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If the relationship at the heart of biopic snapshot Being The Ricardos - between Nicole Kidman's Lucille Ball and Javier Bardem's Desi Arnaz - is a rocky one, the same cannot be said of the marriage between Aaron Sorkin's scriptwriting and Ball's quick-witted humour, which is one made in heaven. The writer, also directing here, has come under fire a lot in the past for his writing of female characters, a criticism he avoided adding to with 2020s The Trial Of The Chicago 7 by dint of its virtual all-male cast, but he has a ball with Ball and her cohorts, serving up dialogue as sharp and springy as an elastic band snapped against a wrist.

As with the Chicago 7, the truth is in here somewhere, but it's served up Sorkin style, so that he takes different events from Ball and Arnaz's marriage - an accusation of Communist activity, a gossip magazine revelation of a potential affair by Arnaz and an announcement that Ball is pregnant - and puts them into the pressure cooker of a single week on the set as they prepare for an episode of the second season of the show in 1952. He also employs a clever framing device, which sees the, now much older, writers, reminisce about the show, which allows him to dip in and out of the past without being too jarring. A further strategy takes us into the mind of Ball as, at intervals, she imagines how scenes of the show will play out, scenes rendered by Sorkin in black and white.

This might sound like a lot of mechanics but the pieces fit together surprisingly well thanks to Sorkin's breezy dialogue, which keeps us with Ball as she tries to navigate her personal problems while still keeping her show on top. While it's hard to completely lose yourself in Kidman's performance, simply because she is such a well known actress in her own right, she is helped by Sorkin introducing both her and Arnaz from the feet up, so that we can briefly appreciate both her and Bardem's voice work without the conflict of recognising the actors beneath the make-up.

Not only does she get the tone of Ball right, Kidman also captures the comedy star's forthright energy, an essential fearlessness and truthfulness about herself that Sorkin also evidently admires. Whether it's her refusal to lie about why she "ticked a box" or her persistence in trying to make a scene more funny in the face of opposition from her executive producer Jess Oppenheimer (Tony Hale), she never opts for taking the easy way out. Even if you're no fan of the original series - something Sorkin nods to in a conversation between Ball and the lone woman writer Madelyn Pugh (Alia Shawkat) - you'll be hard pressed not to fall for Kidman's portrayal of a woman who knew and wasn't afraid to speak her mind.

Bardem is solid in support as the Cuban Arnaz, the energy between he and Ball fizzy and believable, although as you might expect, Sorkin gives Ball all the best lines - even finding room for the most unexpected jump scare I've seen on film in a long time. Character is key, however, and there's a palpable sense of Ball being torn about believing Arnaz and her anxiety about her ability to create a sort of "home" with him onset that she can't manufacture off, but Sorkin never belittles her, treating both her talent and her troubles with seriousness beneath the surface laughs. He also spares more than a thought for her co-star Vivian Vance (Nina Ariadna), who is struggling with being stuck in the role of dowdy Ethel, giving Ariadna plenty to work with as Vivian spars with her grumpy older co-star William Frawley (JK Simmons).

Although Sorkin, as a director, struggled with the bigger crowd scenes in Chicago 7, here he's back on much firmer ground, within the goldfish bowl of the writers' room environment, and the studio stage, that though historic examples of type, must strike a chord with his own experience on television shows.

Some of the production values are on the weak side, particularly the lighting, which is oddly muted, given that films made for streaming services are generally overlit if anything - and there is something very odd about Ball's hair colour, which moves between pure ginger and something much more auburn seemingly on a whim. You may not completely love Lucy by the end of it but you will get a sense of what it was like to be a woman like her in that particular era - which is just as impressive an accomplishment.

From "True Colors" to "I'm Coming Out" to the Gorillaz' "Clint Eastwood," Mike Mitchell and Walt Dohrn's Trolls goes all in on being a jukebox musical. If otherworldly creatures belting out pop hits makes you nervous (perhaps you're still flashing back on Strange Magic, shudder to think), you might find yourself nonplussed in the theater. These songs, it turns out, are the best parts of the movie. It's everything else that's wrong.

The Trolls, based on the dolls with the hair, live carefree in a blissful, wooded community, having years hence escaped lives of captivity under the rule of the giant, grumpy Bergens. When they are again discovered and a (literal) handful of them are taken, Princess Poppy (Anna Kendrick) teams up with Bergen expert and sullen outcast Branch (Justin Timberlake) to mount a rescue mission.

Trolls' attempts at humor are like the last ten years' worth of sitcoms copied down to the umpteenth generation until the jokes have become thin and hollow echoes. Jokes, in fact, is too strong a word. In place of humor or comedic characters, our protagonists affect a sort of weary smarm, reacting to one another with long pauses and stares or with a curt, dismissive, "That's weird." Perhaps that's preferable, though, to the Trolls' other mode, which panders to the young audience of a few years ago, when the movie was likely written, by having characters shout things like "OMG!" or, most embarrassingly, "YOLO!"

However, when this patience-trying dialogue goes away for a few minutes, a seemingly entirely different film emerges. The musical numbers (as well as the occasional action or chase sequence) are whimsical, unpredictable delights. Poppy's journey to Bergentown, for instance, is told over the course of a single song but in a montage that gives us a tour of the varied and interesting locales of this fantasy realm. Most of these dreamy song segments remove us from the physical world of the film, inventively employing a felt and paper visual motif that recalls Poppy's scrapbooking hobby.

Poppy's arts and crafts are just a taste of the many pleasures the Trolls find in their world. Bergens, on the other hand, can only feel happy by eating Trolls, or so we're told. Eventually, we arrive at the thematic point of the film, wherein we learn that happiness is not something you put inside yourself. It's already there and you just need to bring it out. It's a surprisingly and unconvincingly anti-consumerist message for a movie based on toys.

Trolls might be worth a dollar or two at the Redbox where you can just skip ahead to the music and action vignettes that bring it to life. When it comes to characters, story and personality, though, the movie's as thin as a wisp of brightly colored hair.

Time. The beauty of time is that it's a great equalizer. Whoever you are, you always have 24 hours in a day, 7 days in a week, 12 months in a year.

There's a saying that time is money. What happens then if time replaces money as currency? Something that must be earned or traded in order to extend your life? Isn't survival of the fittest unfair? But if you could, would you choose to live forever? How long do you think until enough is enough?

I first heard about "In Time" during this year's Comic-Con and was most intrigued by the premise. In this alternate reality, everyone is genetically engineered with an internal timer and aging stops at the age of 25. Once you hit 25, you would only have one year to live. If you can't extend your clock, you die.

Society is divided into "time zones" that segregate the rich from the poor. Timekeepers enforce order in order to prevent overpopulation. The haves, with excess amount of time, have the privilege to live to eternity. The have-nots live on a day-to-day basis and struggle without the possibility of upward mobility. Those who can't earn, beg, borrow or steal time, zero out their clock and die on the streets from a fatal shock to the heart.

Will Salas (Justin Timberlake, "The Social Network"), a laborer with a good heart, saves a wealthy man, Henry Hamilton (Matt Bomer) from time thugs led by 'Fortis' (Alex Pettyfer, "I am Number Four"). The suicidal man who possesses more than a hundred years has decided that he's done with life and donates all his time to Will, unbeknownst to him. Tragically, Will couldn't arrive in the nick of time to transfer some of his time to prolong his mother's (Olivia Wilde, "Tron Legacy") life.

With his newfound lease on life, Will gets out of the ghetto, skips zones and arrives at the well-to-do's doorsteps, with the intention of taking away what they've got. Having the wealth of time allows him to mingle with the well-off and catches the eye of an heiress, Sylvia Weis (Amanda Seyfried, "Letters to Juliet") . She's the daughter of billionaire Philippe Weis (Vincent Kartheiser). It's like a twilight zone to see Philippe's mother-in-law, wife and daughter all appear to be the same age, frozen in time.

When timekeepers, headed by Raymond Leon (Cillian Murphy, "Inception"), finds Henry's body and a security camera leads them to Will, Will becomes a wanted man, falsely accused of murder. He ensnares Sylvia, who eventually becomes his accomplice in his "Robin Hood" mode, in a race for survival and to distribute the gift of life to those less fortunate.

Aside from the futuristic aspect, the thought-provoking premise isn't helped by a mediocre script, a pace that drags and cardboard characters. There are chunks of Bonnie-and-Clyde actions with Will and Sylvia on the run. Actions that become rather lifeless after a while. A standout scene, of all things, is an arm-wrestling between Will and Fortis, a clever way for Will to gain time.

"In Time" is stylistically entertaining, but the story could have been a lot more developed.

