approaching this offering from that standpoint to allow it to wash over you organically, to experience and wrap yourself up in the sense of awe and wonder it evokes without the hindrance of too many preconceptions. The one thing I will say about it is that it’s more than just another picture about UFOs and space aliens. While it’s true that formal disclosure about the coverup of an extraterrestrial presence on Earth over the past 80 years is at the core of the storyline, there’s much more going on here, imbuing the title with multiple meanings involving other subjects, including those of a personal and spiritual nature, adding depth to what might have otherwise been merely a more conventional science fiction movie. This becomes apparent through the film’s myriad story threads, which start out seeming disparate and unrelated, much like what happened at the beginning of “Close Encounters.” But, as this picture unfolds, connections develop showing how they all ultimately coalesce, just like in its predecessor. Some have called this kind of storytelling improbable and unrealistic, but many of us have undoubtedly seen this happen in our own lives, and, when that occurs, it doesn’t seem nearly so farfetched (so why should it be any different in a work of cinematic fiction?). Of course, grasping the connections, nuances and meanings in this requires devoting sufficient attention when watching the movie, so, if you’re unable or unwilling to do so for a film with a 200 runtime, you might want to skip this one. That would be regrettable, though, given that Spielberg is back at the top of his game here, telling a story with the same skills he has brought to so many other releases over the years in terms of depicting a compelling plot, building suspense, executing gripping action sequences and providing appropriately timed comic relief. He also provides a comprehensive palette of ufology-related topics, some of which are well known and others of which are more obscure (references that fans of Coast to Coast AM radio and The X-Files TV series will surely appreciate), but all of which are sufficiently explained without requiring ample viewer foreknowledge. And Spielberg has a lot of help bringing all this into being thanks to the insightful screenplay of David Koepp, the original score of composer John Williams (arguably his most mature work ever), and the superb performances of an ensemble cast featuring Emily Blunt, Josh O’Connor, Colin Firth, Colman Domingo, Eve Hewson, Wyatt Russell and Elizabeth Marvel. I’d heartily recommend watching this on as large a screen as possible (e.g., IMAX), and please pay no heed to the trolls voicing their uninformed opinions in trying to inexplicably tear this one down. “Disclosure Day” is about as nearly a perfect piece of filmmaking as one can envision. In fact, if I had to register a complaint of any kind here, it might be that the final act could be seen as being a little stretched out, but that’s such a minor criticism that it’s hardly worth mentioning. Savor all of the various forms of disclosure being served up in this release, as you may end up drawing upon them to discover aspects about yourself that you never knew before – and enabling you to walk out of the theater at the end a different person than who you were when you went in and into a different world than what you knew before.

Romances involving partners in love engaged in crime sprees aren’t especially new or original. In fact, sagas of outlaws on the run have been film industry staples for decades, perhaps best exemplified by the legendary “Bonnie and Clyde” (1967). So, considering the prevalence of these films, it takes a lot to make new offerings in this genre stand out and distinguish themselves. That’s where the latest feature from director Adam Carter Rehmeier comes into play. While this release very much follows the typical formula of these pictures, it manages to separate itself from its peers in a number of ways. At the same time, though, it also tips its hat to the aforementioned “Bonnie and Clyde,” as well as to such other crime/outlaw thrillers as “Thelma & Louise” (1991), “The Sugarland Express” (1974) and “The Grifters” (1990). The film follows the transformation of Caroline Daniels (Samara Weaving), who’s stuck in a dead-end filling station job in small town Texas. Her life changes drastically, however, when con artist Oliver Anderson (Kyle Gallner) storms into town and sweeps Caroline off her feet. They launch into a torrid romance while Oliver teaches her the ways of grifting from both practical and psychological standpoints. And, before long, they leave Texas, embarking on a road trip across the Southeast during which she adeptly learns the art of the con from her mentor/lover. Given their success as a duo, they quickly up the ante of the jobs, from pickpocketing and simple obfuscation routines to include identity theft and bank robbery. They use their newly acquired ample funds to adopt a more lavish lifestyle as they make their way (at Caroline’s request) to Charleston, South Carolina, where she hopes to look up her long-estranged mother, Deborah (Kyra Sedgwick). But, when Caroline is left disillusioned by the disastrous meeting between her and her crusty, self-absorbed mom, she rashly decides that she wants to amass enough money as quickly as possible to leave the US permanently, a decision that carries devastatingly serious consequences. Much of this is admittedly rather predictable, but it’s nonetheless stylish in its execution, featuring fine performances (especially Weaving and Sedgwick), clever film editing, a revealing inside look into the ways of scammers, a hefty dose of unadulterated Americana and a decidedly pronounced 1970s vibe, qualities that give the film character all its own. However, with that said, it’s also important to note that there some notable anachronisms here that take the 1970s vibe a little too far (who knew there were still that many pay phones left), along with an opening half hour whose pacing could decidedly stand to be stepped up. In addition, while the script openly and specifically addresses hypothetical questions related to our own innate senses of good and evil, how they come to pass, and how such attitudes might shift, Caroline’s metamorphosis here seems a bit extreme and overly quick given who she appears to be at the story’s outset, a character development issue that comes across as exaggeratedly accelerated. However, in the overall context of the picture, these shortcomings are easy to overlook, particularly when the intensity of the narrative amps up in the second half. “Carolina Caroline” may not be especially innovative or groundbreaking as movies of this stripe go, but it is nevertheless entertaining and engaging, and there’s definitely no crime in that.

Relationship dynamics can entail a lot of work – sometimes more than we’d like to deal with. As a consequence, they might make us feel trapped, despite whatever apparent comfort they otherwise might provide. And that, in turn, may prompt us to desperately search for an escape, one that offers little resistance but is riddled with impulsiveness, an abrogation of responsibility and unquestionable indifference toward the hurt it may cause. Indeed, it might be all too easy to disregard such fallout and proceed with an all-too-messy exit, no matter how devastating it can be. That’s a prevalent theme in the latest feature from writer-director Pete Ohs, the story of a cold, distant, anxious British tourist, Bethany (Charli XCX), on a supposedly romantic getaway to Warsaw, Poland with her boyfriend, Rob (Will Madden). Rob had originally wanted a storybook amorous adventure in Paris, but he willingly changed plans when Bethany suggested – surprisingly – that they experience the romance of Warsaw instead. (Warsaw?). The recommendation admittedly puzzled Rob, but he agreed as long as it would still fulfill his secret plan for making a marriage proposal. However, not long after they arrive in Poland, it becomes apparent why Bethany made her suggestion: it provides her with the means to meet up with an old flame, Nel (Lena Góra), whom she first met when they were teenagers and have had occasional flings together over the years. And, after only a few days, Bethany essentially abandons Rob to spend all her time with Nel, circumstances that she freely pursues and that leave Rob understandably puzzled. Bethany tries to justify her behavior by citing a timely eruption of Mt. Etna, an uncanny synchronicity typical of what happens whenever she and Nel get together. It seems that their reunions are always characterized by the impactful eruption of a volcano (usually somewhere nearby). Bethany and Nel unapologetically draw upon these decidedly less-than-subtle symbols of unleashed eroticism to rationalize throwing caution to the wind, no matter what comes from it (as if that’s somehow OK). It also symbolizes the release of chaos that leaves all personally susceptible apple carts sufficiently toppled. Not only is Rob left out in the cold, but so is Nel’s girlfriend, Ula (Agata Trzebuchowska). In essence, the “boring” nature of Bethany’s and Nel’s partners provides a dubiously convenient basis for their respective abandonments. But, while their contentions may be valid, are they truly burdensome enough to callously justify such actions? That’s the message here, and it’s depicted bluntly, without sugarcoating. And, as tactless and questionable as these situations might be, this torrid, sordid comedy-drama is nevertheless unabashed in candidly capturing them, scenarios that happen more often in everyday life than many of us would like to think (or openly acknowledge). As Pride Month/LGBTQ+ cinema offerings go, this release may not be typical nor as fully fleshed out as it could have been (especially in the somewhat meandering opening act), but its economic narrative and brisk 100 runtime are well suited to the nature of what the filmmaker has ultimately created. In many regards, the film also echoes the overall approach and many of the elemental details found in Woody Allen’s “Vicky Cristina Barcelona” (2008) but with a gay twist. “Erupcja” is thus one of those pictures that may make some viewers feel like they need to bathe after watching it, but one can’t deny its brusque frankness, and that can prove a valuable insight if we’re ever faced with comparable circumstances in our own lives.

