
Gwen movie review: a frisson of fright on the farm
Atmospheric mood — this is a dour nightmare in the stark gloom of 19th-century Wales — and a striking performance by Eleanor Worthington-Cox aren’t quite enough to sustain this near-horror film.

Atmospheric mood — this is a dour nightmare in the stark gloom of 19th-century Wales — and a striking performance by Eleanor Worthington-Cox aren’t quite enough to sustain this near-horror film.

There’s plenty injustice here to enrage the thinking, feeling citizen, but despite a passionate performance by charismatic Aldis Hodge, this docudrama is nowhere near incensed enough on his behalf.

Painfully stupid faux-woke slapstick that wants to have its idiot male hero and its nods to feminism at the same time. Kids are listening, they are absorbing this garbage, and they deserve better. (now with a brief review of short “Hair Love”)

Much more sweet than raunchy, and surprisingly innocent. Genuinely kind to its young protagonists as they try to navigate a culture that doesn’t much care to protect them from growing up too soon.

Seriously adorkable teen is saved, in 1987, by the rock poetry of Bruce Springsteen. The Boss is still relevant today, as is, alas, the harsh political and economic setting of Thatcher’s Britain.

Raiders of the Lost Ark lite for kids, but juvenile humor and a derivative plot limit its appeal for adults. Teen Dora is really cool, though, and a great role model for girls and boys alike.

A stew of “hilarious” toxic masculinity and nonstop violence as the solution to all problems. Sexist, stupid nonsense, tediously familiar and wholly predictable. Even the cartoonish action falls flat.

Meet the “nerdy engineer” who dreamed of a life in aviation… and landed a tin can on the Moon. A deeply moving portrait of the modest man who seems to have been destined for his historic voyage.

The legendary literary lesbian romance, starring the incendiary duo of Gemma Arterton and Elizabeth Debicki, is criminally blah, lacking all sexual and intellectual passion. How does this happen?

It’s hard to escape the sense that Ari Aster is getting off on Florence Pugh sobbing and screaming as he fetishizes her terror and torment. And none of it is in the pursuit of any meaning or message.