I had quite a conflicted experience while watching Killers of the Flower Moon. On one hand, it is a well-crafted film with the best of intentions. It examines a dark and important piece of American history, shedding further light on the despicable and inhumane treatment of Native Americans at the hands of greedy and soulless white Americans. On the other hand, it is a dramatically impotent chore through which to sit, and it often makes you forget the urgency and power of its subject matter.

Based on the nonfiction book by David Grann, the film pretty much begins in 1920s Oklahoma, several years after members of the Osage tribe gained great wealth from the discovery of oil on their land. A powerful, greedy, and sociopathic ranch owner (Robert De Niro) enlists his veteran nephew (Leonardo DiCaprio) to help rob the Osage of their assets and, eventually, murder them one by one. In order to get on their good graces, DiCaprio marries a member of the tribe (Lily Gladstone) and begins a family with her. He then goes on to repeatedly and heartlessly betray her by not only directly hurting her but also by aiding in the further harm of her people. The FBI (in its early stages) eventually becomes involved, with an investigation led by an agent portrayed by Jesse Plemons.

Needless to say, there is a plentiful amount of meat on the bone to this story. The problem is, no matter how fascinating its subject matter may be, the film’s execution isn’t exactly riveting. Director Martin Scorsese ditches the trademark, frenzied kineticism and endless innovation that defines most of his masterworks (Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, Goodfellas) in favor of a more languid, mature, and inconspicuous style. While I applaud and admire Scorsese’s restraint, Killers of the Flower Moon simply isn’t the right film for it. It needs Scorsese’s fire, passion, and ingenuity. As it stands, the film is like a sturdy-yet-uninspired made-for-television movie made by a fully capable filmmaking team, but could have been directed by just about anyone. Sadly, nothing about it stands out as being particularly effective or memorable.

De Niro and DiCaprio both give typically committed, focused, and intense performances. Unfortunately, their characters are so one-note and uninteresting that it’s hard to appreciate much of anything about either of the powerhouse actors’ work. The film makes a great error in making them the main characters of the movie. Their ignorant and destructive nature grows increasingly tiresome and their lack of humanity is consistently unsympathetic and unrelatable. Centering the story on Plemons’ FBI agent could have made for a more digestible and entertaining film, but telling it entirely from the point of view of the Osage would have made it far more powerful and unique.

Gladstone is the heart and soul of the movie. Her scenes are the most successful because they are written with an obvious care that is sorely lacking from large portions of the script. Not to mention, Gladstone’s layered, vulnerable, and integrity-laden performance makes it easy to care about and empathize with her. Making her the main protagonist of the film could have given it the amount of humanity that it so desperately needs.

Flawed screenplay and production choices aside, the film’s primary fault is its sluggish pacing and bloated running time. I watched the three-and-a-half-hour film in the comfort of my own home with a short break, and it still felt like an unbearably lengthy experience. I can’t imagine the agony of having to sit through the entire thing in a movie theater without an intermission. It’s simply too long and far too improperly paced to be a movie that can successfully be consumed in one sitting. There is nothing in the film that made me think it wouldn’t have been better off if it lost forty-five minutes to an hour of its length.

Killers of the Flower Moon deserves credit for trying to convey aspects of America’s unsettling and corrupt history. Unfortunately, the uninspired nature of its execution, its confused and improperly structured screenplay, and its seemingly endless duration make it seem like a painfully colorless history lesson taught by a very dispassionate and disorganized teacher. It’s an average movie with heaps of unrealized potential made by some of the film industry’s most talented players—all of whom struggle to get out from under the weight of its inescapable flaws.

GRADE: C

This icily and precisely controlled action/thriller from director David Fincher doesn’t quite rank amongst his masterworks (Fight Club, Gone Girl, Zodiac, Seven, The Game). However, like every other Fincher movie, it’s still plenty interesting and well-made to be worthwhile. The Killer is a gritty, down-and-dirty movie whose overall smooth and occasionally slow pacing is sporadically interrupted by sudden, intense, and viscerally thrilling bursts of action and violence. Though it usually and purposefully avoids exhibiting the humanity that its sociopathic protagonist lacks, the film still mostly engrosses its audience through its expert filmmaking and endlessly cold intensity.

The film (which is based on the graphic novel series by Alexis Nolent and Luc Jacamon) stars Michael Fassbender as a hitman who has to survive the consequences of disappointing his employers after botching his latest job. The story is simple, allowing plenty of room to explore Fassbender’s character, working methods, and philosophies on his life and career. As he works a job during the film’s opening twenty-minute sequence, his internal monologue is constantly heard by way of a coherent yet intentionally rambling and heavily dry voice-over. These interior thoughts are then heard in lesser amounts throughout the remainder of the film, consistently providing insight into the character’s detached existence.