Try as I might, there are some filmmakers whose work I often find difficult to appreciate. Their movies just seem to be … lacking something. But, every so often, these auteurs surprise me, coming up with pictures that I find enjoyable, engaging or even enlightening. And that’s how I would characterize the latest work from writer-director Jim Jarmusch. Little occurs in many of his offerings, arguably making them the epitome of minimalist cinema, and a number of his efforts, frankly, have left me cold and uninvolved, no matter how much of a chance I give them. However, there are also times when Jarmusch somehow successfully manages to make something out of virtually nothing, as he quite capably does in this release. This gentle comedy-drama essentially consists of three unrelated but complementary vignettes about the dysfunctional but puzzlingly endearing relationships between adult children and their emotionally and/or corporeally distant parents. In the first segment, titled “Father,” the long-estranged adult children (Adam Driver, Mayim Bialik) of a crusty, easily confused, aging dad (Tom Waits) pay an uneasy visit to his idyllic rural New Jersey home. Their polite but strained reunion at his cluttered, disheveled house cause them considerable concern. However, little do they know that appearances can be deceiving, especially when a quietly crafty senior is involved. This is followed by “Mother,” which depicts the annual visit of sisters (Cate Blanchett, Vicky Krieps) to the home of their quietly judgmental widowed mother (Charlotte Rampling), a well-off best-selling author, for high tea. Although all three of them live in Dublin, for some reason, they only see each other once a year for this awkward annual event. And rounding out this triptych is “Brother Sister,” which follows twin siblings (Indya Moore, Luka Sabbat) on a visit to the vacated Paris apartment of their deceased parents, both of whom were killed in a private plane crash in the Azores. While the now-orphaned kids seem to have been on good terms with mom and dad, it’s also apparent that there’s much they didn’t know about them when alive. It’s not until they sort through some revealing and highly personal belongings that surprising secrets surface, perhaps the most distanced relationship of the three presented in the film. True to the director’s form, not a lot happens in this picture, yet, given the nature of the narratives featured here, there’s an uncanny sense of intimacy on display – quite an ironic feat for a picture in which viewers don’t really get to know any of the characters particularly well. In part that’s due to a number of overlapping elements (some of which are very specific in nature) that run through all three sequences, effectively illustrating the commonality (or perhaps universality) that’s intrinsic to relationships like these, something to which many of us can probably personally relate. Meticulous attention is also paid to the details of such attributes as set design, recurring prop use, camera work, thematic vectors, and even the use of common, everyday colloquialisms. It’s a demonstrably thoughtful practice that serves to compellingly draw viewers into the story, as if they were themselves present when these events are actually unfolding. Indeed, there’s an intangible quality to all of this that’s unmistakenly captivating, something unexpected from a film in which so inherently little is going on but that nevertheless feels so undeniably full and familiar. In many ways, “Father Mother Sister Brother” is the filmmaker’s best work in over a decade, on par with such releases as “Paterson” (2016) and “Only Lovers Left Alive” (2013) (and a far cry from some of the cinematic experiments that didn’t fly). Moviegoers who have little patience for what they watch, admittedly, could find this work tedious and insubstantial. But those who like movies that feel like a good book will probably enjoy this one immensely. And, to sum up, as many of the characters in this offering would likely say, “And Bob’s your uncle!”

At a time when certain new releases are having praise undeservingly heaped upon them, it’s truly unfortunate when a picture that genuinely merits such attention isn’t receiving the degree of credit it’s due. Such is the case with the latest offering from writer-director Daniel Roher, a romantic crime thriller that’s handily one of the best new releases of 2026. The future of onetime piano virtuoso Niki White (Leo Woodall) gets derailed in childhood when the aspiring prodigy develops a crippling hearing impairment that leaves him audibly impaled by loud sounds, effectively ending his performance future as he sees it. However, despite this condition, he’s able to tolerate soft sounds, a capability that makes him an ideal candidate to be a piano tuner (his sense of perfect pitch helps, too). He thus works as an apprentice to a seasoned piano tuner/repairman, Harry Horowitz (Dustin Hoffman), who serves as a mentor and close friend. As it turns out, though, Niki unwittingly discovers that his skills also make him an ideal candidate for becoming a highly adept safecracker. His ability to discern nearly silent combination lock clicks enables him to open virtually any repository that would otherwise be impossible to access. And, when he unexpectedly meets a crooked security systems installer, Uri (Lior Raz), who clandestinely removes valuables from the safes of his wealthy clients, Niki is recruited to join the team. Although initially reluctant to embrace this new side hustle, Niki’s apprehension disappears when he discovers the kind of big money he can earn using his skills in this less-than-ethical manner. That’s especially true when he needs to come up with ample cash to cover the costs of an expensive emergency and winning the affections of his new girlfriend, Ruthie (Havana Rose Liu), a conservatory student who dreams of becoming an aspiring composer. But the good life into which he stumbles comes at a high cost, one that Niki desperately must find a way to cover when circumstances head south. This gradually simmering scenario brings together all of the foregoing story threads into a potentially explosive situation, one with ramifications on multiple fronts. So how will this all play out? That’s the narrative tapestry the filmmaker skillfully weaves in this release, one that’s tautly constructed, superbly written and effectively fuses material from several cinematic genres. The excellent ensemble cast (particularly this breakthrough performance for Woodall and a return to form for Hoffman) is well assembled, and the performers make the most of the fine screenplay they’ve been given to work with, especially in the areas of comic relief and surprisingly on-target philosophical observations. And, of course, there’s the music, which eloquently combines both original material and a collection of old favorites from multiple motifs. I seriously hope this offering is not forgotten come awards season, as it deserves the accolades it receives in many regards. “Tuner” should definitely be on the watch list of anyone who appreciates good cinema. And, if you see it, please spread the word to help the picture get the recognition it genuinely deserves.

Anointing a young, first-time big screen director as the new filmmaking messiah of his or her particular genre is a risky undertaking, to be sure. Does the fledgling auteur have what it takes to live up to that auspicious title? Is this an ordination that’s truly warranted? It’s serious business, both for box office tallies and artistically speaking. But does the heir apparent truly possess the skills, talent and vision to achieve success on both fronts? That’s something worth considering in light of the debut feature from writer-director Kane Parsons, the force behind this aspiring smart horror release, which is quickly being praised to the hilt and drawing huge numbers in ticket sales. However, I believe that the coronation of this new voice in the genre is far from deserved and entirely premature. While it’s true that Parsons has a keen eye for the aesthetic, that’s only half the challenge when making a movie in virtually any genre. The other part – being an effective storyteller – needs work (and a lot of it). Based on a YouTube adaptation of his immensely popular internet TV series The Backrooms, the film follows a troubled (and largely unsuccessful) seller of cheap furniture, Clark (Chiwetel Ejiofor), who’s experiencing difficulties in his personal life and professional calling. His failed marriage and inability to make use of his training as an architect have led him to seek counseling from a high-profile therapist, Dr. Mary Kline (Renate Reinsve). His progress takes a drastic turn, though, when he finds a maze of what appears to be a collection of office suites adjacent to his store’s basement – a discovery he makes by somehow walking through one of its walls. The spaces are seemingly devoid of people but haphazardly strewn with various items from his life, including his past. Has he stepped into a corporeal manifestation of his psyche? An alternate reality? Or something else entirely? That’s what he hopes to learn with the unexpected help of his skeptical shrink. And what will that be? The film’s opening half capably sets the scene, creating a legitimately sinister sense of creepiness. However, about midway into the picture, it becomes repetitive and directionless, as if it’s searching for what to do next. That’s where this offering goes off the rails, turning inexplicable, underdeveloped and outright goofy at times. The alleged scariness of this would-be psychological thriller vanishes, turning tedious, silly and more laughable than frightening. And a last-ditch effort to take the narrative in a redemptive direction involving a mysterious scientific research organization only muddies the waters further, doing little to salvage what has already fallen apart. Many have likened this release to a video game with a protagonist trying to solve the puzzle of the story. Others have said that it’s full of nuanced references to the YouTube series, although that would require an intimate knowledge of the source material to fully appreciate it. And others still have postulated a host of other interpretations given the inherently vague nature of the finished product. For my money, even though it starts out well, it turns into an incoherent cinematic mess that fails to hold attention and left me sighing a big “So what?” What became most apparent to me while sitting through this is just how difficult it is to create an engaging smart horror film, a genre I enjoy immensely but has been plagued by more failures than successes, with this one being yet another entry on that list of disappointments. Indeed, don’t be too quick to reach for that crown just yet. If the filmmaker hopes to assume that title, he’s still got his work cut out for him, beginning with an urgent need to get out of his own “Backrooms.”