The phenomena that made Alfonso Cuarón's admittedly funny Y Tu Mama Tambien the most popular film ever to be released in Mexico seems to be awfully similar to the one that made the sophomoric sex comedy American Pie such a hit here in the States. The movie's certainly as enamored with carnal mechanics as Pie was, and it's as flat out terrified of male homosexuality as that movie was, too. The serviceable road movie plot follows two pseudo-outsiders during the summer after high school graduation, but in terms of perceptiveness it doesn't even orbit Ghost World. Perhaps, it's because this film's protagonists are Julio and Tenoch, a duo of stoner teen boys that are mainly concerned with getting laid, instead of two intelligent girls that genuinely worry about their place in the world. The ambivalence of the main characters is pointed out time and again by Cuarón's roaming camera and omniscient voiceovers. Because of the vapidity of the leads, this coming of age tale lacks much in the way of emotional impact. The lead characters are moved profoundly by their experiences, but watching those events did little for me. I'm not saying that stupid people can't have moments of insight... just that watching them as they're having them doesn't profoundly move me.

After the duo becomes a trio, thanks to the accompaniment of Luisa (Maribel Verdú), a Spaniard that leaves her cheating husband to join the boys on a trip to the beach, the film attempts to throw a bit of weightiness into the mix. Poorly aping the New Wave classic Jules & Jim, the movie stumbles time and again because of Cuarón's ham fisted approach. The aforementioned voiceovers are used so often that they lose impact. They attempt to tell us the hidden truths that lie just outside the frame, but as the characters in the film observe, the truth is a nice ideal, but also unattainable. With this perception of truthfulness, the political context that their escapist story is placed into basically boils down to the not at all shocking revelation that affairs of state don't always operate as they appear to. The pot-fueled manifesto that the boys create is supposed to show how silly political agenda is, but it's the very definition of weak-minded satire. Worse yet, the narration manages to erase the few subtleties of character that crop up when it explicitly reveals the motivations behind the characters' actions.

Explicit (and not raunchy) is probably the most appropriate word to describe the film's sex scenes as well. Like the voice-overs, though, the initially refreshing feeling caused by their candor eventually is numbed because of their overuse. Also, the film seems to want us to think that these scenes are funny and sexy, but they felt more sad and pathetic to me than anything, suggesting there's a difference between the level of sexual explicitness and the level of sexual maturity. In any case, the obviously manipulative plot muffles any approximation of emotional reality that these scenes help stir up. When Luisa melodramatically asks "Don't you wish you could live forever?" she might as well cough up blood. Instead of an ending that suggests the things learned during the film will lead toward a revolution of sorts, the movie retreats into complacency and mock wisdom. Perhaps the lower degree of difficulty chosen to end the film with is preferable, because I doubt the cast would be up to a greater challenge. Verdú, in particular, fails to convey the mix of heartbreak and betrayal that her character must feel. Her moments of hurt simply don't. As the film rattles along like the car that moves the characters closer to their paradise, further layers of the truth continue to be revealed. Unfortunately, Y Tu Mamá También has a great distance to go before that truth becomes enlightening.

You have to tune in just to see Nicole Kidman and Judy Davis going head-to-head, but there's a lot more to enjoy in this poignant yet whimsical anthology series from GLOW creators Liz Flahive and Carly Mensch.

The series is based on a collection of short stories by Irish writer Cecelia Ahern, and each of the eight half-hour episodes brings its own splash of magical realism or Black Mirror-style sci-fi as it illuminates a different facet of female experience. Common themes wend throughout, but the tone of each individual episode is different.

There's a layered melancholy to Kidman's and Davis's episode, The Woman Who Ate Photographs, which is made all the more resonant by the nostalgic ordinariness of its Australian setting. Kidman plays a woman nearing the end of her tether as she sets off in a moving van to bring her Alzheimer's-afflicted mother (Davis) to live with her and her husband and son (Simon Baker and Kai Lewins), who aren't giving her quite the support that she needs.

It's fun to see Kidman slapping the steering wheel while singing along to Midnight Oil and Dexys Midnight Runners, but Australian director Kim Gehrig, who has made music videos for Chaka Khan and Brittany Howard, among others, extracts a real ache from the NSW scenery, not least the rural brick veneer in which Davis' character has been rattling around on her own.

Davis, who was so devastatingly brilliant recently in Nitram (Stan), produces another emotionally piercing performance as a woman who is by turns hostile, vulnerable, disapprovingly distant, mischievous and scared. The gulf between mother and daughter yawns like the Burragorang Valley in what is a memorable little piece of work.

GLOW fans, meanwhile, will particularly enjoy other episodes involving Alison Brie as a ghost investigating her own murder, and Betty Gilpin as a woman whose husband keeps her, quite literally, on a shelf - at least until she busts out into an old-timey dance number, whirling through a thoroughly modern and thoroughly bemused Los Angeles.

Issa Rae (Insecure) delivers a particularly strong performance in what is paradoxically one of the series' weaker episodes, about a successful black writer feeling increasingly invisible to the white showbiz world that's courting her; and Merritt Wever is typically amazing as a woman whose dead-end dating life takes a strange turn when she meets a charming male-feminist duck.

Streaming services are glutted with anthology series, but we still needed this one. Truthful, validating and sometimes just plain magical.

The 2021 Sundance Film Festival has begun, and it has kicked off the festivities with CODA. This charming coming-of-age story will most likely leave you in tears. While on the surface, it touches upon the usual topics of graduation, crushes, and social anxiety within a high school setting, the film is so much more than that.

CODA itself stands for Child of Deaf Adults. The film follows Ruby (Emilia Jones), the only hearing member in her deaf family. She's always there for her family, serving as an interpreter. However, all that begins to change when she joins her school's choir club. Her teacher (Eugenio Derbez) sees something special in her. Ruby's passion for music and singing then threatens to shake the foundations of her life.

The film was written and directed by Siân Heder. Her notable credits include executive producing and co-showrunning Little America for Apple. She's also worked on Orange is the New Black, Men of a Certain Age, and Glow. Her debut feature Tallulah had premiered at Sundance back in 2016 and was then distributed by Netflix. Her mission with CODA was to tell this heart-warming story as authentically as possible. The casting of deaf actors helps the film achieve this.

It is important to note that CODA succeeds on multiple levels because of its performances. The most memorable are those of the Rossi family played by Emilia Jones, Marlee Matlin as her mother, Troy Kotsur as her father, and Daniel Durant as her brother. Emilia consistently breathes life into every scene she's in while her counterparts create a humorous and nurturing environment.

Another outstanding performance was that of Eugenio Derbez as choirmaster Bernardo Villalobos. Being able to maintain his cultural roots as a Mexican actor brings another layer to who his character is as it seamlessly integrates into his background. Beyond a music teacher, he is a man with personality, impeccable comedic timing, and a worldly view that benefits Ruby on her journey. He essentially serves as a guiding light and mentor. Any scene where they are together is a delight to watch.

The film itself is reminiscent of the 2002 dramedy Real Women Have Curves and will most likely appeal to fans of it. Similar to Patricia Cardoso's work, Heder captures not only the hardships of the final moments of the high school years and the anxiety of what's to come but the divergence between the identity we choose for ourselves and the one placed upon us by our loved ones. Many times Ruby and her mother Jackie Rossi do not see eye-to-eye, especially when it comes to music.

Think of "Punch-Drunk Love" as a palate cleanser in Paul Thomas Anderson's extraordinary career. After his two long, high-calorie epics of the San Fernando Valley--"Boogie Nights" and "Magnolia"--this is sorbet. Who would have guessed that he'd follow those anguished meditations with a 90-minute Adam Sandler romantic comedy? But before you get too comfortable with that notion, let it be said that Anderson, one of the most exciting American filmmakers of his generation, is incapable of making a romantic comedy that resembles any other. "Punch-Drunk Love" is one dark, strange-tasting sorbet, its sweetness shot through with startling, unexpected flavors. It's a romantic comedy on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Indeed, for the first mysterious, unsettling and absolutely mesmerizing 30 minutes, there's no way of predicting where this tale may be heading, or what genre it belongs to. Sandler, dressed in a bright blue jacket and tie, plays Barry Egan, a fearful, volatile, socially maladroit salesman of novelty plumbing items (his dice-and-money toilet plunger sells big in Vegas). A borderline agoraphobe who's picked on by his seven sisters, he lives alone in a sterile Valley apartment, is prone to sudden violent outbursts of rage and is obsessed with his scheme to acquire 1.5 million frequent-flier miles by buying Healthy Choice pudding. Never mind that he has never been on an airplane and has no intention to travel. That is, until he meets his sister's adorable friend Lena (a luminous Emily Watson), who inspires the love-struck Barry to follow her on a business trip to Honolulu. He will also make it to Utah to confront the extortionist (Philip Seymour Hoffman) who has sent four menacing Mormon brothers to threaten his life, all because, one lonely night, he called a sex-phone service and foolishly gave them his credit-card number.

