A sure-fire, if somewhat overlong crowd pleaser, Blinded by the Light does a fine job of illustrating the various ways that pop culture can pick us up when we’re feeling down, but also how fandom and adulation can become a crutch.
While it doesn’t take much to improve upon its predecessor, the mediocre, yet competent animated sequel The Angry Birds Movie 2 isn’t anything particularly worth crowing about.
Although it might be biting off more than it can convincingly chew in a single sitting, the smartly written and exceptionally acted drama Luce is great examination of the muddy nature of modern discourse, human selfishness, race, and societal expectations, among other things.
Visually astounding, but narratively sloppy and tiresome, Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark in no way improves upon its creepy source material.
Avi Belkin’s uniquely mounted biographical documentary Mike Wallace is Here looks at one of television journalism’s most indispensable and controversial luminaries.
Predictable, uninspired, and stretched as thin as it could possible go, writer, director, and star Casey Affleck’s father-daughter drama Light of My Life takes forever to go absolutely nowhere interesting.
With only three feature documentaries to her credit thus far, Nanfu Wang has already established herself as one of the best nonfiction filmmakers of all time, and the wrenchingly personal and politically loaded One Child Nation is her finest and most important work yet.
Making an attempt to grow along with a fanbase that might’ve aged out of its source material, the live-action, family adventure-comedy Dora and the Lost City of Gold is a bit of a gamble, but one that pays off fairly well.
While The Art of Racing in the Rain lays the dramatic contrivances, manipulative narrative twists, and half-assed philosophizing on just as some other recent movies about wise, old dogs have, there’s no questioning that director Simon Curtis and screenwriter Mark Bomback have come up with a somewhat identical sounding story offered up in a vastly preferable, less patronizing manner.
The documentary Barbara Rubin and the Exploding NY Underground is as close as we’re likely to get to a genuine biography of one of cinema’s most elusive artists and psychologically toughest nuts to crack.