PHOTO COURTESY BBP TRAIN DREAMS LLC / NETFLIX

In an everchanging landscape for movies, the best films of 2025 represent the full breadth of ways we engage with motion pictures.

There are movies on this list that became traditional blockbusters — widely seen in movie theaters from coast to coast. There are movies that cineastes had to seek out at film festivals and in small arthouses. There are movies that only (or almost only) appeared on streaming services.

To be sure, the film landscape in 2025 has no resemblance to that of 1999 — just as that storied year had little in common with the way we watched movies in 1975 or 1960. Throughout the 125 years or so of American moviegoing, the methods and means of finding great movies have changed; the appetite for them, however, hasn’t decreased.

A number of very good movies just barely missed my 10 favorites this year, including “28 Years Later,” “It Was Just an Accident,” “KPop Demon Hunters,” “Mickey 17,” “The Plague,” “Sentimental Value,” “Superman” and “Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery.” These 10, however, lingered in my mind — and I suspect they’ll do so for some time.

10) “Eephus”
The quiet baseball movie “Eephus” is about everything and says almost nothing. A hardscrabble small-town team gathers to play its final game before their home (and only) field is demolished; the game is ultimately pointless, and none of the aging players are particularly inclined to make a symbol out of it. Yet “Eephus” manages to cover a century of American change with nary a discussion of any issues. Plus, it’s funny as often as it’s heartbreaking.
How to See It: Now streaming on MUBI and available via digital on-demand services.

PHOTO COURTESY WARNER BROS. PICTURES

9) “One Battle After Another”
Is it a sideways social parable? Many of this year’s weighty message movies didn’t speak so eloquently. A madcap comedy? Most of the other funny pictures this year didn’t produce half as many laughs. A gritty action flick? The average thriller wishes it had anything as gripping as that climactic car chase. But why try to define it? “One Battle After Another” is simply a great cinematic experience. Director Paul Thomas Anderson’s best film since “There Will Be Blood” is magnificently realized and packs a cast so loaded that you’ll wish every single character could have their own spinoff film. (Especially Regina Hall’s.)
How to See It: Now streaming on HBO Max.

8) “Blue Moon”
If it were a play — and “Blue Moon” could easily be a play — you could do it in a bare black box with no loss of intrigue. The film follows fading Broadway scribe Lorenz Hart on the night his former partner, Richard Rodgers, is debuting a lavish production without Hart’s assistance. The name of that show? “Oklahoma!,” exclamation point and all, co-written by Oscar Hammerstein II, thus sealing Hart’s fate as a relic. Beautifully portrayed by Ethan Hawke, Hart stalks around Sardi’s with wit and desperation in equal measure. The script, by Robert Kaplow, is perfect; Linklater’s direction turns it into immersive reality. It could be a play; I’m very glad it’s a film.
How to See It: Available via digital on-demand services.

7) “Sorry, Baby”
Several of this year’s most acclaimed movies hurl characters, plot developments and scenes at the viewer with reckless abandon. In some cases — see the entries I’ve ranked sixth and ninth, for example — that approach works; in others, it muddies the waters. The opposite of this very frenetic filmmaking is the careful “Sorry, Baby,” an awesome debut from director/writer/star Eva Victor. A steady tale of endurance, uncertainty and emotion after a sexual assault, “Sorry, Baby” manages a remarkable feat, taking its painful subject matter and finding a path toward something inspirational.
How to See It: Now streaming on HBO Max.

PHOTO COURTESY A24

6) “Marty Supreme”
Don’t watch “Sorry, Baby” and “Marty Supreme” back-to-back — you’ll suffer unfathomable whiplash going from a careful walk of a story to a plot more like a runaway train. As table-tennis expert Marty Mauser — very loosely based on real-life athlete Marty Reisman — Timothee Chalamet deals with a slate of obstacles ranging from a mafioso’s lost dog to a movie star’s amorous intentions in the single-minded pursuit of ping-pong supremacy. Does the viewer ever think any of this is going to work out? Not for a moment. Can you look away? Not for a moment. Josh Safdie captures the tension of his instant classic “Uncut Gems” but adds significantly more humor and a dash of something stirring.
How to See It: Now in theaters.

