David Sims

The idea that Spider-Man is becoming a little too much of an arachnid at the cost of his own humanity could be a fun one, with a nice dollop of body horror. Instead, it mostly involves Peter gloomily walking the streets, gazing at MJ from afar, and then getting sucked into various MCU quests that are hard to feel too invested in.

The movie manages to be a challenging, personal work, too, contending with the same anxieties about family and the crumbling edifices of modern society that power so much of Nolan’s filmography. He somehow finds idiosyncratic angles on well-trodden material, underlining Odysseus’s (played by Matt Damon) ache of yearning and loss without sacrificing the poem’s core sense of adventure. The result is a genuine pleasure to behold.

If Superman is the ultra-responsible face of the franchise, Supergirl is supposed to be his messier, relatable counterpart. Yet Alcock’s charming performance cannot elevate Supergirl beyond franchise filler—a disorganized character study meant only to extend a universe.

Sarnoski and Jackman take a name associated with heroic antics and remove that element, asking the viewer to engage with smaller, more human stakes. The gambit is daring, but it’s never uninteresting.

The formula has enough novelty to keep this sequel from feeling entirely stale.

Disclosure Day’s epic conclusion comes across as if Spielberg is sending the audience a message, begging them to use their hearts and heads too. The moment plays into every complaint that’s ever been lodged about this raging sentimentality; I loved every second.

It is the kind of straightforward bit of dad-bait I am always happy to see in a theater; it somehow manages to invest real tension in a story that has been told many times on the big screen. Although everyone watching knows that World War II is going to go the way of the Allies, the film makes that feel less like a guarantee.

Bargatze’s first effort as a leading man, it seems, is yet another reminder that even the country’s biggest performers might not be able to make a comedy into a theatrical hit anymore. The Breadwinner is admittedly not very good.

After the slow plod of its first act—and particularly thanks to Law—the movie does arrive at something mesmerizing: a taciturn, but brutal, piece of political tragedy.

Compared with the most recent Star Wars films, which prompted fierce debate, The Mandalorian and Grogu seems unlikely to truly offend anyone; it is neither a confusing mess nor so offbeat as to divide the fan base. Instead, it’s content to be a nothing burger, two dutiful hours of laser blasts and flat dialogue that will do just enough to keep toys stacked on shelves