Fassbender never ceases to be fully committed to or believable in his role. His calm, mechanical, and cooly disciplined performance serves screenwriter Andrew Kevin Walker’s (Seven) observational and reserved writing style quite well. The Killer is very much a character piece about a man who near-completely lacks all human character outside of his drive to efficiently and successfully do his work.

The action sequences are all skillfully top-notch. While the majority of the film is intentionally emotionless, the chase and fight scenes notably complement this by putting the audience right into the middle of the action. The hypnotically calm (sometimes to the point of being numbing) tone that resides over most of the movie is consistently offset by brief and aggressive flashes of conflict and violence that recharge and reinvigorate the audience’s interest in and care toward what happens to the film’s challengingly unrelatable lead character. It should be noted that The Killer contains one of the most astonishing and brutal hand-to-hand fight scenes of any movie in recent memory.

If The Killer has a primary fault, it’s in the meticulous, exhausting, and painstaking care it takes in communicating its protagonist’s lack of empathy. This is made clear in the first five minutes, and the point is constantly and tiringly drilled home throughout the rest of the movie. To call it redundant is an understatement, but it’s hard not to question whether or not it is Fincher’s intention to wear his audience down to the point that it catches itself agreeing with or even thinking like Fassbender’s primarily unredeemable character. Though the film’s chilly communication of Fassbender’s soulless existence largely produces an effective result, it does, on occasion, get rather old, obvious, and uninteresting.

The Killer is an overall fascinating film that balances moments of dullness with moments of extreme and unforgettable excitement. Its execution can sometimes be a bit of a chore to experience. However, the film has enough talent behind it and enough merits to its production that it still manages to be a unique and engaging experience that allows you to step outside of your own reality for a couple of hours and walk in the shoes of a predominantly heartless killer.

GRADE: B+

The now twenty-eight feature films of Ridley Scott vary quite heavily in quality. He’s made a few indisputable masterworks (Alien, Blade Runner, Thelma & Louise), a couple of stinkers (Robin Hood, Exodus), and a wide selection of films that range from being near-masterpieces at best to mediocre at worst. Whatever their overall quality may be, Ridley Scott’s films usually share a precise and refined filmmaking style and endlessly striking visuals. His lesser films can be viewed as mere exercises in style that lack identifiable humanity and relatable human emotions.

Scott’s latest, the two-and-a-half-hour theatrical cut of Napoleon, is an example of mediocrity. There is a supposed four-hour-plus cut of the film in the works that could potentially rectify the theatrical cut’s primary faults, however. The theatrical cut, as it stands, showcases many of Scott’s strengths while equally revealing his weaknesses. The battle sequences, costumes, sets, and Dariusz Wolksi’s cinematography are all examples of impeccable craftsmanship, but the film’s inability to tell a story to which its audience can emotionally connect leaves a bit too much to be desired. Hopefully, the future extended cut will allow more room for what the theatrical cut sorely lacks.

The film’s presentation of the life story of the legendary French general and politician never feels alive. It resembles an abridged and dispassionate history lesson that merely skims the surface of Napoleon’s character and his accomplishments on the battlefield during the late 18^th and early 19^th centuries. The movie very much wants us to believe that Napoleon (Joaquin Phoenix) is largely driven by his obsession with his wife, Josephine (Vanessa Kirby). The film makes it clear that Napoleon wants to conquer and control Josephine as much as he does the world, but it doesn’t explore their characters and their relationship enough for it to be felt by the audience as well. The constant time-jumping of the film only allows its events and characters to be understood on a basic intellectual level, but they are never truly communicated on an emotional one. You understand that Napoleon is an endlessly ambitious, obsessive, and unsatisfied man, but you never come close to understanding why.

David Scarpa’s screenplay would have been more successful if it had been narrowed down to focus on and explore just one time period of Napoleon’s life rather than sweepingly covering years of it through the presentation of brief and dramatically soft snippets of time. Either that or it simply should have been retooled and extended to be an eight-hour miniseries. The film suffers due to its over-ambition within a feature-length format and it doesn’t have enough time for its characters and themes to be properly developed. You never fully get to know who anyone is or what the true significance of each time period the film covers may be. As a result, the film fails to be fully engrossing, no matter how grand Scott and his team’s filmmaking is. If you’re like me and you’re not a particularly huge history buff who already knows the subject matter, it’s quite easy to be predominantly untouched by the film’s epic aspirations. I would like to believe that the future four-hour-plus cut might fix some of these problems, but that remains to be seen.

