Luke Parker

While its well-founded intentions and creative intuitions are palpable, not even a tortuously acrobatic performance from Aaron Taylor-Johnson saves A Million Little Pieces from consistently sober storytelling.

The Irishman is delicately handled by experienced, especially-inspired makers. It’s simply the kind of film that isn’t made too often anymore; and it’s one of the best this year has to offer.

Any misgivings bestowed upon Ford V Ferrari by the script are, more or less, eliminated by the film’s big draw: the racing. Gloriously calibrated, simply designed, and modestly edited, audiences are reminded of the dynamite, nearly natural relationship automobiles share with filmmaking.

Blazingly and brilliantly over the top, Jojo Rabbit’s total dismissal of subtlety is its most ferocious ally and, only occasionally, its most frustrating foe in the war against hate.

Dolemite Is My Name belongs to Murphy.

A simple and simply satisfying seal, El Camino: A Breaking Bad Movie will, in no way, tarnish the alchemic legacy of its TV precursor, though it doesn’t do much to enhance it.

Edward Norton mines political relevance in some areas of noir-drenched New York and completely ignores it in others. As a result, Motherless Brooklyn becomes Chinatown’s outshined, ugly stepbrother.

Every typical category of film analysis – the performances, the cinematography, the score, the wit, so on and so forth – needn’t be labeled as anything less than great.

Elegant and entrapping, muddy and magnificent, Monos is a thrilling, if ambiguous endeavor of guerilla warfare, human nature, and adolescent anarchy.

Between the split bones and compulsive carnage, a disjointed script, co-written by Stallone and Matthew Cirulnick, makes Rambo: Last Blood mindless and messy.