Luke Hicks

Disclosure Day is another Spielberg blockbuster triumph, a welcome return to the genre he’s always been best at, and a genuinely spine-tingling, soul-searching experience that leaves us wondering less about aliens and more about how we can learn to listen to, understand, and have empathy for each other.

John Lennon: The Last Interview is a minor work in the canon of both Soderbergh and John/Yoko, but it’s a niche wellspring of hyper-detailed information for Beatles purists.

Hamaguchi’s screenplay for his first French film (co-written with Léa Le Dimna) overflows with insight and discernment at such great depth that it’s more like the Tao Te Ching than a script, more like a film by the Dalai Lama than an internationally beloved auteur.

Fjord is a triumphant film that tugs at the spiritual and soulful in all of us, regardless of nation, creed, faith, or the rejection of all three.

Paper Tiger is a welcome addition to the oeuvre and one that has potential to mature into something even greater. The man simply knows how to tell a New York story.

Nemes’ directorial tendencies are on point, but they aren’t as enigmatic or unforgettable as they’ve been in the past.

While it might offer more than a Marvel movie in cinematic craft, it suggests little more in story, character, and depth. What begins as a riveting romp through monster mystery ultimately falls flat as a fun, middling creature feature that’s a whole hour too long.

Farhadi tries to be funny and Huppert occasionally makes it work (e.g. using a toaster to light her cigarette), but the comedic element is disparate and half-baked. Yet to Farhadi’s credit, his and Massoumeh Lahidji’s dialogue, which serves as the engine of moral ambiguity that powers the story, has the strength to keep one’s attention for the lengthy runtime if they’re able to invest.

Lavish with cultural references and fresh imagination, Teenage Sex And Death At Camp Miasma is a revelry of comedy, murder, intellectualism, sexual awakening, queerness, and more.

It’s the kind of film you ache through. But the aching doesn’t come from devastating romance or impossible love, as it did in Cold War, but the inherent difficulty in ever fully grasping one’s identity or coming to terms with the inevitable conflict of family.