5) “Sirāt”
The sound of vibrating, almost amelodic electronic music pounding in the desert sand sets the tone for “Sirāt,” a sparse tragedy from director Oliver Laxe. A man and his young son search for a missing family member among outlaw raves and remote deserts in southern Morocco; it’s a task that seems hopeless from the onset and will only grow more desperate as the path winds farther into an inhospitable climate. Bleak though the subject matter is, Laxe makes it hypnotizing; in that endless stress of heat and oblivion, there’s something irresistible for characters and viewers alike.
How to See It: “Sirāt” appeared at the Three Rivers Film Festival but is yet to receive a longer release in Pittsburgh or arrive on streaming. Keep an eye out for showtimes in the months leading up to the Oscars; “Sirāt” is a hopeful for Best International Feature and Best Sound nominations.

4) “Hamnet”
Oscar-winning director Chloé Zhao adapts Maggie O’Farrell’s novel into a collision between the lush landscape of an artist’s mind and the brutal realities of a cold era in human history. Loosely inspired, with some speculation, from the life of William Shakespeare, “Hamnet” focuses on the Bard’s wife, Agnes, and the loss of the couple’s son, Hamnet. The literary angle explores the degree to which his son’s death inspired Shakespeare’s most well-known tragedy; the heart of the film, though, is simply about the illogical demands of loss. Jessie Buckley could and should win Best Actress for her portrayal of Agnes; no performance this year shows more mastery of the craft.
How to See It: Now in theaters.

3) “The Perfect Neighbor”
The most eloquent cinematic argument of the year didn’t need to comment — verbally, at least — on the real-life tragedy it presented. A found-footage chronicle of a killing in suburban Florida, “The Perfect Neighbor” presents stark reality via the most contemporary sources (police body cameras, Ring doorbells) to deliver a jolting dose of truth in our excessively debatable world. It’s a tough documentary to get through, with some devastating moments; its urgency and importance, though, make a viewing more than worth it. Director Geeta Gandbhir and editor Viridiana Lieberman possess almost supernatural skill; I can’t wait to see what they do next.
How to See It: Now streaming on Netflix.

2) “Train Dreams”
Unfathomable beauty and unbearable sadness collide in “Train Dreams,” a quiet western (of sorts) set in the Pacific Northwest. Joel Edgerton plays Robert Grainier, a laborer who can’t escape intimate encounters with death. Loss is as constant as the towering, gorgeous trees that surround him. Based on a gorgeous novel by Denis Johnson, “Train Dreams” challenges the viewer to find and focus on its splendor without ever letting go of sadness. “Beautiful, ain’t it,” says William H. Macy, giving the film’s thesis — and something of a eulogy. “All of it. Every bit of it.”
How to See It: Now streaming on Netflix.

PHOTO COURTESY WARNER BROS. PICTURES

1) “Sinners”
Oscar rules prevent Michael B. Jordan from receiving two Best Actor nominations, but he deserves them for giving a pair of unforgettable performances as ambitious twins Smoke and Stack. Powerful as Jordan’s performances are, they’re but one element in a truly remarkable — and instantly unforgettable — film. The story of an ill-fated juke joint set upon by ancient evil, “Sinners” is about the binding power of music to uplift and embolden communities. It’s also a gripping thriller, a haunting horror film and a searing drama. Every year has great films. It’s rare to encounter a movie that feels destined to become an endlessly rewatched classic. “Sinners” is just such a film; in the way that touchstone films such as “Jaws” and “The Godfather” seem to have always been immediate and relevant, “Sinners” has an eternal quality. It was the best movie of the year from the first reel.
How to See It: Now streaming on Prime Video and HBO Max.

PHOTO COURTESY A24

The radiant 2019 thriller “Uncut Gems” provided one of the most gripping viewing experiences in recent memory. It is the exact sort of story for which the term nail-biter was coined — a tense yet irresistibly compelling tale of coiling tension.

Brothers Josh and Benny Safdie co-directed and co-wrote “Uncut Gems,” and they have yet to do so again; they have not worked together on a film since. This year, however, both offered solo work. Benny was responsible for “The Smashing Machine,” a well considered film that ultimately struggled with a lack of momentum. Josh wrote and directed “Marty Supreme.”

And “Marty Supreme” might even be ever-so-slightly superior to its already fabled predecessor.