Weather is something that affects us all, though it’s also something to which most of us pay little attention unless there are potential or actual consequences at stake; then they often take on paramount importance. The impact can be somewhat ameliorated with an accurate forecast, but that’s often problematic, even with today’s advanced technology. So it can be hard to fathom what it might have been like to predict the weather without it, as was the case in the 1940s, when meteorology was just beginning to come into its own as an accepted science. Such was the case in June 1944, when Allied Forces in Europe were planning the D-Day invasion of France’s Normandy coast, the largest contingent of air, ground and water forces ever assembled, and the subject of the latest offering from writer-director Andrew Maras. Given the complexity of the operation, the lead organizer of the attack, Gen. Dwight “Ike” Eisenhower (Brendan Fraser), wanted an accurate weather forecast – one that provided “certainty” – for the time frame of its implementation (weather in Europe in late spring could be highly unpredictable, with a mix of both pleasant and exceedingly stormy patterns). If contending with that weren’t enough, Allied Forces also had to deal with the intricate logistics of the campaign and keeping it under wraps from German forces that might be more than ready for its launch. The pressure for success was great, too, in the wake of a disastrous dress rehearsal that took place several months earlier. So, to get the result he wanted, Ike recruited soft-spoken British meteorologist Capt. James Stagg (Andrew Scott), regarded as the best in the business. However, Stagg’s cautionary approach to forecasting did not sit well with Eisenhower, especially since it ran counter to the work of resident, long-trusted weatherman Irving Krick (Chris Messina), whose views often clashed with his more conservative British counterpart. Thus began the battle for whose forecast would ultimately prevail, with both the Supreme Commander and his British colleague, Gen. Bernard “Monty” Montgomery (Damian Lewis), breathing down their necks. Who would prove correct (and how)? More importantly, though, would D-Day take place on its scheduled date of June 5, or would it have to wait until the next projected favorable window of opportunity, June 18? Much was thus riding on this go/no go decision, and it all appeared to come down to what was regarded as a seemingly inconsequential consideration. To be sure, this aspect of the D-Day story was undoubtedly important and not particularly well known until recently, yet its role was positively undeniable, given its turning point nature to the outcome of World War II. And that’s made abundantly clear through this war film with a twist. The film presents a clear chronicle of the scenario, with fine period piece production values, well-staged battle sequences, and capable performances across the board, including those already noted, along with Kerry Condon as Eisenhower’s chief aide. However, the picture tends to become repetitive in explaining how events unfolded. What’s more, it has an aura of somewhat inflated self-importance about its story, attempting to lead viewers to believe that its narrative is more epic than it actually is (no disrespect intended). I essentially see this as a well-made TV movie that doesn’t quite have the degree of impact that a theatrical release should have. Admittedly, this offering is probably best seen on the big screen, though don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t quite live up to grander expectations. In light of that, then, unless one has a sense of urgency to see “Pressure,” waiting for it to come to streaming may ultimately be the best option.

The power of film to make statements and to effect meaningful change is truly quite impressive. But it’s also possible for the impact of that influence to be diminished when a picture overstates its case, a problem that seriously hampers the latest feature from writer-director Boots Riley. This second offering from the filmmaker in many ways echoes themes introduced in his debut release, the deliciously satirical “Sorry To Bother You” (2018), with its poignant but deftly balanced messages related to social and economic fairness, personal ethics, and the business and political climate. However, in this case, the volume on these notions has been turned up considerably, to the point where it fundamentally screeches at the audience, no matter how much viewers may personally agree with the points the director is attempting to make. The film essentially follows the exploits **** of “boosters” – designer clothing thieves – in the greater Oakland, CA area, led by aspiring designer Corvette (Keke Palmer) and her associates (Naomi Ackie, Taylour Paige). They target the retail outlets of iconic clothing creator Christie Smith (Demi Moore), a notoriously self-absorbed, self-important designer of overpriced clothing that she sincerely though euphemistically looks upon as “body art,” an element that she believes is integral to the evolution and advancement of society. Smith has made a fortune through her efforts (many of which are less than honorable), but she quietly seeks more than money: she lusts for power and control over her loyal and easily bamboozled customers and overworked employees, many of whom toil under deplorable conditions in manufacturing sweatshops in China. As revelations surface regarding Smith’s methods, things turn both personal and focused on bigger social and economic causes, especially when supported by idealistic aims at reframing injustices in all of these areas. This sets up factional; battlegrounds on multiple fronts to address these issues. Regardless of one’s personal opinions, the premise here would appear to be a somewhat noble one. However, it becomes mind-bogglingly overwhelming and tedious through a narrative that loses its way by becoming overstuffed with images, superfluous story threads, and initiatives that are difficult to track and differentiate from one another. Consequently, it’s easy to lose interest, particularly when storylines turn silly and the basic distinctions between reality and fantasy become irretrievably blurred (surrealism is one thing, but this is wholly over the top). The need for ruthless editing (not to mention major script revision) can’t be emphasized enough, no matter how laudable the underlying inherent notions might be. To its credit, when the picture works, it often succeeds brilliantly, especially in some of its biting one-liners, inspired sight gags, and performances by the likes of Moore, Chinese employee advocate Poppy Liu, and retail store manager Will Poulter, who uncharacteristically plays against type in his usual bad ass persona. The film also sports a stunningly colorful production design that’s a vibrant feast for the eyes. But there’s a lot lost here as well, primarily the result of a cloying story that quickly becomes more annoying than enlightening, some surprisingly cheesy special effects, and the generally poor use of cast members LaKeith Stanfield, Don Cheadle and the trio of boosters. While it’s readily apparent that director Riley is genuinely gifted when it comes to the range of his vision, passion and imagination, it’s also equally apparent that he needs to be seriously reined in rather than let loose without restraint (there’s that notion of knowing “when to kill one’s darlings” again). Looking back at the virtues of his vastly superior debut effort would make for a good starting point, an exercise that might help the filmmaker get his artistic and storytelling sensibilities back on track. I’m convinced Riley ultimately has much to say of great importance, but he needs to find more effective ways to say it, and “I Love Boosters” is definitely not the vehicle for that.