In this cut of the film, the performances come across as rather lackluster. Phoenix has a few moments that show off his signature deep commitment and emotional vulnerability, but, overall, is given little else to do but exhibit a pompous, stuffy, and unrelatable demeanor. The audience never gets a sense of who Napoleon truly is behind his uniform and endless public posturing. While his subtlety is admirable, Phoenix’s work feels surface-driven and incomplete. Kirby’s performance suffers even more than Phoenix’s. It’s frustrating to watch her in the film because as soon as you start to get a feel for Josephine’s character and a sense of the high quality of Kirby’s work, the film jumps ahead another few years without further developing or paying respect to what came before it.

The theatrical cut of Napoleon bites off quite a bit more than it can chew. While its ambitions are exciting in theory, the film’s execution is too dry and, frankly, too narratively sloppy for it to reach its desired effect. The talent involved in the film should have produced a better movie. Hopefully, an extended cut will eventually offer this flawed film a brighter future. As it currently exists, however, it’s a bit of a mess that merely shows glimpses of the greatness that it could have achieved.

GRADE: C

Matthew Perry’s recent and untimely passing has, no doubt, inspired his many fans to revisit and binge-watch episodes of Friends. Though the series hasn’t aired since 2004, it still holds up as a great show and Perry is still great in it. He seamlessly and egolessly blends into his ensemble cast at most times, but still manages to sporadically stand out from it with his one-of-a-kind presence and comedic timing. Watching copious amounts of Friends episodes just seems like the right and most obvious thing to do to remember and pay respect to Perry’s many talents and charms.

Perry’s work doesn’t start and end solely with Friends, however, as he gave numerous performances throughout his career that further showcase his comedic genius and often-underused vulnerability as a dramatic performer. Luckily, these qualities are on full display in Matthew Perry’s lead performance in the little-seen 2007 independent film, Numb. It is a great, moderately edgy, bluntly honest, endlessly hilarious, sincerely heartfelt, and endearingly hopeful film that fearlessly tackles the subject of mental illness. It also features the best, funniest, and most emotionally complex performance of Perry’s career.

Written and directed by Harris Goldberg, Numb is an autobiographical film about a successful screenwriter (Perry) who suffers from depression and depersonalization disorder, an uncommon condition in which an individual detachedly experiences life as if they are watching themselves from the outside. Perry struggles with different medications and psychiatric doctors, unable to find any true relief or improvement. When he meets a charmingly feisty and big-hearted studio executive assistant (Lynn Collins), he falls hard and puts even more pressure on himself to conquer his illnesses. His efforts are met with little to no success. Further despair and alienation ensue, and Perry is forced to face the fact that he just might have to coexist with his condition for the rest of his life.

Goldberg’s highly personal script offers an insider’s perspective on the many struggles associated with treating mental illness. As frustrated and as lonely as Perry’s experiences may make him, the film never sinks into moments that are depressing or maudlin. Despite how serious its subject matter can be, Numb is almost always a humorous, light-hearted, and feel-good movie. It achieves this without trivializing or muting its more somber moments, which is an extraordinarily impressive accomplishment. Numb tackles some very serious and pertinent topics, but they congruently coexist with an overall life-affirming tone. This makes the film every bit as much of an accessible and relatable piece of entertainment as it is a meaningful and revelatory examination of the human condition.

The film’s unobtrusive and subtle filmmaking techniques service the script perfectly. Goldberg and his team never draw attention to themselves, always allowing the story, richly developed characters, and talented cast members to be at the forefront of the viewer’s attention. The choices made behind the camera are disciplined, mature, and grounded, never succumbing to a forced or distracting style.

The supporting cast is flawless. Lynn Collins is adorable, tough, and wholly naturalistic as Perry’s foul-mouthed and endlessly understanding love interest. Bob Gunton is hilariously pompous as Perry’s Harvard-educated but still-clueless psychiatrist. Kevin Pollak is dry, likable, and level-headed as Perry’s long-suffering writing partner. Mary Steenburgen shines in a role unlike anything she has ever before played, portraying an increasingly volatile and unstable cognitive behavior specialist who ultimately gives Perry’s mental health issues a run for their money.

