Play all. Jerry Lee Lewis. It's A Long, Lonely Highway. Rock 'n' Roll OST. Elvis Presley. Long Lonely Highway. It's Now or Never. Mess or Blues. It Feels So Right. I'm Yours. Anything That's Part of You. The title is an enigma more engrossing than the film containing it. Nanki Kiara Advani must do some soul-searching after her boyfriend VJ Gurfateh Singh Pirzada gets accused of rape by Tanu Akansha Ranjan , putting her heart in direct conflict with her feminist principles.
The film gets there altogether too easily, missing the whole point of how nasty such cases can become as quotes tell opposing narratives, offering a vision of a kinder world for which none of us has any real use.
Send it back to hell! Coin Heist Coins are amazing — designed using lasers, mass-produced through an elaborate assembly line of casting and forging, inspected down to the tiniest detail for flaws so minute only professionals can see them, and all for something we keep in our pockets only to trade for chewing gum. It is, regrettably, an apt pairing of auteur and subject.
After auditioning and being rejected for the role years earlier, Larson gets the last laugh by leading as Kit, an art student booted from her program when a professor deems her Lisa Frank—esque paintings insufficiently serious.
The emotional arcs come across as prescriptive — she learns to control her anger and other impulses, he gets through the yearning for his own lost daughter — but the characters are easy to spend time with. At a wedding soundtracked by only the most identifiable public-domain classical standards, rugrats run around swapping the seating arrangement cards at one table, and create variations on unstable reactions between those forced to sit next to each other.
Never mind that the film takes about one full hour to get to this device, once it does, the winning dice roll of chance has a bum payout.
The main couple Olivia Munn gets together, their main point of connection being that they are the exact same amount of boring. An interrupting boor Tim Key learns that he will have better luck with women if he allows them to speak, a lesson for a six-year-old. This is the happy ending we were holding out for? Bomb Scared You thought eating disorders were a testy source for laughs? This Spanish-language comedy focuses on a dunderheaded gang of Basque-separatist extremists, impatiently awaiting their next mission while Spain makes a run at the World Cup in the background.
Director Borja Cobeaga treats their mission to await instruction in a safe house like a tedious office job and the characters like bumbling wage slaves instead of radicalized killers. But because everyone gets their own special power from Power hence the name! That goes for the cop Joseph Gordon-Levitt , the vigilante Jamie Foxx and the dealer Dominique Fishback, destined for greater things all hunting down the supplier Rodrigo Santoro , a dime-a-dozen plot not all that enhanced by the DNA-altering hook.
What better setting for a trip between amigos, the meat of this Spanish-language comedy on the move? The film does everything that films about oldsters taking to the road have trained us to anticipate: drug experiences all in good fun, May-December pairings for the shoehorned hints of romance, chin-up humor about the impending visit from the Grim Reaper.
But writer-director Zak Hilditch, back to the Netflix grind after showing the limits of his proficiency with high-concept horror on , stretches another what-if scenario to the point of tearing. At one point, our woman seems to be going in circles while lost in the desert, a regrettably apt parallel to the film around her. His many fruitless attempts make him the Road Runner to her Wile E.
Coyote, occasionally clever enough in its slapstick to earn the comparison. Santo eventually getting a mullet does not help. His various whacking, loot-boosting, and general gangsterism has nothing to contribute to the ongoing dialogue each of the greats has advanced in their own way, not to mention the lesser-seen Italian productions bringing social consciousness and formal adventurousness to the genre as of late. One hopes that top-flight choreography might pick up the slack left by cookie-cutter writing, but alas, these Scandinavian posers have already been served by their American cousins.
Skam -heads aside, best moonwalk your way to Step Sisters instead. Daniel Calparsoro disregards all of this counsel on his way to dashing the aptitude he showed in The Warning , a genre piece that couched its twists in a story firm enough to sustain them.
There seem to be fewer shits given all around in this case, as Calparsoro rushes through his watering-down of Thomas Harris so he can get to three successive bait-and-switches, each less meaningful than the last. Until, of course, we figure out the game — at which point all that remains are some eye-catching diversions with pink, green, and yellow, along with a few practical effects shots not worth writing home about. There is only one Tyler Durden.