Like Jon Brion's schizoid musical score, which is liltingly romantic one moment and abrasively percussive the next, "Punch-Drunk Love" is determined to throw you off balance. Sandler's performance keeps you guessing when, where and whether this self-hating, painfully self-conscious man might explode. There is danger lurking under his bland exterior, visible to everyone but Lena, who sees only... what? This is the mystery, and the problem, at the heart of the movie. You must take Lena's love for Barry on faith, for her character is seriously underwritten. What does she see in the guy? Why would she commit herself to him, rather than have him committed? The bravura filmmaking (there's not a dull shot in the whole movie) dazzles you from start to finish, but the movie is an emotional jigsaw puzzle that's missing a couple of crucial pieces. Anderson has willed "Punch-Drunk Love" to be a romantic comedy; its powerful undercurrents, however, keep tugging it in other, darker directions, resulting in a movie more amazing than satisfying.

Nanny has all the makings of something that is right up my alley but unfortunately it just isn't done well. Sure, it is visually stunning for the most part, but the story is confusing and all over the place. By the time the big reveal comes at the end, most viewers will have already completely checked out.

Right from the start this movie is slow and uninteresting. Aisha (Anna Diop), an undocumented immigrant from Senegal, takes a job as a nanny to a rich couple. She instantly connects with their young daughter Rose, which is good, because she spends far more time with her than the parents do. There are glimpses of both the mother and the father touching Aisha, or being suggestive towards her, but overall this part of the story is bizarre and completely unnecessary.

Throughout the course of the movie weird things start to happen. Aisha begins to have all sorts of strange happenings that involve water, spiders, and snakes. These are reoccurring themes in bad dreams or hallucinations, and they happen without explanation. As viewers try to figure it all out, things just go off the deep end, and nothing makes sense.

Aisha is constantly talking about bringing her son, who is currently staying with her cousin, to the United States, and is very concerned with getting paid on time so she can fly him there to live. She doesn't talk to him very often, which I guess can be explained by her long hours as a nanny? But as a mother myself I promise you I would make sure to talk to my child at least every other day or so.

There are several things introduced that never amount to anything. For example, both Aisha and Rose's father make a big deal about mold growing on the ceiling in Aisha's room, but then nothing comes of it. In an effort to avoid spoilers, I can't dive into one of the major plot points that irked me, but I will say there was no reason to hide something from someone, and it feels completely insane that anyone would ever do that - and then blame it on them when they were not even there.

I adore Anna Diop so it really hurts me to say that this movie just did not work for me. It felt like all the makings of an interesting story are there, it just wasn't executed well. So many of the hallucination dreams, or whatever they are, feel completely out of place. At one point a weird mermaid shows up and that is about the moment I was over it.

Nanny tries to lay the groundwork for a surprise twist ending, but instead it makes it almost completely obvious from the start, with only the circumstances surrounding it hard to predict. The final few moments are spent flashing forward in time very quickly to explain what happens to Aisha - another unnecessary addition to the film.

Overall Nanny is just a complete mess that doesn't work on almost any level. The only saving grace here is that the visuals are gorgeous at times, but that isn't enough to make this film even remotely worth watching. Most viewers will be left wondering what the heck they just watched, and why they just wasted ninety minutes of their life.

It's been said that there are only two types of stories: "a person goes on a journey" and "a stranger comes to town." And in director Darren Aronofsky's new movie mother!, boy howdy, does a stranger come to town.

Jennifer Lawrence and Javier Bardem live alone in a large house seemingly out in the middle of nowhere. One day, Ed Harris shows up at their door, with some story about being misinformed that their house is a bed and breakfast. Bardem, inexplicably enamored of Harris, invites him to stay the night. Before long, Harris's wife, played by Michelle Pfeiffer, shows up, also unannounced, at which point Bardem invites the both of them to stay, despite Lawrence's clear confusion and objections.

But it's possible I've already said too much. I went into mother! Knowing literally nothing about the movie other than its director, and I have to say, I can't imagine any other way of seeing it. There are clear allegories at work, much of which becomes entirely obvious in the closing credits, but I'm even reluctant to mention what those are referencing, for fear of coloring the experience of the sheer insanity and chaos that watching mother! Presents.

Yes, sheer insanity and chaos. I realize I haven't said anything yet that would lead a person to expect that, but that's part of the glory of watching mother! Unfold-we have no idea what we're getting ourselves into, and we almost can't believe what we're seeing. I sat the entire movie with my eyes wide open and my jaw dropped. It's crazy and difficult and horrifying. To say that mother! Isn't for everyone is an extraordinary understatement: many, many people will hate, hate, hate this movie. I've seen an article calling it not just the worst movie of the year, but possibly of the century. The divide between those who love it and those who hate it is stark and harsh.

But I have to say... I pretty much loved it. I haven't seen a movie that just goes for it like this since Mad Max: Fury Road, and it owes a definite debt to surrealist films of the past, which gives me a kind of excited charge. You may think it's high art or garbage, but this movie is a singular experience. Whatever happens, mother! Will leave you with an opinion.

Destin Daniel Cretton will soon join the ranks of indie directors who have made the leap to superhero moviemaking with Shang-Chi and The Legend of the Ten Rings, due out in 2021. Just Mercy, however, is all about real life heroism. Based on the true story of American lawyer and activist Bryan Stevenson's work to help innocent death row inmates and the founding of his Equal Justice Initiative organisation, the powerful performances are just about enough to counterbalance the clichés of a familiar, if urgent story.

The innocent man at the heart of Just Mercy is Walter 'Johnny D' McMillian (Jamie Foxx) - arrested for the murder of a White woman despite there being ample evidence to the contrary, he's facing death via electric chair when the idealistic Stevenson (Michael B. Jordan) arrives in Alabama, determined to help.

Most legal dramas focus on the protagonist working tirelessly to find the necessary evidence to win the day, but in Just Mercy the struggle is against the systemic racism of the US judicial system that's engineered to put Black people like McMillian behind bars under the pretence of law enforcement. Cretton deserves credit for not shying away from showing just how rife the corruption is, with Stevenson being subjected to bigotry at practically every turn. That said there are very few risks taken with the storytelling, and the film's procedural structure hits all the beats you might expect.

Thankfully, the performances elevate the film beyond its limiting conventions. Jordan has long excelled at portraying intense emotions with restraint, and as the initially naïve Stevenson comes to terms with the situation he finds himself in, the Black Panther star continually finds new layers of nuance. For the most part, Foxx's McMillian - who remains understandably cautious with his hopefulness throughout - is similarly reserved, but the performance is all the more powerful for it and deserving of all the awards consideration it has received.

The third part of the impressive acting trifecta belongs to Rob Morgan. Playing Herbert Richardson, a Vietnam War veteran struggling with PTSD while facing the death penalty, his is a heartbreaking turn from an underrated actor at the top of his game. It's in these quiet, intimate moments that the film is at its most complex and three-dimensional as opposed to broad and routine. It's a shame that more of these moments weren't gifted to Brie Larson, who's not given enough to do as Stevenson's co-worker Eva Ansley.

Still, there's something to be said for a film that spotlights how much work needs to be done to fix a broken system. Even though Stevenson and McMillian's battle took place in the 1980s, it feels timely and relevant. Just Mercy is a story worth telling and, thanks to the emotionally stirring performances, worth watching too.

For a film that begins with the remark "this is the truth, sorry", The Fault in Our Stars could up its honesty quotient. Slickly made and very nicely acted within the confines allowed by the script, Josh Boone's adaptation of John Green's young-adult blockbuster novel nonetheless can't help but sell candour (not to mention plausibility) down a tear-laden river in its tale of young love cut short by cancer.

I was more or less going along with a narrative that sells its lack of sentimentality like a badge of honour - until a scene set at the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam of such startling insensitivity and phoniness that all the movie's faults suddenly come crashing down around it.