And then, of course, there is Matthew Perry’s lead performance. His portrayal of a neurotic, pill-popping depressive with a rare mental disorder surely struck a chord with his well-publicized drug and mental health struggles. Perry seems to put everything he has into the role, bravely allowing his endless affability to mix with his troubling interior demons. The resulting performance is messily, tragically, and amusingly human. An actor without Perry’s natural charisma and skills could never have pulled off the role in such an effective, unique, and memorable manner. It is the most personal and most accomplished performance of his career. It is also, quite unfairly, one of his most obscure. If anything positive can result from Perry leaving us far too soon, it is partially in motivating people to seek out his lesser-known works such as this marvelous film.

Numb is a very special movie with a very special story made by some highly gifted people. Its success largely rides on the portrayal of its lead character, a near-hopelessly flawed but still extraordinarily lovable man who desperately wants to improve himself but just can’t seem to figure out how. It is a role that seems to have been written specifically for Perry, as there is no other actor in his generation who could have done it more justice. Now that he’s gone, it’s hard not to think about the first time you fell in love with him and how robbed we all are to never have the chance to be surprised by him again. Watching Numb for the first time is guaranteed to not only surprise you, but it will also make you fall in love with Matthew Perry all over again.

GRADE: A

No Hard Feelings features a strong lead role for an actress of a specific type. It is the role of a confident, fearless, hard-drinking, unapologetically promiscuous, fiercely independent, hilariously deadpan, imperfectly beautiful, and notably aging woman. It is a role that is absolutely perfect for an actress along the lines of Amy Schumer, Melissa McCarthy, or Rebel Wilson.

Unfortunately, these actresses are nowhere to be found in the movie, nor are any other actresses who exhibit a similar personality or physicality. Instead, the makers of No Hard Feelings chose to cast the electrically charismatic, effortlessly attractive, and endlessly talented Jennifer Lawrence. Though Lawrence is technically the right age for her thirty-two-year-old character, the fact that she is still flawlessly beautiful and doesn’t look a day over twenty-five makes her an ill-fitting choice from the get-go.

The character, whose friendship/romance with a nineteen-year-old boy is at the center of the film, is constantly referred to as aging and/or old. Even when comparing her to a teenager, however, the idea that anyone could look at Lawrence and criticize her youthful appearance for being anything but perfect is verging on insulting and also exposes some pretty hefty sexism/ageism that can still be found at the heart of many Hollywood productions. Actresses simply aren’t allowed to age in the industry and, when they do and can still find work, are often given roles that make it overtly clear that they are no longer considered to be in their prime.

That being said, Lawrence has built a wonderful career on frequently playing roles that are much too old for her and making the absolute most out of them. From Silver Linings Playbook to American Hustle to Joy, Lawrence spent a good chunk of her twenties inhabiting characters that would have been better suited to her in her present-day thirties. As her deservedly Oscar-winning work in Playbook proves, however, she still has the ability to shine brightly in roles where she isn’t necessarily the best fit. Against all odds, Lawrence manages to grab onto the reins of her No Hard Feelings character and perform yet another miracle. She may not be the best choice for the role, but, man, does she manage to give it her all while also displaying her nonstop affability.

The story of the film is simple. Two well-meaning helicopter parents (the likable and funny Laura Benanti and Matthew Broderick) are looking to hire a woman to romance and devirginize their shy and socially awkward teenage son (Andrew Barth Feldman) so he can gain confidence before going off to college in the fall. Lawrence, in desperate need to save her house, applies for the job and lands it. The task turns out to be much more difficult than she anticipated, however, as the emotional and psychological walls Feldman and his parents have built around him are seemingly impossible to permeate. The two eventually develop a friendship that has a slight though evident hint of romance.

No Hard Feelings has its many charms. There are three or four big laugh scenes that make the film memorable and worthwhile (one of which involves a brazenly naked Lawrence attacking a group of obnoxious teenagers). There are also several other chuckle-inducing moments that supply the film with a steady stream of humor.

Unfortunately, there are also a few unnaturally extravagant gags (such as a naked Feldman grappling onto the hood of a speeding car that is trying to outrun the police) that fall flat and hurt the film’s overall momentum and believability. At just over a hundred minutes, the film also struggles to have enough good material to make for a fully involving feature film. The pacing drags at times due to moments and side characters that feel like little more than excess padding to fill in the runtime.

No Hard Feelings’ primary saving grace can be found in the performances of its two leads. Despite being miscast, Lawrence’s undeniably magnetic personality, interior strength, and highly watchable screen presence still manage to persevere and be amongst the film’s main attractions. Feldman is simply adorable as the innocent, good-natured teenager who timidly, endearingly, and honestly rides the line between adulthood and childhood. The chemistry between the two of them is priceless, lively, and, ultimately, quite sweet.