For generations, a clandestine society of ultra-babysitters have battled the forces of darkness, represented here with more whimsy than usual. These puckish monsters hew closer to the likes of Aaahh!!! Real Monsters , only with the edges sanded off. Born as an obsessive Fincherian hunt-for-the-killer thriller, pupating into a head-on action chase, and finally bursting out of its cocoon as a hideously malformed time-travel travesty, this film has an entirely separate set of issues. Walraven van Hall is no Oskar Schindler — though this biopic wants him to be so very badly — and star Barry Atsma does a commendable job of giving this real-life human being an identity of his own.
His White Fang had teeth, speaking to a young-adult audience prepared to reckon with the hazards of the natural world, but this kiddie spin strips the woods of their formidable might.
A scene depicting dogfighting feels out of place in a film so mushy. The title pretty much translates to Lost Girl. There will be plenty more. What sounds like a weird cousin to Dear Zachary makes up a lot of ground in execution, as the characters buy into the absurdity enough that it starts to fold into the fabric of the universe.
Flipping a middle finger to the grandfather paradox, the script even makes it through the easily blown second-act exposition without falling apart. Amato works harder to earn his tears than most of the guys behind merciless melodramas such as this. The preceding weeks saw an influx of photo enthusiasts streaming in from across the country to get their exposures while they still could, and this drama follows once such road trip between cancer-stricken snapshotter Ben Ed Harris , his good-natured assistant—nurse Zoe Elizabeth Olsen , and his adult son Matt Jason Sudeikis.
From the mm. George Clooney continues his less-admired directorial career while starring as a grizzled researcher, the last in his Apple Store-looking Arctic base that affords refuge from the humanity-culling conditions outside. A good villain could have made up for the scripting, but the trio of little undead girls only serves to add The Shining to the laundry list of superior films from which this one has leeched.
Free Pugh. Take the 10 For those viewers in search of a scattershot, fitfully funny crime caper in which Tony Revolori spends one long day scrambling around the outskirts of L. At least that one had a more charming leading man in Shameik Moore than this one gets in Josh Peck, playing a sleazebag with the pretty face of a former child TV star. That movie had some entry-level commentary on race, too, and a nifty soundtrack from Pharrell.
All this dime-store knockoff has is a Pulp Fiction— lite nonchronological structure, a closeted coke baron, and one great Danny Brown needle drop it unloads in the first 15 minutes. The most a critic can say is that its pop-culture references are very of-the-moment. Eli Paramount pawned this one off on Netflix after executives reasoned that figuring out how to market a film built around a remarkably stupid late-phase twist would be too much of a hassle.
This made it a perfect fit for Netflix, and a business model that subsists on word-of-mouth over marketing. Even the premise sounds like it was reverse-engineered from mined data: a boy quarantined from the world around him Charlie Shotwell, whose last name does not describe this film lands in a haunted house containment facility, but is his sickness real?
The script has been, at most, a quarter thought-through. Evil , about a pair of convivial rednecks who, through a series of unfortunate accidents and coincidences, present as bloodthirsty lunatics to a gaggle of nubile vacationers. Anne Hathaway. Dee Rees. In any case, Didion will be fine. She goes missing and law enforcement suspects Lucy may be the guilty party, her interrogations interspersed with flashbacks to her doomed love triangle.
Noah Centineo, a name doodled in diaries worldwide, plays a lower-middle-class high-school senior putting together cash for college by posing as an escort for girls in need of some arm candy. Handsome From the opening narration in which the culprit introduces himself and confesses to his crime, this comedy purports to be a different breed of murder mystery. A cursory web search provides clarity on how a charlatan could have landed such an adulatory portrayal, as well as the equally confounding question of why a French-set film about a Frenchman ended up as a Portuguese-language Brazilian production: the last modern-day stronghold of Spiritism is in Brazil.
This is by them, for them, but offered up to all of us due to the globalist business ethic of Netflix. In doing so, they convert an odd historical footnote into a more ambiguous consideration between an overbearing government a little too into its control, and a rebel who barely has a cause.