To backtrack, this is the tale of Hazel Grace Lancaster (Shailene Woodley, making her bid for the big time), an indrawn 16-year-old with a conspicuous lack of friends who was diagnosed age 13 with cancer, since which time she wears plastic tubing to help her breathe and carries around a portable oxygen tank as a visual reminder of the baggage - both physiological and psychic - that her illness has brought with it. Wry, sardonic, and determined not to milk her ailment for easy bathos, Hazel finds her self-containment thrown amorously off-guard by the arrival in her life of Augustus Waters (Ansel Elgort), a dashing, witty 18-year-old who has lost part of one leg to cancer. Completing the adolescent triptych is Gus's great friend Isaac (the winning Nat Wolff, an alumnus of Boone's 2013 film Stuck in Love), who is going blind and spends most of the film sightless, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

One instead waits in vain for any of the characters to be resentful or dangerously angry or even to indulge the self-pity that is theirs by right, and one includes in this parents who on this evidence constitute a supremely self-sacrificing lot, the excellent Laura Dern and Sam Trammell as Hazel's mum and dad chief among them. (The two are pictured above left.) A final meltdown from Gus notwithstanding, our central pair ultimately come across as ever-attractive, always-engaging poster children for forbearance. Where are the abrasions - the rough-and-tumble of the soul as well as the distress to the body - that arrive all too fully with illness? On this evidence, they remain tucked away behind preternatural poise until such time as there is a cue for tears. This movie can parade its "truth" as much as it likes, but I for one don't buy it.

The danger zone for sequels is merely rehashing what worked before and hoping the audience didn't notice the lack of quality or care in the midst of six-packs, beach games, and high-flying jets--something "Top Gun: Maverick" wisely avoids.

When you're in the company of Hollywood's tireless Maverick in Tom Cruise, premium entertainment is promised. Nostalgia and emotional resonance in old yet viable characters is the icing on the cake in Joseph Kosinski's sequel. It's been over 30 years since Cruise's Pete Mitchell aggressively took to the skies to steal the hearts of 80s romantics and beat the bad guys in the end, but little rust can be seen on the new film. He's still pushing the limits of the marriage between the aircraft and the sky in the opening scene, flying a brand-new updated jet through the clouds fast enough to doodle a circle in pursuit of a Mac10 finish.

The G-force created by the jets in this film is real, and you can feel it. While the cast and crew do a wonderful job of bringing back the fire of the late Tony Scott's original, it's the aerial action sequences and dogfight combat scenes that will take your breath away here, pushing the film to another level. Before the pandemic caused further, multiple delays, they were the initial reason that the film's star and studio wanted to delay the release date after fans got the first trailer over three years ago. The wait was well worth it, because these scenes push the envelope for what Hollywood can do in the sky.

Think of Cruise's pilot as that incendiary (for a good reason) element that won't accept less than top-tier entertainment. When Maverick finishes the flight by going so fast over a closed down gas station that the roof lifts temporarily into the air, you'll feel the good vibrations too just like Ed Harris' old curmudgeon Rear Admiral does, even if his "Hammer" doesn't approve of the younger Captain's methods.

Every character has unique call names, like Glen Powell's Hangman (a combo of young Maverick and Iceman) and Miles Teller's Rooster. It's Teller's affecting portrayal of the son of Goose, Anthony Edwards' best friend to Cruise's pilot in the first film, that acts as the launch pad of the plot. His dad's history hasn't been known and absorbed by the characters in the film, but by the audience as well. When Maverick is called back in to train young top guns, the tempestuous relationship with Teller's Ben Bradshaw burns at the core of the mission. How do you teach someone whose father you couldn't save?

The relationship between the drama from the original carries over well here, thanks to a deft script from Ehren Kruger, Eric Warren Singer, and Christopher McQuarrie. The writers lean into the assorted treats and thrills of the source material while giving it all a nice upgrade. The arrival of Jennifer Connelly as the flame that got away from Maverick is a classy, old-school cinema romance, and Jon Hamm makes for a steely Admiral. The St. Louis actor mixes his mean Don Draper persona with the decorated, by-the-book thread of his Beau "Cyclone" Simpson here. It all just works well together.

Little works better or will become more emotional than Val Kilmer's return scene as Maverick's former rival and current friend, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky. Without going into detail to spoil the impact, it's a very well-acted and well-written scene that pushes on the relationship of the characters as well as shining a poetic light on Kilmer's recent battle with cancer. Soulful is the word, and it's a scene you won't soon forget.

"Top Gun: Maverick" is a movie I won't soon forget. With all the tragedy happening throughout the world, a little Cruise goes a long way. He's the glue that holds all of this together-making you believe in everything his daredevil pilot can do by doing as many of the stunts himself as possible. He's the real-life Maverick, pushing the envelope until it sticks together, forming a cohesive sequel that makes you feel the rugged yet exhilarating power of Scott's original. As people call into question his ruthlessness on set and his unusual offscreen persona, the legendary actor proves he's still got the need for speed--as do we.

Cruise and company were all set to get this film going ten years ago before the director's untimely death, and I think this is something Ridley's brother would absolutely adore. From the Lady Gaga theme song-she's easier on the eyes and ears than Kenny Loggins-to the piano sing-along scene to the thrilling finale that will keep you guessing, "Top Gun: Maverick" checks all the boxes of a worthy sequel. Eventually, it flies even higher than the original.

One more piece of advice: See it in a theater. A big, loud, and crowded one. See it with the fans. That's the way these summer blockbuster blasts were designed to work.

"Elvis, like a giant mirror, reflects our own struggles with forces of good and evil, and creation and destruction. In a real way, when we see Elvis we see ourselves. Symbolizing the battle between the true and false in us all, Elvis's huge appeal lies in his power as an archetype -- his epic rise and fall captures what is in all of us."

• David Rosen in The Tao of Elvis

Baz Luhrmann's film Elvis is a phantasmagorical work. It follows this director's juiced-up William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet; Australia, a spellbinding old-fashioned adventure story; Strictly Ballroom, a celebration of soulful individuals who make the most of their creativity on the ballroom dance floor; and Moulin Rouge, a love-drenched romance.

Weinshanker, one of the producers of Elvis, sums up this revved-up movie:

"This is a frenetic, thousand-miles-an-hour, by the seat of your pants way of storytelling."

The film captures Elvis's over-the-top performances, flooding the screen with color, costumes, and camera angles; the singer/songwriter comes across as an excited, dedicated, and daring performer. But there are also small, quiet scenes, where another side of the man emerges.

A Special Kind of Leader

Rock critic Dave Marsh points to another dimension of the King: "Elvis Presley was more than anything a spiritual leader of our generation."

His music and his way of being in the world touched on many themes of his time, perhaps more than any other musician. And his popularity has never ceased. If we were to assign "keywords" to his story, the list would include: love, purpose, religions, meaning, sex, success, money, fame, music, sinner, relationships, youth, middle-age, racism, black music, self-destruction, legacy.

This movie touches on all those subjects.

Quest for Meaning and Purpose

Elvis Presley's (Austin Butler) short but eventful life of 42 years was a quest for meaning and purpose through the medium of popular music, gospel, and rhythm & blues. He started on a path of transformation and stumbled on the path of addiction and self-destruction. Like all of us, he experienced life as both saint and sinner.

Love/Hate Relationships

Presley, who was born on January 8, 1935, in Tupelo, Mississippi, had a love/hate relationship with many people in his life, including his mother (Helen Thomson) and father (Richard Roxburgh) who both expected too much from him.

The most formidable person in his life and musical career turns out to be Col. Tom Parker (Tom Hanks), his immensely ambitious, greedy, and self-centered manager for 20 years. Much of the film is told from his perspective. Part conman, part showman, and part control freak, Parker (Elvis calls him "admiral"), Parker orchestrated Elvis's career through difficult times, a stint in the army, movie stardom, and a long stint in Las Vegas. Showman and handler, he succeeded in making Elvis into the most successful solo recording artist of all time. Some of his iconic performances are reproduced in the film, using remixes of actual Elvis recordings.

Elvis's early music was influenced by Black musicians such as B. B. King (Kevin Harrison, Jr.), and he often went to Black clubs to soak in the sounds. Also important in the King's life was his wife Priscilla Presley (Olivia DeJonge) who was not successful in mitigating his more dangerous habits.

Openness

Perhaps the biggest take-away from this portrait of Elvis is his openness to new styles of music and performance. Openness, says Catholic sister Joan Puls, is "the attitude and condition that is at the heart of all spirituality." This marks him as a spiritual leader more than his recordings of gospel songs.

It's the 1950s in Brighton, England, and love is in the air. The moment schoolteacher Marion Taylor (Emma Corrin) lays her eyes on devastatingly handsome policeman Tom Burgess (Harry Styles), she becomes utterly besotted with him, and before the sweltering summer is over, the young romantics are deep in the throes of a passionate affair. But Marion isn't the only one pining after Tom. The policeman has also been partaking in a forbidden relationship with sophisticated museum curator Patrick (David Dawson)-a liaison that not only jeopardizes Tom's budding relationship with Marion, but also runs both men the risk of being arrested for homosexuality.

