Kimberley Jones

Rose of Nevada is too enigmatic to satisfy as a schematic mystery, and while it’s a ghost story of sorts, its limited jump scares don’t qualify it as a folk horror like Jenkin’s 2022 film Enys Men. Those aren’t grievances. Rose of Nevada is so uniquely its own thing, I strain for any comparison at all.

The heart’s there, no doubt about it. If it only had better laughs.

Shrugging off her last film, the misguided Don’t Worry Darling, this is for Wilde a return to form – to the comedy instincts and the clarity of purpose – of her debut, Booksmart. The purpose here? Laugh to keep from crying.

M&M makes a bid for the anticness of classic Looney Tunes, but misses the essential part that a contrasting quiet plays in comedy.

Even at a short hour and a half runtime, the film can meander like glacier melt; a somewhat sedate pace for such an urgent topic. Intentionally or not, it gives the film the feeling not of a warning, but of a foregone conclusion: a eulogy.

A sincere and searching work – even trippy, in discrete doses – Silent Friend takes the ginkgo’s perspective. It’s in it for the long haul. The people are just passing through.

With very little dialogue and no cookie-cutter story beats, this fraught family life is vividly, tenderly rendered by Romvari and her naturalistic cast.

It’s an electrifying watch in its profound discomfort, and a testament to McKenzie’s ability to disarm with a smile, then land a righteous blow against the bad guys.

Exuding direct-to-Redbox energy, Fuze has enough plot twists to make it watchable. You’re just not liable to remember much of it afterwards.

Much of the fun of The Christophers – and it is very fun – is in anticipating the hitches, then startling when they snag left rather than right. The delight is in watching Coel and McKellen play off each other.