Picture the noir-esque world of “Blade Runner” (1982) reimagined by a mischievous youngster with a macabre streak, augmented with the lavish stylings of assorted filmmaking auteurs and fused with the menacingly beastly trappings of “Gremlins” (1984), and you’ve got a good idea what to expect out of this debut feature from writer-director Bryan Fuller. Ten-year-old Aurora (newcomer Sophie Sloan) is terrified of the nefarious monster that lives under her bed, despite assurances from her well-meaning foster parents that no such creature exists. But the young New Yorker has good reason to trust her apprehensions, especially when she discovers that the voracious dust bunny has eaten both of her caregivers – just as it had with previous pairs of foster parents. Consequently, Aurora knows something must be done to vanquish the beast, so she opts to contract for the services of her mysterious neighbor (Mads Mikkelsen), a ninja-like hitman, to kill it. She’s aware of the intrepid warrior’s skills, having clandestinely witnessed him take down an army of “monsters” in a Chinatown back alley late one night (those so-called monsters were actually adversaries charged with eliminating him, but, given that they were cloaked in the costume of a Chinese dragon, it’s easy to see how a 10-year-old’s perception and imagination might run away with her). Needless to say, the hitman is skeptical about taking a contract bankrolled by a child (with money she matter-of-factly stole from a church collection plate), but he reluctantly relents, especially since they’re each now simultaneously pursuing (and being pursued) by monsters of their own (and, ironically, of their own making, too), even if their pursuers assume fundamentally different physical forms. Together, this unlikely duo embarks on a quest to slay their respective demons, a journey marked by colorful scenarios and eccentric supporting characters, including the hitman’s mysterious “handler” (Sigourney Weaver), one of the contract killer’s “inconspicuously conspicuous” rivals (David Dastmalchian) and an enigmatic child custody services case worker who isn’t everything she claims to be (Sheila Atim). And it all takes place in that whimsical, shadowy, deceptively sinister version of the Big Apple described above, an exquisitely designed backdrop fittingly distinguished by its positively stunning production design and framed by its absolutely gorgeous cinematography, elements not unlike those found in the works of Tim Burton, Bill Condon, Baz Luhrmann and the Coen Brothers. However, for all of the film’s meticulous attention to style, it doesn’t live up to the same standard when it comes to the narrative and screenwriting. While this would-be campy horror romp strives to merge aspects of fairytale sweetness (as seen, for example, in the emerging quasi-parental relationship between Aurora and her new friend) with the edginess of the works of the Brothers Grimm (but on steroids), it never quite gets the mix right, occasionally becoming circular and largely remaining underdeveloped or unresolved. In addition, for all its visual strength, there are times when the sound quality could use some shoring up. And it should also be noted that, despite this offering’s young protagonist, it’s not really an option for viewers in that age group (unless, of course, they’re clearly wise beyond their years and are capable of handling and appreciating material suitable for such maturity). To its credit, “Dust Bunny” makes some modestly insightful observations about the monsters who chase us and how we might address that challenge (especially when we consider the nature and sources of those demons), and good arguments could be made in favor of its impressive performances by Sloan, Weaver and Mikkelsen, as well as its two Independent Spirit Award nominations for best first feature and (particularly) best cinematography. It’s just unfortunate that the substance of its meat doesn’t match the flavor of its gravy, but, as this was the filmmaker’s first big screen effort, perhaps it made for good practice at preparing a delicious meal overall the next time around. In the meantime, proceed with caution the next time you go looking under your bed.

When movie rating aggregation sites give a film high marks, one should expect that the picture delivers the goods (after all, those grades don’t spontaneously materialize out of thin air). But there are times when a vastly overrated release inexplicably (and undeservedly) gets good grades that leave one perplexed. Such is the case with the debut feature from writer-director Aleshea Harris in this adaptation of her award-winning play of the same name (2018). This unfocused, often-highly repulsive revenge thriller/road trip title with a modern-day Western vibe and Afro punk styling starts out reasonably well but degenerates about midway into the film and never recovers (I couldn’t wait to leave the theater). The film tells the story of twin sisters Racine, the rough one (Kara Young), and Anaia, the quiet one (Mallori Johnson), who are severely burned in a childhood incident when their coldly malevolent father (Sterling K. Brown) viciously attempts to kill their mother, Ruby (Vivica A. Fox). The girls, who have been parted from their mother for years (believing her to be dead), call her “God” since she, like their divine progenitor, created them. But, much to their surprise, Racine receives a letter indicating that she is still alive, a notice that prompts an in-person visit during which Ruby explains what happened and instructing them to kill him. Anaia is opposed to the idea, but Racine is all out for “justice” (i.e., vengeance). Thus begins the twins’ search to find the man who nearly killed their mother and scarred them for life, an outcome that exposed them (especially Anaia) to repeated ridicule and Racine’s highly protective measures to spare her sister’s agony. At first glance, one might see this as a plausible premise for a big screen thriller, an idea made all the more fun by its quirky attributes that, in the picture’s opening half (and in its highly misleading trailer), make the film come across like an eccentric, campy Coen Brothers production. To be sure, the road trip starts out moderately amusing, with encounters involving colorful scenarios and characters expertly played by the likes of Erika Alexander, Mykelti Williamson and Josiah Cross. However, as noted above, the film takes a hard left halfway through and turns into little more than a troubling, pointless, highly stylized slasher film with cruel, graphic, uninhibited violence that makes one wonder what the filmmaker is going for (do we really need to see such appalling imagery?). Yes, yes, as the film’s title implies, there are alleged religious/spiritual undertones here symbolically dealing with concepts of good vs. evil (or god vs. devil) and the so-called “obligation” to do whatever our “faith” dictates, no matter how bizarre or reprehensible (it’s indeed difficult to fathom how “God” would want his/her/its/their name associated with such a vile project). These contextual “nuances,” however, are a lot more obvious and predictable than this release likes to think they are. And, to make matters worse, there are plenty of story threads that come out of left field and are intrinsically underdeveloped or unresolved; wasted talent, as evidenced, for example, by the positively dreadful supporting performance of Janelle Monáe (she went from her stellar work in “Moonlight” (2016) and “Hidden Figures” (2016) to this?); the incorporation of inherently enigmatic but largely unexplained character attributes as a pale substitute for meaningful character development; and a storyline open to more wildly diverse speculation and interpretation than Heinz has varieties. To its credit (an observation I make reluctantly), the picture features an array of highly intense performances (particularly by Young, Johnson and Brown), and perhaps they accurately reflect painful, troubling real world conditions, but they’re hardly enough to salvage the project (and, again, make me ask, do we really need to see this?). Sadly, “Is God Is” represents a prime example of what’s innately wrong with the domestic film industry these days and marks the need for a drastic change in the thinking of Amazon Studios, the latest woeful entry in a string of woeful entries from this creator-distributor. In short, to quote from the title of one of film critic Roger Ebert’s books, the best way to characterize this disappointing, excessive, unwarranted offering is simple: “Your Movie S*cks.” Next, please…

Films about celluloid icons during interesting or unusual periods in their personal and professional lives can make for great viewing. Of course, much depends on the quality, nature and depth of the source material for their stories. But, unfortunately, that’s where the latest offering from writer-director Bill Fishman – a comedic memoir about a legendary actor – comes up short. In the second half of the 20th Century, Marlon Brando (Billy Zane) captivated audiences with his performances in such films as “A Streetcar Named Desire” (1951) and “On the Waterfront” (1954), and, by the 1970s, he had become a household name. However, the actor, known for his excesses and eccentricities, tired of the limelight and left Hollywood for life in Tahiti, where he was less conspicuous and had an opportunity to get back to nature, one of his lesser-known passions. He purchased a private though largely inaccessible atoll where he wanted to build an ecologically friendly retreat center. And, to design and construct the facility, Brando hired an idealistic, somewhat nerdy Los Angeles architect, Bernard Judge (Jon Heder), who was encouraged by friends and family to take the assignment as a means to come out of his shell and establish himself. What follows, then, is the wild and wacky story of how the project unfolded, a tale filled with a host of unconventional characters and circumstances. Regrettably, though, the picture suffers from a variety of execution problems. For instance, the storytelling approach is all over the map (not entirely unexpected for a director best known for making music videos), an issue clearly reflected in the scattered screenplay and narrative. Told primarily from Judge’s perspective – that of a character who is not particularly interesting to begin with – the production focuses more on him than the actor whose name appears in the movie’s title. Because the architect’s story is inherently rather thin, it feels disjointed, underdeveloped, padded and even goofy at times, incorporating irrelevant material, especially from Judge’s personal life. Brando, for his part, is relegated to an almost-secondary role, popping up occasionally to make enigmatic observations and engage in over-the-top acts of debauchery. In between, the picture presents somewhat cheesy re-creations of famous scenes from several of the movies the actor made to bankroll the project, including his Oscar-winning portrayal in “The Godfather” (1972) and his Oscar-nominated performance in “Last Tango on Paris” (1973), material that seems shamelessly self-indulgent in light of the subject matter. These scenes aside, however, Zane admittedly does his level best to make the most out of the material he has to work with here (which isn’t saying much), and his physical makeover for the role is truly noteworthy, to be sure. It’s also heartening to see Brando credited for his environmentalism efforts, something for which he has rarely received the accolades he deserved. But “Waltzing with Brando” offers so little else otherwise that it’s not worth the time. Watch one of his films, a Tahitian travelogue or an ecological documentary instead.