Adapted from Bethan Roberts' 2012 novel of the same name, My Policeman tells two stories. The first takes place in the 1990s and sees an older, now married Marion (Gina McKee) and Tom (Linus Roache), take in Patrick (Rupert Everett) to care for him after a stroke. During this time, the three are unable to ignore the harrowing truths of their shared past. Their attempts to accept things lost play out in lengthy flashbacks that chronicle the tempestuous love triangle that took place 40 years prior.

Once its action sets into motion, the film becomes a lot of different things. It's a period piece, a character study, a slow burn. But above all, My Policeman is an effective love story. Tom and Patrick's secret love affair is drawn out thoughtfully by screenwriter Ron Nyswaner, who delicately imbues a majority of the characters' dialogue with double meaning, walking the narrow tightrope of highlighting the secretive nature of an affair while (mostly) avoid the dreaded exposition traps. When the two discuss Tom's police uniform, for example, they are able to have a conversation about hiding behind masks without overtly mentioning their forbidden sexualities. It helps, too, that director Michael Grandage doesn't waste a single moment where the two share a frame. He compels the lovers to exchange a glance every time they are together, a subtle motif which teases the film's romantic tension to its very limits.

Paired with My Policeman's agile writing and affecting direction, the undeniable chemistry between Styles and Dawson feels like a shining cherry on top. There is a tangible, quiet longing between the actors, both of whom give achingly restrained performances, with Styles (in his first-ever starring role) playing Tom with a devastatingly repressed and muted aura, and Dawson stealing the show with unquestionable magnetism, wearing an array of conflicting emotions in his every expression.

To complicate matters, Tom and Marion's relationship is equally compelling. Corrin plays the latter with a captivating blend of childlike wonder and serene old-fashionedness. Not only is she a fascinating wild card that threatens Tom and Patrick's relationship, but Corrin and Styles' chemistry is also undeniable. This only adds more heft to an already weighty love story.

The older versions of the three central characters are much more stifled and constrained, and as a result their stories are a little less engaging than their younger counterparts. But the two storylines are stitched together exquisitely by Nyswaner and editor Chris Dickens, who transform the film into not only a tempestuous love story, but a thoughtful meditation on memory. (Though they admittedly could have done without quite so many conspicuous fades from Old Tom to Young Tom.) Nyswaner doesn't always strain to fill in the gaps, but frequently leaps the chasm between youth and age in a jarring manner that leaves questions painfully unanswered. In doing this, he basks in words left unsaid and fates left unknown, which is one of the most important elements of My Policeman's dueling love stories.

This isn't to say that Nyswaner always sticks the landing; there are moments where the dialogue borders on expositional. Characters nimbly tiptoe around the topic of homosexuality being illegal in Brighton, just for one to later come right out and say it, as if it wasn't already heavily implied. But in My Policeman, the sum tends to be greater than its parts, and the crafting of the story and chemistry between the actors is much more memorable than a stiff piece of delivery here, or an on-the-nose line of dialogue there. And while My Policeman undoubtedly could have benefited from a number of people involved loosening up just a little, this doesn't distract much from its undeniable, heartbreaking and scintillating ode to the waning art of forbidden romance.

In the 13 years since James Cameron wowed audiences everywhere with "Avatar," then promised an imminent sequel, the question has turned from when we might see said sequel to whether or not we'd actually want to. In the intervening years, even as Cameron updated his plans for the sci-fi spectacle and teased bold new advances in filmmaking technology to make his follow-up movie, people began asking if anyone still cared about the "Avatar" world that took the all-time box office crown back in 2009. No matter the filmmaking force of Cameron, or the ensemble cast he built, or the stunning visuals he crafted, the doubts persisted. They persist even now, with just days to go until the sequel is finally released.

But few filmmakers in history have ever been able to manage spectacle, expectation, and pure craft quite like James Cameron, the Oscar-winning mind behind "Avatar," "Titanic," "Aliens," and more. Even when the deck is stacked against him, Cameron seems to be able to overcome the odds through pure, ineffable movie magic. It's fitting, then, that "Avatar: The Way of Water" is the story of a family overcoming the odds to keep fighting, and that Cameron has poured an entire decade of energy and cinematic inertia into telling that story. So put aside your doubts, because one of cinema's great blockbuster artists is back, and he's delivered a film so packed with spectacle that even the original "Avatar" pales in comparison.

Just as much time has passed in the world of the films as in our real world when "The Way of Water" opens, which means Jake Sully (Sam Worthington) and his wife Neytiri (Zoe Saldana) have spent the last decade-plus living in relative peace, building a family in the forests of Pandora that includes sons Neteyam (Jamie Flatters) and Lo'ak (Britain Dalton), daughter Tuk (Trinity Jo-Li Bliss), and adopted daughter Kiri (Sigourney Weaver).

But the peace can't last. A new human invasion force has arrived on Pandora, including the revived Avatar form of Colonel Quaritch (Stephen Lang), Jake's mortal enemy from the first film, who will stop at nothing to kill Jake and his entire family, even if it means burning the entire forest to the ground. So, Jake and Neytiri reluctantly pack up their kids and flee their home in favor of Pandora's oceans, where they must learn a new way of life among the reef clans, and pray that Quaritch doesn't find them.

With a runtime stretching to more than three hours, Cameron makes sure to pack much more plot into "The Way of Water" than this basic arc, from the inclusion of a strange human stray who runs with the Sully children to the culture and rituals of the reef clans themselves. It's a dense film, packed with story and worldbuilding, but there's also a sense that Cameron is taking some extra space to luxuriate in is world this time around. The first "Avatar" had the advantage of using Jake as a point-of-view character, a human in a Na'vi body discovering the wonders of Pandora for the first time. In "The Way of Water," through the Sully children, we get to experience that again as they learn what an entirely different ecosystem on their planet looks and feels like, and it's even more wondrous than the first film.

This is thanks, in part, to advances in the technology used to render Pandora as realistically as possible, which gives us jaw-dropping shots of strange alien whales moving through oceans, and stunning details like the way CGI feet move in sand or the way water drips off a lock of hair. But this isn't just a movie generated by computers. Cameron's steady, often whimsical hand is at play in every shot, as he frames the wonderland of Pandora with the skill of a master, building all the necessary pieces for the dramatic arc of this film, then setting them firmly in place for a third act that then explodes all of it in a dazzling showcase of action that rivals just about anything he's ever done anywhere else in his career. The first two-thirds of the film will leave you in awe, but the last third will blow you through the back wall of the theater.

All this, plus a renewed focus on the potential emotional depth in the story, and the earnestness of the ensemble cast led by Worthington and Weaver, makes "Avatar: The Way of Water" a truly awe-inspiring time at the movies. It's a film that was very much worth the wait, and a reminder that James Cameron remains a blockbuster icon.

Why won't the studio system make more movies like Emerald Fennell's Promising Young Woman? It's the type of work that can please everyone, from the casual movie fan to film aficionados, while having something to say in the process. It is the type of daring, innovative genre-bending film Hollywood needs to make more of. It's a blend of revenge thrills and pitch-black dark comedy, all packaged within a Barbie's Dreamhouse box set. It is practically addictive. It's a wicked film. Brave, ambitious, and one of the year's very best.

Promising Young Woman tells the story of Cassie (Wildlife's Carey Mulligan), a former med student who dropped out. She now works in a coffee shop with Gail (Laverne Cox) and lives at home with her bewildered parents (Jennifer Coolidge and Clancy Brown). Cassie dresses like Barbie during the day, but Lana Turner at night. At the same time, she also loves to play possum, acting drunk, and luring in men like the rape minded lemmings (played by a series of actors that include Adam Brody, Sam, Richardson, and Christopher Mintz-Plasse to name a few).

This all seems to be a sociological experiment of sorts for Cassie. Or is it? Is she just putting herself in harm's way to see if chivalry is dead? Teaching a bunch of yuppie frat boys a lesson? Or is there a bigger plan? This is a dangerous game she is playing, which is her only motivation at the moment. That is until she reconnects with Ryan (Eighth Grade's Bo Burnham, with charm to spare here), her former med student classmate with a heart of gold. The now pediatric surgeon wants to finally pursue his school crush. Ryan also may offer Cassie some much-needed light at the end of the tunnel.

Who needs men when you can have an army of women? That was the thought that went through my head when the credits rolled on Fennel's contemporary classic. The writer and director's clever and cunning screenplay is an eclectic mix of dark comic thrills. Cassie plays the game like a Grandmaster chess player. She is always a half-dozen steps ahead of her opponent(s). Fennel's narrative flips the script on the embarrassment and shame women feel after sexual assault. By contrast, showing the viewer how she victimizes and avenges her dark past by giving the boys a little slice, obviously not comparable, of their own medicine.

