Invasion of the Body Snatchers remakes a great B-movie with intellectual terror. It knows that irony makes it even scarier. This is pure horror joy.
Peter Dinklage is a powerful force for good in an otherwise listless adaptation that misinterprets whatever it doesn't omit entirely.
Samaritan accepts on faith that the audience thinks Stallone is a superhero. His charm, and almost nothing else, makes it sporadically watchable.
Sin is a portrait of an artist in pain, with god-defying amounts of melancholy. Lovers of classic art cinema will enjoy this more than he enjoyed himself.
Lightyear was so tangled in its struggle for effective marketing that every aspect of its filmmaking became a lower, or nonexistent, concern.
Prey expresses a strong period aesthetic powered by fresh performances but relies on a screenplay that misplaces its series' core values.
This well-endowed Macbeth strives for greatness without the stomach for it. Stylized visuals can't cover for all the meaning it misses.
Zack Snyder's Justice League delivers on the promise to release every second of footage shot for its original cut, for better and not much better.
The House shimmers with collective angst, a nightmare only stop-motion could make. So why does it make me feel so happy?
Black Widow approaches genuine dramatic insight in parts but fails to make its title character more interesting than the performance is by default.
The final episode of Obi-Wan Kenobi gets everything to where it was going. Not even its best part could be worth the wait.