No Hard Feelings is a flawed movie that still has a lot going for it. It manages to make the most of some of its faults (such as Jennifer Lawrence’s casting) and still be a moving and energetic comedy that hits quite a few of the right notes. Its misfires are notable, but its strengths mostly make up for it so that its overall impact is pleasant and amusing.

GRADE: B-

This latest of many feature-film adaptations of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles comic book series that was created by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird in the mid-80s offers a new take on the long-beloved characters and their universe. Animated in a comic-book-in-action-meets-stop-motion style, the film is nothing short of a delight at which to look. Tonally, however, it is a sometimes-confused jumble that doesn’t always seem to know the exact audience at which it is aiming.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem shows us how, after exposure to a green ooze that is part of a secret government experiment, the four title characters (Donatello, Michelangelo, Leonardo, and Raphael) are transformed from baby, sewer-dwelling turtles into upright-walking, English-speaking, and martial arts-practicing individuals with a teenage mindset. The turtles are fathered by an also-transformed rat by the name of Splinter (amusingly voiced by the one-and-only Jackie Chan), who raises them with civility, a deep appreciation for pizza, and an overwhelming fear of the human population that lives above their underground habitat.

The turtles’ story goes into motion when they are introduced to the classic character of April O’Neil (voiced by Ayo Edebiri). In this incarnation, April is a nerve-wracked, weak-stomached high school reporter who befriends the turtles without prejudice and teaches them that all humans aren’t quite as bad as they may seem. The turtles then go on to find and befriend other mutants like Superfly (voiced by Ice Cube), Rocksteady (voiced by John Cena), Bebop (voiced by Seth Rogen), Leatherhead (voiced by Rose Byrne), and Mondo Gecko (voiced by Paul Rudd). Some of these new friends, however, turn out to be an extreme threat to the human population, and the turtles are forced to choose between defending the species they were raised to despise and staying loyal to other creatures of similar origin.

The general storyline of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem is a great fit for children and young teenagers. It’s a fun, inventive, and highly amusing tale that also teaches the importance of accepting those with notable differences from ourselves. Confusingly, however, the film simply doesn’t always feel like a kids’ movie, and it is often littered with tonal inconsistencies and moments that are simply too adult-oriented in their design and execution.

The screenplay, written by Seth Rogen, Evan Goldberg, Jeff Rowe, Dan Hernandez, and Benji Samit, is torn between a Rogen/Goldberg Superbad-style edgy teenage comedy and a more conventional, family-friendly, and action-driven superhero film. The conflicting styles only occasionally meld successfully, and the final result is, at its worst, a bit of a tonal mess. Rogen and Goldberg’s sense of humor isn’t always appropriate for the audience for which Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem seems to be playing. Their presumed contributions of gross-out humor and hip-hop coolness don’t always align with the film’s otherwise childlike sensibilities.

The film’s most notable tonal faults are largely due to its inconsistent background music. About half of the film is accompanied by a fun, laid-back, and R&B-heavy selection of pre-recorded pop songs. These songs are at complete odds with the industrial-laden musical score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross. Though the score is not bad in and of itself and has some occasional moments of ethereal beauty that fit select moments of wonder perfectly, it is predominantly much too intense and Nine Inch Nails-sounding for a film that is mostly geared towards younger audiences. Reznor and Ross have created wonderful, more fitting soundtracks in the past (Gone Girl, Mid90s, The Social Network), but their work on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem is rather out of place and distracting.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem is an overall entertaining film that has as much going for it as it does against it. Despite its tonal confusion, it displays a creative and wowing animation style that highlights the rambunctious attitude of its amusing and endearing title characters. Its screenplay and final edit could have used a bit more consistency, thought, and finessing, but its ultimate impact is enjoyable and light-hearted enough to make its sometimes sloppy execution somewhat forgivable.

GRADE: B-

Writer/director Paul Schrader has seemingly spent the last decade trying to add as many movies as he possibly can onto his already impressive filmography. The Taxi Driver and Raging Bull scribe has long been considered one of the greatest screenwriters of his time, but his directorial work is often met with mixed reactions. His films of the last ten years exemplify this, as he has delivered one bona fide masterpiece (2017’s First Reformed) along with a handful of interesting experiments that heavily vary in quality and never quite hit the mark (2013’s The Canyons, 2014’s Dying of the Light/Dark, 2016’s Dog Eat Dog, 2021’s The Card Counter). While Schrader’s latest effort, this year’s Master Gardener, is of exceptional quality and ranks high on the filmmaker’s resume, it slightly falls short of masterpiece status due to an overly sedate approach to its unquestionably strong material.