Some may argue that Promising Young Woman's shift in tone is an issue that prevents the film from executing its message. I would argue that point, vehemently. The reason that #MeToo was a major part of the social justice movements of the past decade is the unreported sexual assaults. Only 11% of sexual assaults are reported from women that happen in college. Even less if you are a minority. Additionally, only 2% of them are reported when alcohol or drugs are involved. Can you imagine not receiving help when experiencing posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and anxiety? Panic attacks, shame, anger control issues, irritability, depression, and suicide are all consequences of PTSD. Furthermore, the overall tone of the film mimics the highs and lows of mental health brilliantly.

Of course, the film is shouldered by Mulligan. Talk about avenging one of the most frustratingly bizarre Oscar nomination omissions the past decade when left off for her performance in 2018's Wildlife. Ultimately, she gives one of the year's best performances and it will surely be remembered as an iconic one. It's a towering turn, a resilient one, that pushes boundaries of what will surely make mass audiences engaged and even uncomfortable. Cassie is a role that will be mulled over for years to come. You simply can't picture anyone else in this role other than Mulligan. Cassie would make Harley Quinn proud and some could argue it could be her origin story.

We have been waiting for Promising Young Woman for almost a year. This proves patience is a virtue. Very rarely do films lives up to the hype and Fennel's film does with exhilarating results. Films are a product of their time. I have mentioned a handful of times in reviews the words of Aaron Sorkin, "The things we do to women," and I can't think of a film that encompasses that phrase more.

Promising Young Woman tops them all. It's brave, inventive, and daring. It's a wickedly dark comedy that will redefine the upcoming decade in film.

Never does a movie clearly try so hard and fail so miserably than the new space opera Jupiter Ascending. Those following its production were alarmed by a delayed opening from last July, summer's hottest weekend, to the historical box office trash heap that is an early February release. We critics endeavored to keep an open and optimistic mind, amidst wild gossip of test audiences exiting screenings rolling their eyes and thumbing their noses at the latest by writer/director sibs The Wachowskis. I remember early on hearing giggles during the movie's first trailer. Ladies and gentlemen, this flick cost more than 175 million to make. At least with the stunning production design and effects we can see where the money went. It is the script and lack of character development that sink this story like a stone, dropping it below even camp classic potential.

Families of royal aliens own not only Earth but many other planets that have been seeded for harvesting their populations to create a youth serum. This substance allows the most powerful wealthy aliens to live forever. Three such royals, children in the House of Abrasax, Balem (Eddie Redmayne), Kalique (Tuppence Middleton) and Titus (Douglas Booth) are fighting over Earth's inheritance. When they discover human nobody Jupiter Jones (Mina Kunis) might be the reincarnation of their matriarch mom, she gets tossed into the middle of their squabble, a toy they manipulate for their gain, with only a genetically engineered ex-military hunter with albino/human/wolf DNA named Caine Wise (Channing Tatum) between her and certain death. Cut to lots of scenes with Jones falling through the sky only to be swooped up by Wise, whom she rides piggy back, as well as scenes where she forms attachment to him due perhaps not only to his willingness to risk his life for her, but his strong sense of smell, low growl, bulging pecs, stoicism, and sardonic smirks. He makes great use of a sort of impenetrable African shield and a pair of rocket-powered gravity defying boots. He can 'rollerblade through the air like he just don't care'.

Channing Tatum, unbelievably, comes through this film not only unscathed, but builds a rather endearing character for us to get behind, and his ability to go all-in, to commit completely to his dog ears, supersonic rocket-boots, and perma-eyeliner, has the audience shrugging, saying, "oh, what the hell...", and going along with the fun. Unfortunately, momentum, and there are moments that build it in the film's favor, is dashed every time the absurd romance between he and 'his majesty" Jones is brought into the story.

Mila Kunis as Jupiter Jones, repeatedly tells those she meets to call her "Jupe", which ironically means "skirt" in French. That is effectively what she is reduced to, a skirt. She is a woman without strong direction, constantly in need of rescue, and without any real defining or positive personality traits with which to connect with audiences. The fact that she cannot take control of her own situations, whether by the way the story is written, or by her character's lack of self awareness, becomes increasingly annoying. Even if she does find inner strength by the end of the film, by that time the audience won't care. We are also never made to believe why her family, for which we are supposed to believe she will give up not only her life but the eventual lives of all the people of Earth, mean so much to her. They are never shown as anything more than unpleasant, and there are no intimate moments that explain her love or passion to save them.

Beyond the holes in the script that don't make Jones particularly sympathetic, there seems to be something missing in the lead. Kunis is lovely, and visually cleans up well into an ingenue space queen, but she lacks the star power to make up for her blank-slate resting face. Famed classic actress Greta Garbo could get away with an inscrutable expression. Kunis doesn't have the magnetism.

The three royals are entertaining diversions, although unquestionably Eddie Redmayne wins the Tim Curry Scenery Chewing Award of 2015, even though it's only February. No one this year will go farther over the top than this man playing the petulant oldest son given to quiet tantrums. He orders his lackeys gruesomely dispatched while barely moving his lips to speak. He is so camp he almost saves the whole movie. Almost.

(If I don't win an Oscar for The Theory of Everything, I'll just get a job at Hot Topic with my goth look and my pompadour...)

As to visuals, building a world should always be in service to the story. It is a mighty struggle, gorgeous and breathtaking as the environments, visual effects, and production design are in Jupiter Ascending, they are not utilized to full effect in terms of connectedness to story. As those elements are far superior to any others in the film, it would have helped to find better ways of integrating them more into the proceedings. One standout is the way the diverse environments in which Balem, Kalique, and Titus live are so well matched to their personalities. The landing dock for Balem's ship is outfitted with enormous chandeliers and golden statues that bring Versailles to mind, whereas Titus's bedchamber looks like a mix of Rock Hudson's apartment after Doris Day got a hold of it in Pillow Talk, and the Playboy Mansion. Another exception to this is shown in some of the best minutes of the film, though they seem markedly out of place. I speak of the scenes of planetary bureaucracy, which seem a mash up of The 5th Element and Brazil, complete with a superstar director's surprise cameo. It is in these moments and in taking in these beautiful production designs that we are most disappointed with the rest of the movie. It could have been so much more, and could have been a great addition to the Wachowskis oeuvre. Sadly, the romance between Jupiter and Wise, her faithful pup, ehm...protector, is both ridiculous and too central to the story to be fixable.

If you were to use one word to describe writer/director Martin McDonagh's Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, it would be: nihilistic. It may be lame for me to define what Nihilism is to you, but Webster's dictionary describes it as "a viewpoint that traditional values and beliefs are unfounded and that existence is senseless and useless." The pitch-black dark comedy from the director of hidden classics In Bruge and Seven Psychopaths, returns to cinema with a vengeance, in a film that highlights the lack of fairness, morality, or consciousness that we live in these days. Three Billboards may seem bleak to some, but it's viewpoint of the world is so spot-on, it's close to being a damn beautiful masterpiece.

The focus of the film and the showstopper is Frances McDormand in another role, much like Fargo, where she was born to play. Mildred Hayes is a person at the end of her rope, giving zero care for anything because she has been literally and figuratively beaten by the universe. In the small town of Ebbing, she was expecting the local police to do their jobs and find the person who raped and murdered her daughter Angela. It's been seven months since and the case has gone cold, with zero leads to an arrest. When Mildred spots a trio of old empty billboards on a lonely stretch of road she puts down $5,000 to rent them with bold lettering stating: 1) "Raped While Dying,", 2) "And Still No Arrests?", and finally, "How Come, Chief Willoughby?" This more than catches the attention of the town and puts Mildred at the center of a war with everyone else.

If you're familiar with McDonagh's films, he tends to deal with unique, lively characters that have an edge to them. In Seven Psychopaths, it was a cornucopia of killers and thugs. With In Bruge, it was a pair of hit-men waxing philosophical about life in the small European town. In Three Billboards, the energetic characters are of the midwest, who have become worn down by their very existence, ignorant about racial differences, and miserable on the path they walk. Woody Harrelson's Chief Willoughby, who loves his family hard and deals with the small town crimes like a constant pain in his behind. His other fellow officer Dixon (Sam Rockwell) is someone who has failed to realize any potential. He likes playing the cop more than doing the actual police work. And boy does someone like Mildred Hayes mess up their comfy lives.

Later, the animosity from the town begins to weigh on Mildred. She only wants to find a sense of peace for herself and her son Robbie (Lucas Hedges), who becomes the bystander to an abusive father (John Hawkes) and a mother broken from his sister's death. McDormand's performance is beautifully foul mouthed, especially in what is the greatest monologue of the year, when Mildred sticks it to a priest begging her to take the billboards down. How else should she seek answers? How does one get justice when the system fails us? The billboards become her purpose and light the fire underneath a community that has buried loads of pain under the rug.