Sahara In the abattoir of lowest-common-denominator kiddie entertainment, a viewer can sometimes read between the lines and see the grown-up writers starting to crack under their own madness. I credit this cut-rate French-Canadian co-production with offering the most glimpses into the frustration that comes alongside making a cartoon about the desert adventures of a scorpion and a cobra. Norwegian filmmaker Jarand Herdal sets an auspicious scene, sending stragglers in a famine-stricken Scandinavia into a mansion for a show that costs whatever they can afford, with perversions and carnage awaiting in each room.
One guess where that comes from. Lucid Dream Among the curiously large backlog of East Asian sci-fi projects that Netflix has imported, this does not rank among the more memorable. Yeh Ballet In , Sooni Taraporevala directed a fifteen-minute documentary short about Manish Chauhan and Amiruddin Shah, two Mumbai kids scooped out of their chawls and deposited into a top-of-the-line ballet academy.
In elongating to nearly two hours and going the narrative route, Taraporevala bathes his subjects in a phoniness that only exaggerates the distance from its own reality. Coming from India gives the film a few chances to say something worth hearing, much of it about the casual racism of the ballet world; the white instructor is quick to tell his new pupil to shear his luscious locks in order to conform to Western performance standards.
The few scenes articulating this concept get closest to recapturing the observational spirit of its source. It must be one hell of a fluoridation process that gave us the chiseled fortysomething sexpots who appear to have skipped right into this film from a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. No white sweaters and white wine for this quasi-First Wives Club, however; the weekend turns into a cougar prowl of partying, eager-to-please young studs, and pelvis-focused beach volleyball montages.
Though by no means a good film, it ranks as one of the more tolerable bad ones, with most of the genital-driven jokes made in good humor and good faith. She then squandered part of that goodwill on limp-noodle biopic Mary Shelley , and now threatens to completely deplete it on this rom-com lacking both volume and a lustrous aesthetic shine.
Uptight advertising exec Violet Sanaa Lathan keeps her life as rigorously controlled as her elaborately treated do, but she must forsake the picture-perfect fakery to go natural up top and find herself. Sunanda Usha Jadhav is precisely the sort of character that Chopra and other outspoken advocates for women in the entertainment industry have called for.
A lawyer ardently arguing for abused women against their alcoholic husbands, she has a feminist yen for justice at war with an inner turmoil that still haunts her. Take a wild guess at what happened in her past to make her pursue this particular line of work. For a while, the character is more fully-developed than the film around her, until the final twenty minutes take some shall-we-say-unanticipated turns that seriously undercut its progressive messaging.
Slightly coercive sex and cuckolding: the cure to a flagging marriage? Revenger The seventh art started going downhill the day that CGI blood was ruled more cost-effective than squib packs and karo syrup.
Hopefully, powerhouse star Bruce Khan will find more sure-handed tutelage elsewhere, and soon. This film, a Polish rush job in the English language, makes that faux pas into its main event. Even if the visual profile looks more like an HBO prestige movie. Conflict-averse academic Paul Adama Niane finds this for himself as his family returns from vacation in their RV, greeted by housesitters exploiting a loophole to squat on the property.
Paul calls the cops, and because all they see is a Black man trying to break into a big house, they arrest him instead of the offenders. Holiday Rush The politics of poptimism figure prominently into yet another fish-out-of-water class reversal, this time starring Romany Malco as a radio personality suddenly out of a job when his pride and joy station gets bought by a bloodsucking megacorp.
While he and his bratty children move back in with family auntie Darlene Love! The racial subtext of that divide also makes this film more watchable in theory than in practice, a counterweight against writing so dedicated to being unfunny that it actually drops the record-scratch what-just-happened moment without a trace of irony. For some, the minute-by-minute predictability will be a bug, but others, a feature. The most costly production in Malay film history often feels like an extended recruitment video, showing how PASKAL soldiers save lives and assist the U.
Leader of men Commander Anwar Hairul Azreen entertains the notion that he may not be able to serve his country and his family at the same time, a nagging doubt typical of the war film, but the film settles that with the conclusion that country and family are one and the same.