The film stars Joel Edgerton as a seemingly peaceful horticulturist who harbors a dark and violent past. He is also having an affair with the owner of the estate (Sigourney Weaver) on which he works. That relationship is soon threatened when he is assigned to mentor Weaver’s drug-addicted great-niece (Quintessa Swindell) and a mutual attraction based on their personal damage forms between the two of them. What ensues is a slow-burning and character-based thriller that refreshingly stands out by favoring the depiction of organic human behavior to propel it forward rather than forced and formulaic story beats.

The success of the film rides on Edgerton’s shoulders, and his skillfully minimalistic and true-to-life performance is more than up to the task. He creates a complex and shaded character through stillness and internal reactions that clearly (though subtly) read on his face. Edgerton never forces drama or theatricality, impressively relying on the power of his natural presence and the strength of Schrader’s material to communicate the intricacies of his character’s interior life.

Weaver exhibits a steely ferocity as the lonely and spoiled estate owner who wants to control Edgerton’s every move. Swindell is sympathetic and vulnerable as a young woman suffocating under the weight of her own personal demons. Despite their hefty age difference, her relationship with Edgerton is entirely believable because the two actors are able to clearly exhibit the common personality traits and past pain that make their characters’ connection run so deep.

Like the majority of Schrader’s films that he both wrote and directed, his writing for Master Gardener outshines his filmmaking. The film’s screenplay is endlessly intelligent and rich. It insightfully uses gardening as a metaphor for leaving the past behind and laying the foundation for a hopeful future. As a director, Schrader makes certain that his work as a writer is presented with extreme care. His thoughtful dialogue, the inner dualities of his characters, and the thematic grandness of his screenplay are crystal clear throughout. Schrader sometimes accomplishes this at the expense of innovation and dramatic power, however, and the result, though always intellectually stimulating, can be emotionally flat. His directorial style is, impressively, unobtrusive and inconspicuous, but it also could have used a little more passion and energy to fully and more successfully exhibit his characters’ internal and external conflicts.

Master Gardener is a very good film that doesn’t quite reach greatness. It is a fascinating character study performed by excellent actors and brought to life by a fully capable filmmaking team. Though its execution is sometimes a bit uninspired, the talent of its cast and the depth and extraordinary beauty of its screenplay often manage to rise above its few and relatively minor faults to make for an overall captivating and highly moving film.

GRADE: A-

Sometimes, a movie comes along with all the right elements: a good story, a great crew, a talented director, a strong cast, etc. Sometimes that movie takes us by surprise, however, and is an overall letdown for reasons that aren’t easy to pinpoint. Despite everything it has going for it, the movie simply doesn’t work and it can be a befuddling task to figure out why. Being a pretty large fan of two of its key players, I’m disappointed to state that Hypnotic is such a movie.

Ben Affleck stars as a detective who, while endlessly searching for his missing daughter, finds himself involved with “hypnotics”, people with the power to easily manipulate others into doing their bidding. The storyline has the potential to make for a fascinating and thrilling film. Unfortunately, that potential is lost with a haphazard screenplay structure that favors the setups for massive plot twists over proper storyline care and character development. Like some of M. Night Shyamalan’s weaker films, Hypnotic relies far too heavily on the power of its surprises rather than making sure its audience is informed enough to be engrossed in its ride.

The screenplay faults could be a bit more forgivable if the filmmaking style wasn’t so bland. While the film is technically well-made and there is nothing particularly wrong with its execution and presentation, there’s also nothing about Hypnotic that positively stands out, either. The film is made in a very obvious and uninspired fashion, as if was realized by a filmmaking team whose main priority was to play it safe and avoid presenting something that has never before been done.

Hypnotic was edited, co-photographed, co-written, and directed by Robert Rodriguez, one of the most creative, multi-talented, and visionary filmmakers of his time. His signature frenzied, early Sam Raimi-inspired style that features kinetically innovative camerawork, fast-paced and razor-sharp editing, and overall comic book-like sensibilities has found its way into the majority of his many genre efforts, namely his El Mariachi, Spy Kids, Sin City, and Machete films. In the case of Hypnotic, however, Rodriguez has pretty much ditched his directorial trademarks in exchange for a more grounded and sedate approach. While Rodriguez deserves applause for reaching for a certain maturity outside of his comfort zone, the resulting film is disappointingly stale and generic and could have been made by just about anyone who doesn’t possess his grand and singular vision.