Political leaders often don’t rise to that level of power without the strategic scripting concocted for them by the little-known kingmakers behind them. And that’s what this fact-based, though satirically fictional, political thriller about the rise of Russian president Vladimir Putin (Jude Law) seeks to chronicle. The film tells the story of professional political fixer Vadim Baranov (Paul Dano), who rises from art school student to television producer to “the Czar’s” righthand man, doing whatever it takes to promote and ensure the power of his boss after the resignation of President Boris Yeltsin (George Sogis) in 1999. Baranov is portrayed here as a soft-spoken schemer who doesn’t hesitate to play both sides of the fence to add to the unbridled clout of the Russian strongman, even if that means pitting social and political opponents against one another if that tactic results in increased backing for Putin’s policies and practices. What’s more, Baranov is so seduced by the prospect of amassing power and influence for himself that he even agrees to support causes that he himself disagrees with. For example, if need be, he’ll willingly back right-wing extremist positions regardless of whether those views clash with the “radical” democratic ideologies he once so whole-heartedly championed during the early days of the New Russia in the early 1990s after the collapse of the Soviet Union. But that brand of shameless cynicism carries a high price when it comes to aiding a political figure – a former KGB operative – to help him restore the allegedly respectable “integrity” of the Russian Empire. Baranov’s questionable odyssey is largely revealed through voiceovers by the protagonist and an American journalist (Jeffrey Wright) conducting background research about the 30-year era in question. His dubious exploits come to life through his various unsavory dealings with political leaders, oligarchs and social movements within Russia and surrounding areas like Ukraine and the would-be breakaway republic of Chechnya, most of which, unfortunately, are given short shrift and little more than Cleft Notes treatment. That may allow the pacing to move along surprisingly briskly, but it provides inconsequential depth and opportunities for little more than smarmy quotes by the protagonist in dialogues with clueless cohorts. There’s also a largely needless romantic story thread involving Baranov’s significant other (Alicia Vikander) that could have easily been cut, a move that would have allowed more time to be devoted to the re-creations of the watershed historical events depicted here. And, despite the strength of Law’s fine but underdeveloped performance, the remainder of the cast leaves much to be desired. Writer-director Olivier Assayas’s latest is arguably one of his most commercial works, but, like so many of his other films, it’s another disappointment, even if it’s easier to follow than many of his prior overly cryptic productions. However, that kind of accessibility still doesn’t make for a great picture, especially one whose subject matter deserves better treatment than it receives here.

Sometimes there are no easy answers in life. Such circumstances can be maddening, leaving us frustrated, perplexed and wanting for a lack of adequate explanation. Yet, as on point as that description may be, it doesn’t suffice. Nor does it necessarily translate into good storytelling or filmmaking, as is the case in this debut feature from director Sophy Romvari. When a family of Hungarian descent relocates to British Columbia’s Vancouver Island in the 1990s, they hope that the new environment will prove beneficial for their troubled teenage son, Jeremy (Edik Beddoes), who routinely engages in unexplained antisocial and sometimes-dangerous behavior, despite his apparent capacity for kindness and compassion. Jeremy is quite a handful for his stability-searching parents (Iringó Réti, Ádám Tompa), who have tried everything – to no avail – to understand him and to get him the help he needs. He’s also something of an enigma to his three younger siblings, his two brothers (Liam Serg, Preston Drabble) and, most notably, to his sister, Sasha (Eylul Guven), a sweet, sensitive girl who’s especially curious about her eldest brother’s erratic behavior. So what’s up with the unsettled young man? That’s where the elusive easy answers come into play. And it’s an issue that haunts Sasha from her youth and on into adulthood, where her elder self (Amy Zimmer) has become a filmmaker. When all grown up, she meets with a group of mental health professionals and social service workers for insight on a documentary she’s making about a “case” she’s chronicling, seeking advice on how to best handle the story of a patient whose profile is a virtually identical match to that of her brother. It’s at this point, however, when the film begins losing its way, blending the art of the elder Sasha with the memories of her younger self in an almost surrealistic (and, at times, incoherent) fashion. One can presume from this that Sasha’s adult self is likely a stand-in for filmmaker Romvari herself, adding another level of muddying ambiguity to the storytelling mix, making for an offering that becomes trying to fathom. It may provide a fitting parallel to the conditions faced by Jeremy’s parents themselves, but is this good filmmaking? Some might see this as a masterful work of cinema, an interplay of reality, biography and artistic interpretation, but I honestly found it somewhat confusing, despite an earnest, ambitious attempt at fusing the various aforementioned elements. In that sense, “Blue Heron” feels somewhat contrived and unclear about its intent, with a choppy, sometimes-distracting flow to its narrative. To its credit, this is a gorgeously filmed release gloriously depicting the landscape of western Canada, along with meticulous attention to its detailed production design, backed by a diverse and often-perfectly suited soundtrack. But the essential substance of this release could use some much-needed refinement and clarity, with a little more shoring up, a little less ethereal treatment and smoother transitions between sequences. It’s indeed true that this work effectively brings the lack of easy answers front and center for viewers, but that doesn’t mean we should be swallowed up by them in the process.

They say you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, because you just might be surprised by what’s inside. The same, of course, can be said for people, and that’s especially true when it comes to individuals with the rare and unusual condition known as Tourette Syndrome. And that’s precisely the point driven home by this excellent new fact-based comedy-drama from writer-director Kirk Jones. For those unfamiliar with Tourette, it’s a condition in which those affected exhibit potentially offensive and/or violent behavior unexpectedly in the midst of what seems like otherwise-“normal” activity. Quite literally, someone might appear to be carrying on a normal conversation one moment only to spontaneously and uncontrollably break into highly vocal outbursts of antisocial, misogynist and/or racially prejudicial language. Such incidents are also sometimes accompanied by physical tics that can lead to punching, slapping and other wild gyrations. And the odd part about all this is that those who experience these manifestations are aware that they’re happening but can’t stop them, no matter how much they try or would like to. In many cases, these individuals are fundamentally friendly and kind-hearted souls who, try as they might, are simply incapable of controlling these impulses, a source of tremendous personal frustration for them. However, onlookers frequently don’t understand the condition and often react with outrage, offense and indignation at these occurrences. And, for those affected, this usually leads to alienation socially, vocationally and even in relations with family members, despite a strong desire to fit in with regular aspects of everyday life. What’s worse, Tourette is difficult to treat, largely because the cause is unknown (in fact, for a long time, some mental health professionals even doubted whether it was a “real” condition). Such has been the experience of Scotsman John Davidson (Robert Aramayo), a middle-aged community center manager who has fought to have his situation understood ever since he first began experiencing symptoms as an adolescent (Scott Ellis Watson). However, with the aid of a compassionate former mental health care nurse (Maxine Peake) and a supportive employer (Peter Mullan) willing to take a chance on hiring him, John earnestly sought treatment (including experimental techniques) and became a staunch advocate for promoting understanding and acceptance for those similarly situated. His efforts even led to John being honored by Queen Elizabeth II (Christina Ashford) for his committed activism in helping to diminish the stigmas often unfairly thrust upon those with this mysterious syndrome, the kind of ostracism, indifference and misplaced malice that John experienced at the hands of teachers, police officers and even his own parents (Steven Cree, Shirley Henderson). Davidson’s story has been masterfully brought to life in this truly superb offering, one that’s highly instructive without becoming preachy thanks in large part to its BAFTA Award-nominated screenplay. The picture meticulously balances its heartfelt and dramatic tale with perfectly coordinated comic relief, perhaps best illustrated through the protagonist’s outbursts, which effectively depict the condition while simultaneously evoking ample, well-earned, outrageously colorful laughs, very much in the same vein as those seen in the raucous historic comedy, “Wicked Little Letters” (2023). But perhaps the film’s greatest strength is its performances, portrayals that earned the picture the BAFTA Award for best casting (successfully besting such heavy-hitter nominees as “One Battle After Another”, “Sinners” and “Sentimental Value” (“Affeksjonsverdi”)), including those turned in by Peake, BAFTA nominee Mullan and BAFTA winner Aramayo, who positively nails the part (and who, hopefully, deservedly qualifies for 2027 Oscar consideration). As a BAFTA Award nominee for best British Film of 2025, this release merits every bit of praise it has earned, both as an informational outlet and as an engaging entertainment vehicle, even though those who are easily troubled by coarse language (the film’s title truly is appropriately fitting) and occasional troubling acts of violence may want to give serious thought to whether they wish to see this release. But, for those for whom these issues are not a problem, please put this one on your watch list. You’re likely to relish what you see between the covers of this captivating book.