Though the three tactical operations around which the script has been molded are executed with the precision and efficiency expected of the military, the shut-up-and-put-up thinking leaves its topic only half-covered. A film in which no one comes out looking so good, least of all women. The battle for the future of the banlieue takes human shape in Mali-French teen Noumouke Bakary Diombera , torn between his older brothers.
Soulaymaan Jammeh Diangana is on track to be a lawyer and Demba polymath James, pulling double duty runs the local drug game, embodying the two paths facing Noumouke in rather plain fashion. With such a natural feel for the banlieue, any falseness within it jumps right out.
As a cultural presence, sure, I get the appeal. Excepting her tiring habit of constant fourth wall breakages, Enola makes for a great role model and flat character, her lack of doubt or any other apparent flaw robbing her of the complexity that actually speaks to young people. The online Keanumania sparked by the episode in the middle featuring Reeves as a funhouse-mirror version of himself, however, has been well-founded. The aspiration?
For camera-ready Rumi Prit Kamani , the Bollywood big time. The obstacle? You can take it from there, the only divergence from what the previous sentences would lead a viewer to expect being the cultural import of the bun maska.
We learn that the combo of buttery bread and strong chai tea carries a plank of their selfhood, as the signature dish of the Iranian-style eateries set up by immigrants going east to India. This sturdy concept gets left behind, however, as the ghost of Rustom buries Rumi under reams of voiceover as his living son goes about his shitty little adventure.
Nowhere outside Pinterest have canned aphorisms ever carried this much clout. If only it was funnier. On the other hand, there is something slightly risky and revisionist about placing a half-Korean character in a role so historically steeped in whiteness. If nothing else, the specter of Long Duk Dong will have been forever dispelled. Animal Crackers The Variety report about the machinations behind the scenes of this Chinese-American animated coproduction makes for an absorbing read, an odd yarn involving Harvey Weinstein, sudden bankruptcy, and one seriously pissed-off seafood magnate.
He hoists the whole of this cloistered comedy as a neurotic enjoying a tight sort of comfort in a closed-off home where he can keep everything just-so.
From a city-block bombing to a shooting spree at a campground, Greengrass treats discretion like weakness as he shows and shows and shows. Benji The Great Louisiana Tax Break Production Boom has attracted many stars to the oak-lined streets of New Orleans over the past decade, and the latest addition to the list is the hottest star on four legs, wonder dog Benji. The best that can be said for this neutered reboot of the musty mutt franchise is that it makes active use of its surroundings where so many have attempted to obscure them.
And yet nu-Benji lacks a certain canine charisma present in his doggy forebears, and weirder still, this film plays up the element of Christian dogma — thank you, thank you — traditionally constrained to the subtextual level. The Influence Spanish novice Denis Rovira enrolls at the Guillermo Del Toro School of High Gothic Revivalism for a story of wicked enchantment and familial discord, and he only barely passes the final.
Rebirth The first rule of this anti-corporate psychological thriller is do not talk about Fight Club. Goldberg breaks his pal out of a funk by inviting him to join a new movement of self-actualization he recently discovered, where instead of therapeutically punching the bologna out of one another, members chant creepy affirmations about accessing inner truth. Ugarte slowly comes undone as a nurse capable of communicating via haunted VHS tape with a boy who died 25 years earlier.
Paulo has a week-one-freshman grasp on chaos theory, and succeeds only in dumbing the concepts down while falling into the same grandfather paradox facing any time-travel movie. Not even the broad shoulders of Ugarte can carry a film so poorly thought-through. Eye for an Eye In this morality play shipped over from Spain, a wheelchair-bound gang lord Xan Cejudo wastes away in a nursing home, left with nothing to do but face the guilt from his checkered past — or lack thereof.
It might sound like a lesser sibling of The Irishman The Spanishman! Plaza bends over backwards to maintain these stakes, resorting to several cheap writerly tricks of coincidence that weaken the story instead of enriching it.