Though he’s at his best as a director and has never been a natural-born actor, Affleck has, over the years, evolved into a highly sturdy, reliable, and affable screen presence who knows how to choose roles that suit him well. His charm and dedication serve Hypnotic and his role within it as best as they can, but Affleck is fighting an uphill battle in trying to create a complex character within a movie that simply doesn’t make the proper room for it. Affleck is good in the film, but his performance still underwhelms because the character he’s portraying lacks true shading and heart.

Hypnotic is a hopelessly average movie made by some highly gifted people. It’s disappointing when talents like Affleck and Rodriguez deliver a film that fails to showcase what makes them so undeniably exceptional in the first place. Hopefully, they’ll embrace the true nature of their talents in the future and their next films will serve as a reminder of the high quality of work that they have to offer. Unfortunately, the only thing Hypnotic truly reminds us of is that talent, no matter how great, is never entirely infallible.

GRADE: C-

In terms of its endlessly impressive artistry and technical achievements, Oppenheimer is a marvelous piece of work that often touches greatness and even, at times, reaches perfection. As a feature film experience in and of itself, however, its sky-high ambitions are often overwhelming and its intentions are sometimes unclear. Viewing the film is a frustratingly uneven experience, but one that cannot or should not be written off without any further thought or examination.

The film tells the story of Robert Oppenheimer’s (portrayed by Cillian Murphy) personal, moral, and political struggles with helping to invent the atomic bomb in the ‘40s and his persecution years later for a supposed affiliation with the Communist party. The audience is provided with glimpses of Oppenheimer as a college student, an eager beginning physicist, a young man torn between two different lovers (Emily Blunt and Florence Pugh), an obsessed director of The Manhattan Project’s Los Alamos Laboratory, and a beaten down variation of himself who eventually faces extreme and painful scrutiny. Needless to say, the film tackles quite a bit thematically, narratively, and stylistically, often risking the exhaustion of its audience’s attention span.

Writer/director Christopher Nolan (The Dark Knight, Inception, Dunkirk) always swings for the fences with his work. Oppenheimer is not only no exception to this, it’s now the primary example of it in his filmography. Nolan so very obviously wants Oppenheimer, with its intense sense of drama and its wowing depiction of atomic detonation, to be a condensed and tightly wound theatrical feature film experience. The only problem with this is that he also wants to cover as many details of Oppenheimer’s life as humanly possible, and the film tries to fit in more information than any single feature can handle. Oppenheimer is bursting with detail, much of which is lost in its overcrowded and cluttered design. Despite its IMAX intentions, the film could have worked beautifully as a limited cable mini-series, a format that could have easily and clearly housed Oppenheimer’s hefty narrative goals.

The film’s unrelenting (and, for a three-hour movie, tiring) momentum sometimes prevents its events from being executed with the proper examination or timing. The grand story of Oppenheimer is told in a large series of rather quick snippets, not always allowing time for dramatic moments or pieces of information to settle and sink in before it moves on to its next area of focus. The film also unfolds with a fractured linearity that dances amongst different timelines throughout, making it even more of a challenging (sometimes to the point of being confusing) viewing experience.

Every single performance in Oppenheimer is flawless. Murphy portrays Oppenheimer with intelligence, naturalism, humanity, and humility. There is not a moment that he is onscreen that is not wholly believable. Blunt is sympathetic, tragically flawed, and painfully relatable as Oppenheimer’s long-suffering wife, Kitty. Pugh is wounded, vulnerable, and also tragically flawed as Oppenheimer’s young love interest/mistress, Jean Tatlock. Matt Damon effortlessly excels as army officer/Manhattan Project director Leslie Groves, providing the film and his straight-laced character with some much-needed comic relief. Robert Downey Jr. steps outside of his comfort zone as Lewis Strauss, a character that makes the excessively gifted actor drop his usual charisma and movie star charm in favor of something more grounded, subtle, and reality-driven.

On first viewing (which, as of this writing, is all I have experienced), Oppenheimer is just too much movie to handle. Like most other films by Christopher Nolan, I can only guess that it will improve and be clearer with repeat viewings. Though it is almost endlessly astonishing in terms of its artistry, its uneven narrative is sometimes so overstuffed that it becomes difficult to follow and stay focused upon. It’s interesting how a film that depicts an obsessively over-ambitious protagonist falls victim to its own subject matter. Oppenheimer doesn’t always reach its grand aspirations, but it never ceases to be fascinating while watching it try.