When a filmmaker’s reach exceeds his grasp, that’s when you end up with movies like this work of pretentious existential nonsense from writer-director Francesco Sossai. For roughly the first 45 minutes of this aimlessly meandering road trip/buddy flick, barflies Carlobianchi (Sergio Romano) and Doriano (Pierpaolo Capovilla) go in search of the evening’s “one last drink” at various roadside watering holes across northeastern Italy. They eventually set their sights on Venice, where they’re scheduled to meet their old friend and work colleague, Genio (Andrea Pennacchi), who’s flying in the following morning, returning to Italy after an extended self-imposed exile in Argentina. Along the way, the duo engages in a series of unfocused, largely pointless drinking-related encounters with assorted strangers, most notably a sheepish young architecture student, Giulio (Filippo Scotti), whom they take under their wing and adopt as a sort of reluctant hearty partying initiate. The trio thus continues on their inebriated merry way during which they seek out more wayward adventures, and, in the process, the ring leaders of this alcohol-soaked binge gradually share Genio’s story with their new pal, even though the details they provide remain somewhat sketchy, especially in terms of how they relate to the overall story. In essence, most of the rest of the narrative depicts Giulio’s emergence from his self-constructed shell in becoming “a man.” However, considering the questionable character of his decidedly disreputable role models, are they truly stand-up examples of something to which Guilio should aspire? Now, I have nothing against looking for a good time, but is their brand of drunken, unbridled hedonism something to emulate? By the time the end of this release finally rolls around, it’s easy to see how one might be ready to swear off drinking. Clearly, this offering doesn’t know what it’s trying to say, where it wants to go and how it’s seeking to get there. Much of the fault here rests squarely with the story and screenplay, both of which are ineptly constructed, partly because they desperately try to incorporate too much material and partly because they send dubious messages. What’s more, just when things start getting interesting – when the particulars of Genio’s story start to surface, after a seemingly endless 45 opening minutes – the faucet of details dries up all too quickly and is never really revisited in any substantive way. This 2025 Cannes Film Festival Un Certain Regard nominee also makes occasional seemingly valiant attempts at incorporating a measure of allegedly philosophical observations, mostly served up from the bottom of a shot glass, that largely collapse under the weight of their own vacuous insights. Indeed, “The Last One for the Road” might like to believe that it’s a source of profound wisdom when, in fact, it’s little more than a protracted exercise in calling for additional rounds of revelations that never surface.

When 20 years pass between a movie and its sequel, a lot of disappointment can result when the follow-up is at last released. Derivative, underdeveloped story threads and an overreliance on nostalgic strolls down memory lane often abound, leaving viewers suitably underwhelmed, especially loyal fans of the source material. However, every so often, audiences are the lucky beneficiaries of pleasant surprises, movies that live up to their billing and come close to matching the magic of their predecessors. Such is the case with director David Frankel’s long-awaited answer to the iconic 2006 comedy “The Devil Wears Prada,” a delightful blend of the elements that made the original such a success, skillfully mixed with enough new material to create a work all its own. This latest offering follows what happens when the iconic Runway fashion magazine, led by longtime editor/diva in residence Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep), finds itself in hot water for unwittingly publishing an offensive article in praise of a clothing manufacturer that’s essentially an exploitative sweat shop, placing the publication’s and editor’s future in jeopardy. To effect damage control, Runway quickly hires award-winning journalist Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway) to come on board as the magazine’s new features editor. Andy’s hiring proves propitious for her, having just been unexpectedly laid off from her job (despite her recent accolades), and for Runway, given her familiarity with the magazine, having once worked there, ironically, as Miranda’s often-put-upon assistant. Having now been thrown together under these trying circumstances, the confrontational duo struggles to make things work out, an ordeal that eventually culminates in a battle in which multiple parties vie for ownership of the publication. Joining the fray in this rollercoaster scenario are Miranda’s trusty righthand man, Nigel Kipling (Stanley Tucci), Andy’s onetime condescending rival, Emily Charlton (Emily Blunt), and an array of Runway assistants, staffers and interns, along with a host of friends, foes, competitors and celebrity cameos including appearances by the likes of Lady Gaga, Lucy Liu and Kenneth Branagh. The narrative generally flows smoothly, if a bit episodic and compartmentalized at times, with more than its fair share of laughs, vibrant fashion montages, gorgeously shot location settings in New York and Milan, and a frank, bitingly honest appraisal of how the publishing business has “changed” (i.e., declined) in the two decades since the original film. “The Devil Wears Prada 2” likely won’t go down in the annals of filmmaking as an enduring piece of cinema, but it certainly makes the grade as a capable, entertaining sequel that isn’t the kind of letdown that so many of its celluloid peers often are. Indeed, as Miranda would likely sum it up, “That’s all.…”

In an age where discovering the truth about what’s unfolding in the world has practically become a full-time job, finding sources of reliable, credible information is a challenging undertaking, to say the least. Given the increase in media ownership consolidation, the growth in reporting driven by corporate, government and political agendas, and deliberate, willful efforts aimed at ignoring controversial and disconcerting stories, mainstream news outlets have become little more than mouthpieces for promoting official party lines. And, as a result, the kinds of reporting that the public should be getting has become steadily and systematically marginalized. That’s why it’s so crucial that we still have journalists out there who are committed to exposing the truth, as perhaps best evidenced by the work of investigative reporter Amy Goodman, host of the independent news broadcast Democracy Now! Inspired by the legendary audacious programming of talk show host Phil Donahue, the dogged, determined host of this hour-long daily independent broadcast aired on television, radio and the internet is fearless when it comes to asking the tough questions (a tactic that, regrettably, often gets journalists sidelined) and pursuing the stories that virtually no one else is covering. In that vein, Goodman is one who never backs down, even if it means venturing into volatile hotspots, facing the prospect of arrest (or worse), or being routinely ridiculed or ignored for the relentless earnestness of her efforts. Through the years, though, she has courageously stormed the castle in reporting on such stories as the heinous 1991 East Timor massacre by US-trained Indonesian troops; a 1998 organized campaign of violence and intimidation by foreign oil companies against Nigerian locals in the takeover of their native land; the suspect official reporting on the environmental toxicity from the 9/11 attacks in New York; the fabricated justification for the US War on Iraq; the suppression, arrests and beatings of reporters at the 2008 Republican National Convention in St. Paul, MN; and the ongoing obfuscation of the truth on multiple fronts by the two Trump Administrations. Many of these stories have been ignored or significantly downplayed by the mainstream media, though those outlets are often quick to pick up footage and reporting by the Democracy Now! team when it suits their needs, a practice that Goodman actually encourages as a means to get the word out, even going so far as to adopt the official catchphrase for her broadcast that also serves as the title of this film. It’s also noteworthy how all this has been accomplished without any government or commercial funding, its financial footing sustained entirely by individual contributors and foundation donations. In addition to detailing Goodman’s storied career, this documentary from directors Carl Deal and Tia Lessin also offers a profile of the protagonist’s off-camera life, including her upbringing in a Long Island Jewish household firmly committed to the principles of justice, advocacy and the truth, illustrating the roots from which her noble calling arose. The film further documents Goodman’s efforts at developing and mentoring a dedicated team of colleagues, including show co-hosts Juan González and Nermeen Shaikh and reporters Jeremy Scahill and Sharif Abdel Koudduous. All of this is skillfully told through an impressive collection of archive footage and recent interviews, taking viewers inside the broadcast and the incidents that became an integral part of her work. In doing so, “Steal This Story, Please!” shows how Goodman is one journalist who still manages to walk her talk at a time when that practice has virtually vanished in the mass media. Indeed, that’s perhaps the point of this film that I admire most – it’s willingness to unflinchingly outline how mainstream news outlets have declined and why the efforts of journalists like Goodman have become so vital. As a trained and onetime-practicing journalist myself, I have been saddened to see what has happened to the vocation that I chose for what I thought would end up being my life’s work. And it’s because of that that I have chosen today, May 1 – May Day – as the publication date for this critique, all in the hope that the timely calendar reference will help to reinforce the urgency of the message behind this film, the work of its protagonist and what it means for us as a society.