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri may be a mouthful to say, but it is one of the most cathartic films of the year. It reminded me of other fantastic works such as Alexander Payne's Election and every Cohen Brothers comedy in their repertoire. Martin McDonough has successfully made another original and hilarious film, perfect for the environment we are politically living in today. The performance from McDormand is a reminder of her elite status as one of the best around. And for anyone who is mad as hell and wants this brutal world to get its comeuppance? Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri is beautifully nihilistic. The perfect antidote to ease your pain.

Many family members hear the proverbial quote "war stories," but Academy Award winning director Sam Mendes takes the process a step further by turning his grandfather's adventures into a first-class movie that deserves to earn him another night at the Oscars. Switching gears from his Oscar-winning film American Beauty for his new movie 1917, Mendes recaptures what he heard about his grandfather's exploits during World War One fighting Germany in the trenches. Those words, "fighting," and "trenches" take on heightened meaning through astounding sets and dynamic cinematography as a camera gets at eye level through what feels like a non-stop race in tight, miserable quarters. Starting with a command to get from one side to the other as quickly as possible, the camera rolls forward with hardly a stop, pushing action forward clearly but without a break in a phenomenal example of why the root word "move" create the term "movie." 1917 runs in the long war-related tradition of a Greek athlete at Marathon or the tension created for Australians at Gallipoli. With instructions to deliver a vital message to avert further battlefield debacles, two soldiers in the movie 1917 rush forward, carrying written orders from their commander. But forget any well-groomed trail or convenient running garb; they deal with the worst of man and nature, with no assurance of success even if they get their message to its destination. Little-known actors George MacKay and Dean Charles Chapman display the youth and energy required in their lead roles; the more familiar faces of Colin Firth, Benedict Cumberbatch, and Richard Madden from Game of Thrones step in for remarkably brief moments, signaling that everyone wants to work with a director as good as Sam Mendes. Rightfully so; in exploring a couple of days in the year 1917, Mendes creates one of the best films released in 2019.

This summer, in anticipation of the release of Tenet, I wrote a piece defending the position of Christopher Nolan as not merely a filmmaker of huge commercial clout, but as someone whose quality of work on an artistic, cinematographic, and emotional (yes, I wrote that!) level merits proper appreciation too. I did post a warning though that Nolan's increasing reverence for tech and his control freak tendencies were threatening to outweigh that lovely dichotomy he had always been able to blend between all things genre and his metaphysically-inflected narratives.

With Tenet, Nolan totally oversteps that line and has turned in a work that runs dangerously close to self-satire. While I would argue his previous ten films have always possessed some portion of an emotional edge amid the viscerality of their storytelling, Tenet is, simply, a spectatorial dead weight. It is completely lacking in tension and is just a film endlessly stuck in the cycle of explaining and justifying itself and its conceit (perhaps an unintended, ironic echo of its central theme of inversion). Copious exposition is nothing new to a Nolan film, but comprehensiblity and an emotional core always co-existed with that philosophical bent. Even Memento - a film which loosely echoes the tricks of Tenet with a focus on a narrative being played in reverse - was able to conjure three-dimensional character arcs out of those thematics. In Tenet, however, the characters remain (unintentionally) flat, which is borne out when the Protagonist's climactic conversation with Neil and his one last look at Kat don't carry the dramatic pay-off Nolan is clearly angling for.

Even in Nolan's lesser guise as a purveyor of spectacle, Tenet falls flat. For all the lustre, gravitas and awe Nolan applies to his action sequences (I'm thinking about the exploding jumbo, the billionaire's yacht, the racing boats), he's unable to aestheticise these for his audience the way his idol, Michael Mann, can. It's because Mann's action scenes are always connected to the ethics and emotion of his stories, whereas Nolan's function as extraneous gorging on extreme financial, technological and industrial might.

Amazon Prime's new horror anthology series Them opens with a gloriously nightmarish, sepia-toned prologue. A woman and her baby are alone in an isolated house when an apparently innocuous old woman walks down the road towards them. She mentions that "we" saw the woman's husband leave and begins singing about "Old Black Joe". When she hears the baby, she brightens and asks "Can I have him? Your boy? I'd like him very, very much." It would be chilling enough, but the fact that the woman whose baby she is demanding is black adds a historical dimension of horrors to the encounter. Shadows of slavery, babies taken from mothers, and the inescapable vulnerability - even to malevolent supernatural forces - caused by having a certain skin colour in a certain country at a certain time instantly come to mind. The opening scene demonstrates the series' greatest strength in microcosm.

The Emorys are one of the 6 million African-American families taking part in what would become known as the "great migration", relocating from the rural south to northern states promising industrial employment and a better life than the land of Jim Crow was offering. Prompted, it seems, by both a personal tragedy and the offer of a job as an aircraft engineer) Henry (Ashley Thomas, also known as musician Bashy) and his wife Livia (Deborah Ayorinde) have bought a house in Compton, Los Angeles, for themselves and their two daughters, Ruby (Shahadi Wright Joseph) and Gracie Lee (Melody Hurd, both proving again that America has the highest rate of brilliant child actors in the world). The covenant in the house deeds forbidding sale to anyone "of negro blood" is, the realtor assures them, no longer binding.

It rapidly becomes clear that the neighbours disagree. Beneath the pastel twinsets, hearts fill with fear and loathing. And behind closed doors facing out on to immaculate front lawns, awful plans are laid.

The flesh-and-blood racists who the Emorys face are enough to terrify. The women gather silently, smiling, to set up chairs and tea tables outside the new family's house, each playing different stations on their radios to surround the newcomers with a constant, hellish cacophony. The men prefer action, under cover of darkness. While Livia is trapped in the house, Henry must confront the sea of white professional faces at work (on his first day, the receptionist insists he must be bound for the kitchens), and the children endure their own sufferings at school. What marks out this portrayal of 50s prejudice (not unworked ground) is that, thanks to magnificent performances from Thomas and Ayorinde, you get a great sense of the cost to victims: the sheer amount of mental energy it takes to navigate a relentlessly hostile world, the consequent exhaustion, the constant abrading of the soul.

If the series has a weakness as a horror story, it's that the supernatural stuff is really a bagatelle. Each family member is haunted by a different ghost - Gracie Lee's is a Victorian governess figure from her favourite book, Henry's is a phantom in blackface - all of which are manifestations of the house's displeasure and of course a metaphor for everything outside. They provide some effective jump-scares but still can't compete with the affectless smile on the face of queen bee Betty (Alison Pill) as she channels her plentiful energy into making the Emorys' lives a waking nightmare.

It should be remembered that Them was conceived and commissioned during the presidency of a man who came to power on the backs of those yearning for a return to the 50s and the American Dream. One can only imagine the horror of watching this if he had won again. Waking nightmares indeed.

Just when I was starting to think "Another day, another Netflix true-crime docu-series about a dysfunctional American family," the sensationally titled I Just Killed My Dad surprised me. Not with the twists and turns of the real-world story itself - which, to nobody's surprise, is stranger and spookier than fiction. But with its tone. Here's a rare three-part investigative docu-series more concerned with human closure than narrative suspense; with difficult questions rather than easy answers; with the rehabilitation and restoration of identity rather than the restriction of spirit; and most of all, with the asterisks of the criminal justice system and societal perception. The gaze is almost hopeful, which is a weird thing to say about a documentary that opens with a teenager who shoots his dad dead.

I Just Killed My Dad is about the case of Anthony Templet, a 17-year-old from Louisiana who called 911 in mid-2019 to confess that he had killed his father. Anthony himself appears before the camera in the beginning, admitting that he wants to clear his name and prove he isn't a crazy murderer. He speaks in a monotone; his eyes are curiously dead. It becomes clear that the documentary will set out to deconstruct our preconceived notions about sociopaths - Anthony Templet fits the profile, sure, but is that really enough? What follows is a 360-degree view of the incident that night, supplemented by his own recollections, officer statements, eerie reconstructions, detective angles as well as a thorough assortment of observers who seem to be torn between what they knew and what they later discovered. There are all the Netflix tropes, of course: the gory details, the red herrings, the cliffhanger endings, the shady characters, the perpetual zooming out from a story that is way broader than it appears.