The occultist on the job suffers from the same thinness, revealing nothing of himself as he brings his daughter along for their own grief counseling session of terror. How else to account for the absolute absence of any signs of life whatsoever in each and every performance? As a mother grieving her young son recently nabbed by wolves, Riley Keough never breaks her heart-monitor monotone, and Jeffrey Wright matches her mumble-for-mumble as the nature expert who comes to find the missing boy.
Director David E. Talbert uses this pressure cooker as a breeding ground for a black comedy of schemers and bumblers, brought to life by a cast seemingly picked at random from a hat.
Tim Allen! Jessica Alba! A viewer gets the impression that nobody in this motley troupe was in contact with one another during shooting.
The cartoonishly inept lawmen plotting to resolve the situation have a Keystone Kops thing going on, the news team broadcasting the events occupy a more cynical atmosphere, and on the scene indoors, the shooter and his bargaining chips are doing Coen brothers cosplay.
Been So Long I am of the steadfast belief that any bad movie can be improved at least slightly with the addition of musical numbers, a principle supported by this adaptation of a London stage smash. Without the occasional ditty to spice things up, this would be a standard-issue guy-meets-gal romance about a single mother trying to get back out there.
While the music suffers from Repo! Burning Sands Yet another clone movie, this one retreading the stomach-churning account of hazing gone too far undertaken by Goat the previous year. But instead of tiptoeing around the jocks, prevailing attitudes of mandated prudence mean that our boys must tiptoe around their parents, their nation, and their own guilt.
Schoolgirl Hatsuni Miona Hori gets her first taste of womanhood with three crushes, each more ill-suited to her affections than the last. What might scan as retrograde is in practice nakedly human, though it leads to some overdone comic setups that are anything but. Our chronically single gal Ana Cassandra Ciangherotti goes to a professional love coach Gabriela de la Garza to get her out of the lonely hearts club, and a few montages later, what do you know!
The architect with the well-manicured beard has swept Ana off her feet. The sword of Damocles finally drops when his partners turn against him, his wife sends a messenger boy to announce her request for a divorce, and his substance-based hobbies threaten to worsen into habits, all on the same Monday.
In America, it feels like the Sundance-industrial complex gives us another one of these every couple of years. He casts a bold silhouette as the image of gallantry, oftentimes to disbelief-testing extents.
Did he really wait to deflower his teen bride, played by a poorly utilized Florence Pugh, until she was ready to give her consent? Mackenzie wants us to gawp at his lengthy tracking shots and flaming catapult, but the bouquet of loose screw-ups has a way of holding the attention. Close Enemies You know movie cops, always torn between their responsibility to uphold the law and their allegiance to where they come from.
Driss Reda Kateb has long since left behind his lawless French neighborhood to pursue work as one of the boys in blue, but he must get back to his roots after his boyhood friend and informant gets bumped off.
Nothing all that revelatory here, but reheated genre exercises like this can be improved by cut-above acting and writing; this one has the former in spades, as Kateb and Schoenaerts fume and snort with bullish machismo they have the cojones to actually sell.
The resulting uproar destroyed treasured relationships and put him through a great test of faith in line with Christian lore, and director Joshua Marston chooses to relate this with all the dramatic nuance of a Lifetime Original Movie. Not even a sensitive turn as an AIDS-positive organist from the unerring Lakeith Stanfield can earn this film salvation.
The Killer And now for something completely different: a Western by way of Brazil, where a scar-faced killer those excited for a film about Spanish bullfighters are in for a rude awakening plays the cowboy liberating a dusty village from a ruthless capitalist. Diogo Morgado cuts a commanding figure as our man Shaggy, a couple notches closer to feral than the usual gunslinger. The Warning Spanish filmmaker Daniel Calparsoro could have a long career ahead of him in Hollywood, where they crank out ambitious but imperfect conceptual thrillers like this one by the bushel.
