Alex Harrison

I have been more engaged trying to sift through my feelings about this movie after the fact than I was actually watching it. Sometimes, when it comes to art, that's just how it is, and I don't think I could convincingly say Jinsei is unsuccessful. But I don't think it's successful enough. Though it creates striking moments and leaves a lasting impact of some kind, Suzuki aims for a scope of storytelling that his film just doesn't achieve anywhere but on paper.

This movie is made for a world that has us spending most of our time looking down, whether metaphorically, heads buried in our own work and struggles, or literally, absorbed by the phones that have overtaken our lives. As if watching the skies is too big an ask in that context, Spielberg instead uses all his directorial power to encourage us to look at each other. The result is another great film in a career filled with them. Structured like a thriller with a propulsiveness worthy of Indiana Jones, Disclosure Day is an attempt to meet this cynical, divided moment and treat it with empathy, as well as with a healthy dose of good, ol' fashioned entertainment.

The filmmakers, and co-writer, producer, and star Brett Goldstein in particular, clearly have a sense of what it is that makes studio rom-coms so appealing, and they've built this one to actually deliver on it. It's a little shaggy, perhaps, and I inevitably found myself missing the shot-on-film glow that did so much for the movies of that bygone era. But I can't really complain. My default state watching Office Romance was a giddy smile.

The more standard it feels, the harder it becomes to be swept up in the narrative swells, and the film's reach eventually exceeds its grasp. But even if it isn't shattering, Miss You, Love You still entertains.

Though I won't be asking for my 60 minutes back, it's about as far from essential viewing as you can get.

Netflix's new movie is no shoddy disaster – it's a competently, if unexceptionally, mounted production by director Thea Sharrock, featuring an impressive British and Irish cast. It's not entirely without laughs, either. But this story of a chauvinist who bumps his head and wakes up in a world where women are in charge is so fundamentally misguided that I at times could not believe I was actually watching it. A comedy sketch premise stretched to feature length, the team behind Ladies First should have spent a little less time on thinking up gender-flipped jokes and more time wondering whether they actually had a coherent story worth telling.

This Australian horror film has many similarly striking images in it; writer-director Natalie Erika James clearly has a talent for crafting them. In this instance, however, that proves as much an asset as a drawback. Neither Saccharine's narrative nor editing have the same vitality, and James communicates her ideas so succinctly that too much of our time is spent waiting for the story to continue along the obvious road ahead of it. There are moments of vice-like terror that use the pacing to slowly surround us and squeeze, but the movie lacks the formal tightness to keep it up for very long. Just as often, Saccharine inspires impatience.

Almodóvar makes thrillingly clear that the moral cost of drawing on one's own life to make fiction is the true subject of this film. Everything else becomes richer through this meta lens.

Corrigan approaches his film's many user interfaces with a show-don't-tell philosophy. Every click, every keystroke, is treated like an opportunity to reveal personality. It not only keeps the screenlife conceit interesting, but makes it feel vital.

The central conceit is both interesting and clever, it's often touchingly performed, and it has some ideas that are, when dwelt on, quite profound. But the story is wrapped in a self-consciously "artistic" style that is only rarely additive. More often, it just gets in the way.