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Welcome to the first action movie of the Trump era, wherein civil liberties are a distant fantasy and “no man left behind” has been forgotten, yet this is all “a higher form of patriotism.”
Marguerite Duras’s semifictionalized memoir of psychological survival and emotional endurance in Paris during the Nazi occupation makes an uneasy, listless transition to the screen.
Epic yet intimate, this is a visually gorgeous and emotionally lush fantasy drama about love and hope set in a violent but beautifully realized invented world.
A quiet horror movie about grief and regret as spiritual possession, about rationalization and denial as immorality. We don’t tell ourselves stories that whisper, as this one does, The Nazis had help. We need to.
Ten years of Marvel superheroism culminates in a battle for the universe itself. Exhausting, bitterly humorous, and gripped in a stunning finality, it’s almost too much to take in, yet somehow not enough.
A wonderfully old-fashioned tearjerker, with a thoroughly delightful cast, where cosy quaint Englishness is leavened by a harsh reality of World War II that pop culture has ignored.
A same-old story of a white man’s angst, set against the “exotic” backdrop of 1980s war-torn Beirut. This brand of Hollywood myopia is tired, uninteresting, and no longer acceptable.
In this centenary year of the end of World War I, this story of a real-life dog who served in the trenches is a gentle, engaging way to introduce kids to an essential piece of history.
Enormously likable characters make this feel like a big friendly rambunctious dog that you can’t help but get a kick out of, but it fundamentally misunderstands the appeal of its predecessor movie.
The state of affairs in the Middle East may actually be thornier than it seems from afar: that is the position this brave, intimate perspective on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict seems to take.
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