Radheyan Simonpillai

Really, it’s just incoherent, the ultimate revelations exposing how little sense these characters and their actions make, which we wouldn’t be dwelling on so much if Verity at least knew how to be sexy or intriguing, or have more fun, along the way.

More often than not Bad Lieutenant: Tokyo is a confounding and frustrating mess, a smorgasbord of good ideas (and some bad ones) at odds with each other, barely held together by Shun Oguri’s wily performance.

Your Mother Your Mother Your Mother is its own beautiful singular thing, partly a stylish and pulpy neo-western thriller about a father racked with guilt, navigating violence that comes heavy and uneasy, but first and foremost a drama about a family reconciling their Muslim faith with their actions, their environments and their grief.

Rocky packed a punch. I Play Rocky appreciates that and settles for some good tickles.

The real magic in The Magic Faraway Tree is in the family dynamic that leads up to the kids finding this enchanted place. The parents, played by the wonderfully animated and warm Claire Foy and Andrew Garfield, try to ward off anxieties rooted in modern tech and connect with their children.

All the wasted breath on One Night Only’s high-concept premise takes away from the romcom of it all and gives back nothing in return.

What makes me want to take this trip again is the way Nolan moves through Homer’s epic, the filmmaker’s usual tinkering with time giving way to new visual rhythms.

It’s funny how hard Gillespie stumbles when dealing with a woman meant to be genuinely heroic. Though I’m sure the whole franchise apparatus, with all its incoherent action and hideous CGI heavy landscapes, shoulders most of the blame.

While every actor gets to make a brash and indelible impression, their characters can feel frustratingly limited.

Parents seeking comfort in death to stay close to a lost child, as in Don’t Look Now, or being emotionally exhausted providing care in impossible circumstances, as in The Exorcist, feel like items being checked off in Lee Cronin’s The Mummy, not genuinely felt or grappled with.