What makes something funny? That’s debatable, especially since it’s such a subjective topic to begin with. But one thing is certain – being successful at it takes a formula that works and does so consistently, something that may be more difficult to realize than what one might think. However, those who achieve this goal are also likely to attain legendary status, an accomplishment widely accorded to Lorne Michaels, longtime producer of the late night sketch comedy TV show Saturday Night Live. For 45 of the past 50 years, Michaels has worked his magic in creating big laughs with a singular blend of humor that has reshaped the artform and become an undeniably integral part of contemporary American culture. He has also helped launch the careers of countless performers who have gone on to fame, fortune and artistic notoriety. But how has he done it? As an enigmatic, comparatively reclusive figure in the entertainment industry, he has rarely given up many of the secrets of his success, such as determining exactly what’s funny, how to find and cultivate the talent of an array of virtual unknowns, and how to outlast the inflated opinions of many network executives who thought they knew how to do things better (but didn’t). Those are among the revelations brought to light in this eye-opening new documentary from filmmaker Morgan Neville, the accomplished director of such releases as “20 Feet from ****” (2013) and “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?” (2018). This offering examines a typical week in the production cycle of the show (one that often feels very much like a “seat of one’s pants” undertaking), intercut with archive footage from Michaels’ career (including stints as a writer for Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In (1969) and writer-producer of the Emmy Award-winning Lily Tomlin Special (1975)), clips from SNL through the years, and interviews with those who have worked with him as writers, producers and performers through the years. There’s also footage from some of his side projects, such as the TV series The Kids in the Hall (1988-1995) and 30 Rock (2006-2013), along with movie projects like “Three Amigos!” (1986) and SNL spinoff films like “Wayne’s World” (1992) and “Coneheads” (1993). In addition, the picture spotlights the outrageous and frequently silly humor and bold casting choices that have characterized much of the protagonist’s work, qualities that have come to distinguish it (and him) in the field of comedy for its brashness, unpredictability and willingness to push envelopes that some might find offensive, especially in the area of political satire. But one noteworthy quality that sets this documentary apart from the director’s other projects is the mischievous way it plays with the audience in telling its subject’s story: Given that Michaels is famously known as someone who roguishly likes to toy with others’ minds with his perfectly deadpan delivery, Neville does the same in presenting “the facts” of Michaels’ biography, often with hilarious, cleverly animated sequences, a delightful touch that keeps viewers guessing and is seldom employed in the often-deadly serious art of documentary filmmaking. Admittedly, there are times (especially early in the film) when this release feels a little “too inside” for its own good, as if it’s relying too heavily on material that only those closest to Michaels would fully be able to appreciate and understand. But, once the film gets past this, it provides audiences with a fun, nostalgic stroll down memory lane, providing insights into the mind of a comedic genius who is in a field by himself – and deservedly so.

It’s frightening how quickly, easily and seemingly innocuously circumstances in society can change (and in a wide range of areas, too). One day you’re leading a tranquil, happy life and the next you’re a pariah under the scrutiny of a totalitarian, cult-like sociopolitical movement (conditions to which many of us can probably relate these days). Such is the experience of Ellen and Paul Taylor (Diane Lane, Kyle Chandler), a college professor and restaurateur, respectively, who are celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary with family and friends. But this festive occasion is undercut by the appearance of an unexpected guest, Liz Nettles (Phoebe Dynevor), the new girlfriend of the couple’s son, Josh (Dylan O’Brien), an unsuccessful novelist. Her presence is a source of quiet but undeniable disruption, given that she was once one of Ellen’s students at Georgetown University. Liz was perceived by Ellen and her peers as a dangerously radical student who advocated for a strictly dogmatic one-party government, a so-called symbol of “a united population,” backed by the considerable resources of a corporate conglomerate imbued with sweeping powers. And now, as the author of a best-selling manifesto supporting her ultra-conservative ideology, she has become the poster child for a broad-based sociopolitical movement known as “The Change,” one not unlike that seen in director Frank Capra’s “Meet John Doe” (1941) but condescendingly fueled by control and manipulation rather than kindness and compassion. Over the course of the next five years, as the movement and the clout wielded by Liz and Josh grow, they begin exerting significant influence over Ellen, Paul and their three daughters (Madeline Brewer, Zoey Deutch, Mckenna Grace), efforts that tear the family apart. This horrific experience carries a huge cost, one that’s often maddening, heartbreaking and difficult to watch but one that, as a potent cautionary tale, also shouldn’t be ignored. Writer-director Jan Komasa’s gripping morality play strongly advises us to remain vigilant under circumstances like these lest we fall prey to them ourselves, examples of which we have already seen in contemporary American society. In that regard, there’s a decidedly edge-of-your-seat quality that pervades the narrative, steadily building as the story unfolds and often coming across as shocking but, sadly, not as inconceivable. This is made possible by the film’s fine, credible writing and the excellent performances of the ensemble, most notably Lane, who turns in yet another superb portrayal. While the characters at times appear monodimensional, that’s not entirely unexpected in a tale like this where they essentially double as archetypal figures in a philosophical milieu. Viewers should also note that the film may leave a disheartening impression on them, a quality that may have contributed to its extremely short theatrical run in late October 2025. Nevertheless, neither of those attributes diminishes the excellence of this below-the-radar offering. “Anniversary” is one of those pictures that tactfully but unabashedly shouts at audience members to pay attention to what it has to say given the stakes involved both for us as individuals but also collectively as a society with a questionably viable future.