Better yet, mechanic-to-the-pros Lino Alban Lenoir specializes in tricking out otherwise unimpressive models, making these m. To work off his debt, Gudio joins the shadowy league of collectors and rapidly learns the ropes of a dishonest yet highly seductive profession where all rules have a bit of wiggle room. Structuring this all around two trials amps up the excitement, but loses the gentle compassion that made its clear progenitor work. Like Cube , this puzzle-box of horror places a handful of poor bastards in high-concept confinement, as a pregnant young woman Laysla De Oliveira and her possibly incestuous brother Avery Whitted scramble through evasive maneuvers from a pursuer Patrick Wilson hunting them across a mutating labyrinth of grass.
I Am Jonas We spend our adulthoods nursing the psychosexual wounds still lingering from those hard teen years, no matter what may have transpired. In the case of Jonas Felix Meritaud, he of wiry build and pretty face , day-in-day-out bullying from homophobic classmates made his tentative first encounter with plump-lipped classmate Nathan Tommy-Lee Baik an experience of high highs and low lows back when he was a student played by Nicolas Bauwens.
The painterly photography has been supplanted by the flatness of prestige TV, and the long, pensive gaps in which viewers were once free to appreciate the rustling of tree branches or distant chiming of bells are now filled with meaningless exposition.
Formulaic as his handiwork may be, director Julien Leclerq has his head on straighter than his characters, moving his minute run time at a swift clip with a few Mannly action sequences. But what the film lacks in cohesion, it makes up for with moment-to-moment entertainment. A journalist Sharon Ooja goes undercover to get the straight dope about the black market flesh trade in Lagos, and with a queasy inevitability, lands in hot water herself.
A national cinema once limited by censorship and old-fashioned ideas about propriety is now exploring new sexual frontiers, this romantic anthology being a bracingly blunt case in point. Behold, the first onscreen appearance of a vibrator in the history of Indian film!
Four separate stories revolve around women in various states of dissatisfaction — carnal, sure, but more frequently emotional. A lot of the comedy errs on the side of the sophomoric, with one randy set piece taking cues from the risible The Ugly Truth , but what this effort represents still counts for quite a bit.
Co-directors Junichi Sato and Tomotaka Shibayama cater to teens and the teen-at-heart alike with the story of Miyo Sasaki, a middle-schooler moony over the uninterested Kento Hinode.
Her edge in the plan to get a foot in the door of his heart? She can turn into a cat by putting on a noh mask, allowing her to do reconnaissance while he unwittingly cuddles the kitty he dubs Taro. Though in practice, this mostly serves to allegorize the worn-out romcom lesson about not changing yourself to suit the one you want, at least that plot device permits us entry to the wondrous Isle of Cats. That all-feline Xanadu gives a lick of the humor and imagination somewhat lacking in the rest of the film.
Witnessing one such distressing occurrence claim the life of his sister stays with August Khalil Everage permanently, afflicting him with agoraphobia well-suited to his fledgling career as a bedroom beatmaker. Imperial Dreams A curious specimen, this film was made and released in two dramatically different worlds. When the picture first premiered at Sundance in , John Boyega was another handsome young Brit with a lot of promise and a stare capable of cutting metal.
By the time Netflix unveiled it in , he was an A-lister with a leading role in the biggest blockbuster franchise on the planet. Not an easy sit by any measure, but director Sudabeh Mortezai maximizes the pain to unclear ends, drawing all the dread out from an upsetting rape scene early on until it feels like horror cinema and not in the good way.
The Angel By , tensions along the Egyptian-Israeli border had escalated to powder-keg levels, and a violent engagement was all but imminent. This true-to-life thriller contemplates the answer and settles somewhere between the two in a conflicted character study that resists simple heroism. If only director Ariel Vromen had put a little more oomph in the scenes where things happen and sunk less time into scenes in which people talk about things happening.
What could have been an amoral romp in the vein of American Made lands in a more subdued, inert mode, never quite reveling in its own misdeeds. Solo All right, cards on the table, Netflix. Two days later, this Spanish tribute to real-life perseverance popped up under a nearly identical title. This Indonesian comedy goes with the former archetype, but does so with a humor that wears its cornball sensibility better than most.
Recovering it falls to Taat and his pals, who duly make fools of themselves without wearing the bit thin. Kidnapping Stella Sometimes, the less said in a movie, the better. Striking all dialogue can force a plateauing filmmaker to get back to basics and relearn how to convey information visually, through camerawork, editing, and the choices of the actors.
