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Do you find Channing Tatum dance-grinding appealing? There’s not much of that here. There’s just the tedious grinding of dragging out yet another sequel in the face of diminishing franchise returns.
A cautionary tale about getting mired in the past is itself hamstrung by what has come before: overplayed noir tropes and underbaked sci-fi ideas. The fab cast at least elevates this to the mediocre.
An electrifying philosophical fantasia that imagines four towering figures of 1960s America arguing over how to navigate racism as Black men. Enraging, but also thrilling, bursting with cinematic joy.
Luminous and plaintive, Moonlight is emotional virtual reality, transforming a unique human experience into something universal and unforgettable.
Dubious police procedures, by-the-numbers buddy-cop-comedy shenanigans, and characters who hate one another, none of which is as fun as it sounds.
Jon Favreau’s midlife artistic crisis rendered as food porn. Funny, poignant, and wise, though the wish-fulfillment romantic fantasy of it is a tad much.
Preposterous and charmless, this heist flick purports to be based on a true story and hopes to invoke a Robin Hood vibe, but I’m not buying any of it.
A bleak, bitter, wicked pleasure that holds up the underpinnings of modern America — self-help, Jesus, and violence — for ridicule.
The dancing is fantastic, but the moment the dancing stops, it’s actively insulting and absurdly naive, and then stumbles into the howlingly ridiculous…
As generic as its title while also yawningly idiotic in its own unique way…
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