As we approach the finish lines of our lives, we often take time to reflect back on how we’ve spent the years of our existence. It’s a process that allows us to take stock of who we are and how we’ve lived, and it frequently provides a means to help us make decisions about any remaining unfinished business we may have. However, such soul-searching may also leave us with more questions than answers at a time when we need such clarity most, the alternative being pervasive indecisiveness that can be crippling. Such are the quandaries faced by aging Italian Presidente Mariano De Santis (Tony Servillo), a popular leader who’s nearing the end of his term. However, despite the ample respect and admiration he has earned as an accomplished jurist and head of state, he’s facing his last days in office with a palpable sense of dread and ennui both politically and personally. As a widower who has been on his own for eight years and the father of two children he barely knows, he’s essentially lonely and not particularly looking forward to the assumed freedom that will come with retirement. In the meantime, these circumstances have left him largely disinterested in his official duties, unengaged in matters of state and all too willing to delegate many of his duties to his daughter and primary aide, Dorotea (Anna Ferzetti). Instead, he spends much of his time brooding, reflecting on his past, most notably memories of his wife, Aurora (Giorgia Liguori), the love of his life who betrayed him when her younger self (Elisa Perolini) had an affair, an incident that broke his heart even though it did not lead to divorce. But, despite the anguish that this and other episodes have caused him, he’s somehow managed to always land on his feet. It’s an asset that has served him well and could potentially prove valuable as he faces some crucial decisions once out of office and in his final days at the helm, such as those involving a pair of controversial pardons and the signing of a publicly divisive euthanasia law. It’s as if he’s living in a state of la grazia (grace), but is he capable of truly appreciating it and putting it to use? That’s the dilemma he must resolve as he seeks to overcome a bout of paralyzing indecision, both for what he’s facing currently and what he’s likely to face down the road as he enters the next phase of his life. As in many of his other films, writer-director Paolo Sorrentino has again knocked it out of the park, much as he did in pictures like “The Great Beauty” (“La grande bellazza”) (2013), “Youth” (2015) and “The Hand of God” (“È stata la mano di Dio”) (2021). In fact, a good case could be made for designating “La Grazia” as his best work, an eloquent meditation on the nature of its namesake and a beautiful, nuanced, multilayered character study about a complex, vulnerable protagonist who shows that, no matter how intelligent and insightful one might seem, it’s still wholly probable to find oneself lost and searching. This is all made possible here by Servillo’s stellar performance, an astutely written screenplay, gorgeous cinematography and an emotive original score. In fact, this offering has so much going for it that I find it hard to believe how it was inexplicably overlooked for consideration in the recently completed movie awards season, a release on par with and very much in the same vein as the Oscar-winning “Sentimental Value” (“Affeksjonsverdi”). Admittedly, the picture is a little stretched out in the final act, but, otherwise, it ably fires on all cylinders, bringing to life a story based in part on the lives of several recent Italian presidents. While this thoughtful release didn’t attract much attention in its brief theatrical run, it has nevertheless found a home online and is well worth a look, especially for anyone facing the challenges that come with aging, indecision and ambivalence and the search for divine grace that can help us find our way through these ordeals.

It seems like, no matter where anyone goes in the world these days, there are bound to be long-simmering disagreements of different kinds that stubbornly defy resolution. The causes vary, too, from disproportionate economics to ethnic prejudice to social inequality to political squabbling to religious feuds, recurring dust-ups that transpire either alone or in combination with one another. And these conditions, in turn, generally evoke an array of responses, with some fueled by violence and spiteful name calling, others characterized by despondency and despair, and others still driven by well-meaning compassion that, regrettably, often faces an uphill battle to gain traction. But is this incessant discord any way to live? And is the routine neurotic handwringing it causes something to be tolerated? Those are among the questions posed in this latest offering from writer-director Radu Jude, a quirky but introspective look at life in Cluj, Romania, the country’s second largest city, located in the heart of the legendary province of Transylvania. This long-disputed territory sits in an area where the nation’s ethnic Hungarian and Romanian populations overlap, constituencies that have historically clashed with one another, with many everyday residents woefully caught in the crossfire as they try to figure out why life plays out as it does, a condition that many of us can no doubt relate to no matter where we may live. This conundrum plays out here through the experiences of Orsolya (Eszter Tompa), a former law professor-turned-court bailiff responsible for serving legal orders, such as eviction notices to squatters living in the city’s many older buildings, most of which are being rapidly snapped by developers looking to construct new housing and luxury hotels like the Kontinental. Orsolya struggles earnestly to be helpful and understanding to those down on their luck. But, when legally sanctioned leniency runs out, she’s compelled to enforce the law, as happens in the case of Ion (Gabriel Spahiu), an aging former athlete who’s fallen prey to the ravages of alcoholism, gambling addiction and homelessness. However, when hopelessness prompts Ion to commit suicide, Orsolya is wracked with guilt. She feels responsible for his death, even though she was simply abiding by the law. The event launches her into a fit of soul-searching, sending her on a quest for absolution and meaning that leads to a series of conversations with anyone who will listen, including a friend (Oana Mardare), an Orthodox priest (Serban Pavlu), a former student from her teaching days (Adonia Tanta) and her curmudgeonly prejudiced mother (Annámaria Biluska), among others. Admittedly, the narrative can become rather circular at times as she repeatedly recounts the story of Ion’s demise, but the wide-ranging insights that emerge during the dialogues with her confidantes present different and unique spins on her circumstances and life at large in contemporary Romania, often punctuated with humor that’s dark, plainspoken and “earthy.” While “Kontinental” is arguably the filmmaker’s most “conventional” entry in his cinematic repertoire, the picture nevertheless skillfully incorporates its share of his signature off-the-wall situational humor, too – crazy cinematic segments that make one wonder how in blazes he came up with these ideas in the first place. Not everything in this release works, of course, but there are certainly more than a few moments of utterly inspired brilliance that successfully keep viewers curiously captivated, sequences reminiscent of scenes from some of the director’s other earlier absurdist offerings like “Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn” (2021) and “Do Not Expect Too Much From the End of the World” (2023). Jude’s films are definitely an acquired taste, to say the least, but they’re rarely dull, and, this time out, he serves up a lot to think about on the side as well.

Most of us are no doubt familiar with the expression “You think you know somebody,” an often-highly disillusioned reaction that arises when we become aware of some kind of previously unknown deception involving someone that runs contrary to our beliefs about that person’s nature. The impact can be severe, too, particularly when it relates to someone close and centers on an especially shocking revelation. So imagine what it must be like when one learns something appalling about one’s fiancée only a few days before the wedding. What effect will such news have on the ceremony, not to mention the prospect of spending the rest of one’s life with that individual? That’s the question raised in this new dark comedy-drama from writer-director Kristoffer Borgli. As Charlie (Robert Pattinson) and Emma (Zendaya) finalize the details of their wedding day over drinks with their matron of honor, Rachel (Alana Haim), and best man, Michael (Mamoudou Athie), an impromptu conversation inadvertently leads to a lurid disclosure by the bride-to-be while in an inebriated state. To say more here would reveal too much, suffice it to say, however, that Emma’s unplanned admission upsets the entire apple cart – the ceremony, the continued participation of the wedding party members and even the future viability of the couple’s relationship. As the fallout unfolds and intensifies, viewers learn through flashbacks with the bride’s younger self (Jordyn Curet) how this scenario came into being, disclosures that raise even more questions and lead to an array of disruptive complications on multiple fronts. And, in the process, the narrative raises a host of hypothetical questions related to judgmentalism, atonement and forgiveness as examined from a variety of contradictory and complementary perspectives. It also places a very revealing mirror in front of each of the principals, exposing much about the character of these characters. Examinations of one’s own past thus come front and center, raising speculation about who among us has a legitimate right to be the one to cast the first stone. Therein lies “the drama” of “The Drama,” but this element is handled in a manner that’s far from being entirely dark. Indeed, much of the story falls back on wry wit and inspired satire with a hefty helping of in-your-face, no-holds-barred candor, the kind that might readily make some audience members squirm uncomfortably in their seats. As a consequence, this is a film that might well rub many viewers the wrong way, primarily because its content might hit a little too close to home. But, then, that’s not to be unexpected from a filmmaker known for readily drawing upon such sensibilities, as was seen in his most recent work, the masterfully crafted “Dream Scenario” (2023). Filmmaker Borgli has, arguably, topped that effort here in a film that’s superbly performed by its excellent ensemble cast (especially its two leads), an effort backed by its razor-sharp writing, deliciously devious plot twists and skillful film editing. Its many edgy sequences are punctuated with themes reminiscent of Woody Allen’s “Crimes and Misdemeanors” (1989) and segments staged not unlike those found in Bernhard Wenger’s “Peacock” (“Pfau – bin ich echt?”) (2024), qualities that place this offering in decidedly fine company. I’ll be the first to admit that “The Drama” won’t appeal to everyone, but those who appreciate its many risky virtues are sure to be riveted by this insightful production, one chock full of pathos, soul-searching and guilty chuckles, the kind of film that one won’t soon forget – and that just might leave us all a little more contrite in the end.