But the story refuses to be defined by the incident. The second and third episodes dare to read between the lines, revealing the agency embedded between innocence and guilt. It is steadily revealed that Anthony was no average privileged brat; he was the long-time victim of an abusive parent who stunted his growth in order to control him. The dead eyes and lack of facial expression are actually numbness, derived from years of suppression and a caged life. Anthony was homeschooled badly, not allowed to make friends, tracked electronically and ill-treated by a father who snatched him away from his mother as an infant. As we learn more about the checkered history of the man that Anthony killed, the true implications of Anthony's actions emerge.

A lawyer enters the fray; a biological mother speaks out; a stepmother asks for subtext; a social system recalibrates its sense of punishment and justice. The documentary fully invests in each of these faces, too, as people and not passive players: signifying its willingness to engage with why Anthony's case is so unique, why they choose to believe in his innocence despite all the evidence against him. We begin to sympathize with the boy who was never allowed to evolve and know the difference between self-defense and violence. In hindsight, moments like Anthony casually describing his expectations after shooting his dad - that the man would survive, that Anthony would be rescued, that the cops would let him go after hearing his story - are heartbreaking, because they convey his limited understanding of civilization. He hasn't been taught how to be human, and yet, there's something shatteringly human about his situation.

In many ways, I Just Killed My Dad reminded me of Girl in the Picture, a recent Netflix true-crime documentary about a teenage girl whose childhood was robbed by an abusive father. Girl in the Picture, too, eschewed the voyeuristic lens of the genre and painted an empathetic portrait of who the girl was, and how her life was worth being celebrated; it never offered undue attention to her abuser, and chose to end with an unusual brand of optimism and respect. The format is almost the same, with good samaritans and compassionate relatives fighting to restore the identity and legacy of the victim. It makes more sense once you realize that the director of both titles is the same: Skye Borgman. And it's even more poignant once you realize that thematically, I Just Killed My Dad is natural progression - and perhaps some sort of creative catharsis - for the non-fiction film-maker.

Girl in the Picture opened with the murder of the girl, which means she never lived to see the decades-long investigation and redemption of image that followed. Her family and friends battle to remember her the right way, long after she's gone. Anthony, on the other hand, represents the opposite end of the spectrum: the film opens with him killing his abuser, but lives to see the light at the end of a dark tunnel. The two narratives are joined at the hip, with Anthony's legal fate revealing the film-maker's subconscious quest to locate an alternate ending - and a sequel-ish sense of dignity - to the typical American horror story.

Even more striking is Anthony's physical transformation between 2019 and 2021 (when a decision about him is made), which not only reinforces his presence and survival but also puts into perspective his perceived lack of mental growth. He sounds self-aware and conscious by the end, a different person altogether, if not entirely emotive. He even walks awkwardly, like a young man who hasn't seen enough kids his age to know how to walk. But even this image of intellectual inertia is put to rest in the documentary's exquisitely placed final shot - one of a younger Anthony breaking down months after being released from prison. The timing of this shot suggests that the documentary deliberately holds a mirror to our flawed reading of the relationship between trauma and expression - playing along with it before dismantling it in style. He was not in the picture; the picture was in him all along, simply waiting to be seen.

San Fernando Valley, 1973. 25-year-old photographer's assistant Alana Kane (Alaina Haim) reluctantly goes out for a drink with 15-year-old child actor Gary Valentine (Cooper Hoffman), her unexpected admirer. As one thing leads to another, they embark on an ambitious business venture, while attempting to palnt their feet and purpose in a crazy world while navigating the treacherous mindfield of first love .

Licorice Pizza is zanny, comedic and a whirlwind of a ride. I've been engaged - ALOT. But, one guy who proposed was younger. To be exact, he literally was the same age as my little brother and the pursuit of me was relentless. Eventually, I gave in, because at the end of the day, I was able to see myself through his eyes and it felt kinda cool. He wasn't my first love and he definitely isn't my last, but that dude taught me some things about myself, men and relationships from a perspective I never saw coming. I guess you could say we were kind of the caramel version of Alana and Gary...lol.

Some of the situations Alana and Gary become entangled with are bananas and it is exasperated by those navigating in and around the drama like Jon Peters as portrayed by Bradley Cooper. Or, that heart stopping getaway ride as Alana drives backwards down the Hollywood Hills in a truck. That shenanigan had me holding my breath and howling out loud when it was over!

You gotta give it to Paul Thomas Anderson though. He gave me a film that took me back to the 90's with Ferris Bueller's Day Off - but with an edge. An edge that flagrantly and unapologetically displays ridiculous stereotypical moments and characters like the white owner of a Japanese restaurant who speaks in broken English or Alana parading around in with nipples at attention and in a bikini when everyone else is dressed. Regardless, I laughed and was entertained mostly through the nostalgia of waterbeds and insane cameos from stars like Sean Penn.

In the end, Paul Thomas Anderson's Licorice Pizza is a golden, shimmery, crazy coming of age flick that makes you long for 70's California and the free-spirited energy that came with it.

Brian De Palma's terrifyingly Gothic thriller, Carrie, based on Stephen King's novel, is at once lyrical and trashy, a nasty revenge story with a Cinderella-like heroine.

The eponymous heroine (Sissy Spacek in the movie that catapulted her to stardom) is on one level a stock character, a misfit who comes of age and discovers her sexuality under the most terrifying conditions.

An early, crucial scene shows the totally unprepared Carrie White experiencing her first menstruation at the gym's showers; her friends react as if she were a freak. "Help me," she screams in desperation, but her friends laugh, and it takes her teacher to pull her out of hysterics. It's defining moment that actress Spacek has described as "being hit by a truck) Fatherless, Carrie lives with her crazed, fanatically religious, mother (Piper Laurie), who perceives herself as a virgin damaged by sex. Shy and sexually inhibited, Carrie's main desire is to gain acceptance by her peers; she is unloved at home and ridiculed at school (which is named Bates High School, paying tribute to Hitchcock's Psycho). "Äll the kids think I'm funny, but all I want to be is normal," Carrie tells her mother.

The second part of the narrative turns into a slash horror film, another revenge story, thus fitting into the decade's dominant theme of vengeance. Carrie's telekinetic powers are used against her classmates and mother. In her retaliation, kitchen knives whiz through space, piercing her mother's body until she looks like a crucified saint.

The two visual motifs of the film are liquid, water and blood: The tale begins with a shower scenes and ends with a gory and lurid blood bath.

De Palma's first commercial hit, after a couple of small indies, such as "Hi Mom" starring the young Robert De Niro, is still one of his best and most iconic pictures, combining skillfully horror and adolescent angst.

The shocking ending, which cannot be revealed here, has been imitated by many directors, and is still thrilling to behold.

The title may sound like a Bond flick, but "Moonfall" is the latest disaster pic from Roland Emmerich ("2012," "Godzilla," "The Day After Tomorrow" and "Independence Day") about, well, the moon crashing into the Earth. True to any disaster film formula, we embed with several diverse parties as the end of days approaches. First up, we have washed-up astronaut Brian Harper (Patrick Wilson, "Little Children") and his former flight mate, Jocinda Fowl (Halle Berry, "Catwoman"), now head of NASA, who have to figure out why the moon is losing its orbit and heading toward Mother Earth. They're both divorced and with kids, so the survival of humankind is extra imperative. With them as they launch off on an "Armageddon" (1998)/"Don't Look Up" (2021)-like mission is a nerdy extrovert with IBS (a very Rickey Gervais-esque John Bradley of "Game of Thrones," bringing the much-needed comic relief). Down on Earth, Harper's ex-wife (Carolina Bartczak), new hubby (Michael Peña) and the divorced couple's 18-year-old son, Sonny (Charlie Plummer), catch up with Fowl's son (Zayn Maloney) and her nanny (Kelly Yu, who attended the Berklee College of Music).

That pretty much sets the table. The whole why the moon is falling is best left unsaid, though it does have something to do with other life forms and past moon missions - there's a Deep Throat in the mix that conspiracy theorists should have a ball with. The fun (or not so) stuff are the tidal waves that pitch deep inland, and the intermittent disruption in the gravity field bringing chaos-inducing lifts that at least allow trapped parties to leap across a chasm. There are also some poorly behaved rednecks in a pickup truck looking out only for themselves. Much of "Moonfall" is pure cockamamie, but it moves and clicks with reason and purpose, and Wilson and Berry are hard to resist.

The funny thing about "Moonfall" is that it's pretty much the antithesis to Adam McKay's smug "Don't Look Up," in which the world has been alerted to our imminent demise and no one cares - or cares only for financial or status reasons. In Emmerich's B-tier tear, there's just instant mass hysteria and a stampede for the hills. It's not as smart or daffy, nor does it have the star power of "Don't Look Up," yet feels more honest and real despite the steep grade of plausibility. Like Harper and Fowl pulling an old space shuttle from a museum for the mission, Emmerich's taken what's old and worn and made it fly again.