GRADE: B+

Viewing Beau Is Afraid for the first time brings forth various, often conflicting, thoughts and emotions. It is a film, like those from such influential mind-bending masters as David Lynch and Charlie Kaufman, that is impossible to label as any one thing. It is a horror film, a dark comedy, an otherworldly adventure, an absurd nightmare, an insightful examination of dysfunctional parent/child relationships, and an unsettlingly bleak depiction of modern life. These are just a few of the things that the film could be defined as, but it is not limited to any number of them as there are literally countless other labels that could be attached to it.

The film is a stream-of-consciousness cinematic experiment that dares to boldly and unabashedly present its wild ideas without fully explaining and/or understanding them. It is designed to appeal to the subconscious and to primitive emotions, communicating most of the details of its story through feeling rather than intellect. Beau Is Afraid seems like it was written in a free-style fashion in two or three days by a very talented writer, then meticulously and carefully crafted into the film it is by a highly inventive and skilled filmmaking team.

Joaquin Phoenix stars as Beau, a timid middle-aged man with an overbearing and abusive mother (Patti Lupone). After she passes due to a darkly amusing chandelier accident, Beau is forced to go on a long, dangerous, and increasingly bizarre journey that is constantly interrupted by mishaps, otherworldly occurrences, and random encounters. As the journey progresses, so does the deterioration of common logic and Beau’s fragile sense of reality.

The storyline is merely an excuse for a series of loosely (if at all) connected vignettes, darkly quirky character studies, and an adventurous exploration of wildly different tones. Beau Is Afraid is sometimes kinetic, sometimes languidly paced, sometimes intensely tantalizing, sometimes mysterious, sometimes hysterical, sometimes weird to the point of being alienating, and almost always fascinating. It follows the lead character from one character interaction and location to another, adjusting its style and mood in accordance with how Beau reacts to each new situation. The more Beau is riddled with anxiety and fear (which, as you can guess by the title, is often), the more the film tries to instill the same feelings in its audience. When Beau is presented with profound and deeply moving life experiences (such as reuniting with a childhood sweetheart that is portrayed by Parker Posey as an adult), the film slows down and allows them to sink in and affect the viewer as they affect him—at least before everything inevitably goes to hell again.

Phoenix is at his usual hyper-committed and intensely lifelike best. His performance is raw, vulnerable, neurotically energized, and endearingly innocent. Beau is a character who acts like he is scared to be an adult who is comfortable in his own skin, far closer to a nervous child than he is a fully functional man. Phoenix grabs the role by the horns and fully embodies it with endless naturalism—something that helps ground the film’s overall surrealistic nature.

Writer/director Ari Aster (Hereditary, Midsommar) has repeatedly proven himself to be a strikingly commanding force behind the camera, and his audacity is on full display in Beau Is Afraid. As was the case with his previous two features, Aster’s filmmaking style for Beau Is Afraid pushes boundaries to discover new, fresh perspectives that are everything from grotesquely bizarre to astoundingly and oddly beautiful. When the film, roughly halfway through, segues into an elongated sequence of experimental animation, it’s both awe-inspiringly creative and wholly impressive that it manages to organically and seamlessly fit into the film’s steady stream of brazen stylistic risks.

The main fault of Beau Is Afraid is its three-hour runtime. The film could have and should have been shaved down by at least thirty minutes. The pacing, just like almost every other aspect of Beau Is Afraid, is intentionally haphazard. While it’s clear that Aster’s intention is to elicit a plethora of emotional reactions from his audience (frustration included) by drawing the film out, the risky experimentation with the pacing doesn’t always pay off. Beau Is Afraid’s inconsistent momentum is its main characteristic, more than its many other idiosyncrasies, that risks losing its audience’s engagement.

It’s impossible to come to any one understanding of Beau Is Afraid. It is a film designed to be many different things to many different people. Though I’ve only seen it once to date, I believe it is the type of film that will always offer something new with each repeat viewing. It’s an abstract piece of work that is steeped in feelings of terror, anxiousness, guilt, shame, humiliation, and, conflictingly enough, wonder. While the specifics of its storyline are largely open to interpretation, the powerful emotions it begets are entirely clear. Beau Is Afraid is not concerned with whether or not you like it. It exists, like any work of art, to evoke a reaction. The nature of this reaction will differ from viewer to viewer, but there is no denying that it will, at the very least, be an incredibly strong one.

GRADE: A-