Director Thomas Sieben applies a zero-fat, economical style to the Stockholm Syndrome thriller, until the perpetrators get talking and turn from wraithlike presences into regular guys. The retelling of one Irish U. That results in a weird dissonance, where the film works as a discrete whole but fails on a scene-by-scene basis. Those plugged in to the joys of wrestling may get more out of the rise of little Leo Seth Carr , who discovers a luchador mask granting him the speed, strength, and agility to enter the ring with grown-ups thrice his size.
That, and a weirdly deep Billy Dee Williams voice. Like Mike did this with a magic pair of Air Jordans, but this film piledrives the competition by foregrounding the agreed-upon lie known as kayfabe that makes wrestling unique. Leo creates his own persona and buys into the act until it becomes real, the bedrock of the sweaty, muscular form of public theatre that is WWE.
In this spirit, watching hulking adults pretend to be pummeled by a kid turns from hokey stuntwork into the upkeep of a proud tradition of make-believe. The ensuing dash to get the sinewy hellion back in his container drably shuffles through its action sequences and has a, shall we say, utilitarian relationship to language. Tallulah Former Orange Is the New Black writer Sian Heder tries her hand behind the camera for this study in contrasts about three women all chafing under the demands of motherhood in their own way.
In the title role, Ellen Page is a street urchin feeling lost after her good-for-nothing boyfriend abandons her, but finds new meaning in life when fate puts a helpless infant in her custody. Well-measured restraint improves the acting across the board, which in turn keeps this film away from the treacly sentiment that occasionally rears its weepy head.
Janney takes it in a walk, naturally. Targarona has a perceptible admiration for Boix and the bravery required to surreptitiously document some of the most heinous crimes against humanity that history has ever seen.
Targarona, a veteran of the Spanish film industry, has earned the right to have a little more faith in herself. The Titan Sam Worthington is one of those actors whose blank expression and generically handsome features make him the perfect candidate to portray a robot. See also: Emily Ratajkowski, Jamie Dornan. Forestalling the inevitable, this sci-fi thought exercise gets near the mark by casting Worthington as something other than human — in this case, the next stage in evolution.
The film lacks focus, however, glancing past a number of thoughtful paths in an effort to simultaneously take all of them. Pickpockets Those small-time hoodlums rationalizing theft as a victimless crime often tend to not realize that after long enough, they will become the real victims. A sense of coiled-spring energy and an emphasis on the fascinating nuts and bolts of ripping strangers off can make a hundred-dollar job feel as exciting as a bank heist, both for us and the purloiners onscreen, who steal for the sheer rush as much as the money.
Director Peter Webber is never better than when exalting in the kinetic glory of petty larceny, his camera as weightless and carefree as its subjects, but the need to impose an arc on their lifestyle mucks up the merrymaking.
The arrival of an elder mentor in misdemeanors steers the younger leads to betrayal, jealousy, and internal conflict, all of which makes for adequate drama at the price of the poetry-in-motion exhilaration of their earlier cooperation. Seriously Single A romcom that needs to make its kooky female protagonist act in less than recognizably human ways, just so that maturing her to bare normalcy qualifies as growth, has rot at the root.
The borderline psychedelic design of the moon-world is a feat, albeit one made less impressive by the too-long run time, a sidekick more bothersome than usual, and tuneless musical numbers. A nurse looks after a foul-smelling and possibly already-deceased woman, an expecting mother loses touch with herself and her humanity, a roamer enters a small village with strict rules for surviving the parable at play, and a pair of newlyweds seek the blessing of a late grandmother.
Emmet Walsh could be altogether bad. Still, the script arrives at the same inevitable endpoint as any other movie about someone avenging a loved one. You know the old saying — before you embark upon a journey of revenge, dig two graves. Jezebel As Netflix-endorsed depictions of the camgirl industry go, this one has more in common with the nonjudgemental professionalism of Cam than the prurient scaremongering of documentary Hot Girls Wanted.