Both “Marty Supreme” and “Uncut Gems” are stories about compounding bad decisions, following characters who take any risk and stomp on any relationship in the single-minded pursuit of personally defined glory. In “Uncut Gems,” the victories sought were financial; in “Marty Supreme,” our protagonist (you can’t call him a hero) is after a global revolution in the world of sports.

Marty Mauser (Timothee Chalamet) is a wunderkind at the emerging sport of table tennis. His put-upon mother (Fran Drescher) and tut-tuting neighbors, convincing denizens of 1950s New York, don’t believe he’s any sort of athlete, urging him to develop his other natural talent — as a canny shoe salesman. After advancing to the finals of a global competition and grabbing newspaper headlines, however, he has his mind on championships and Wheaties boxes.

Also on his mind: An affair with a fading silent-era movie star (Gwyneth Paltrow), a side hustle conning New Jersey rubes with a taxi-driver friend (Tyler the Creator), a simmering feud involving the missing dog of a mobster (Abel Ferrera) and the pregnant-by-Marty yet married-to-someone-else girl next door (Odessa A’zion).

Oh yeah: And he doesn’t have the money to get to Japan for the next big tournament. Not a penny of it.

The story pinballs from problem to minor victory with kinetic energy, while Chalamet rides the chaos with charm and expert control. He’s already an accomplished performer, but his work here eclipses his well-received imitation of Bob Dylan a year ago. (Like that performance, there’s real inspiration here — the film is very loosely based on the life of ping-pong player Marty Reisman — but the inspiration is slight, and Chalamet is under no obligation to ape the subject’s mannerisms.)

While “Uncut Gems” was compelling, there is something about “Marty Supreme” that’s universal. Can we relate to a table-tennis player desperately trying to recover a wise guy’s German Shepherd? Perhaps not. But we can all relate to the desperate need to prove that we are the person we believe ourselves to be. Marty Mauser knows what he has to offer and will make everyone understand who he is. Amid the chaos of “Marty Supreme,” there’s a feeling decidedly close to inspiration.

My Rating: 10/10

“Marty Supreme” opens in theaters on Dec. 25.

PHOTO © TWENTIETH CENTURY STUDIOS

When James Cameron released “Avatar” in 2009 — his first film since the record-smashing “Titanic” — it represented a great leap forward in big-screen technology. Dazzling visual effects and a truly immersive use of 3D made it an unforgettable in-theater experience. Cameron waited 13 years to deliver a sequel, 2022’s “The Way of Water,” and he largely recreated the experience of viewing the first film; taking full advantage of technical advancements, the sequel was just as awe-inspiring as its predecessor.

Now, the third film, “Fire and Ash,” arrives just three years later — the blink of an eye in Cameron’s famously protracted filming schedule. Visual effects technology has undoubtedly improved in three years, but not markedly — and certainly not to the eye of the casual viewer. We can no longer say, “I’ve never seen anything like this,” as we could with the previous “Avatar” films; in fact, we have, just three years ago.

What’s left, then, is the unspoken reality of the franchise: The story and its characters were never all that compelling. And boy was this the wrong time to deliver an installment that relied heavily on that ho-hum plot.

Humans are still attempting to exploit the planet Pandora for its natural resources. Jake Sully (Sam Worthington), formerly a human who used advanced technology to be delivered into the body of a Na’vi, is still trying to rally the planet’s various tribes and species to unite and defend their homeworld. The Sully clan — mother Neytiri (Zoe Saldaña), a pair of biological children (Britain Dalton and Trinity Jo-Li Bliss), an adopted Na’vi (Sigourney Weaver) and a stray human (Jack Champion) — are also mourning the death of Jake and Neytiri’s oldest son, who didn’t make it through the culminating battle in “The Way of Water.”

Now, series heavy Col. Miles Quaritch (Stephen Lang) has formed an uneasy alliance with the embittered Mangkwan tribe, led by the sinister Varang (Oona Chaplin). These Na’vi, who live in the shadow of a volcano, want to conquer their world — a bellicose desire Quaritch is only too happy to exploit.

This thread is an alarming one in its symbology. The “Avatar” series is, by and large, about the sacred relationship between Indigenous populations and their land. Varang and the Mangkwan tribe, however, fall back on stereotypes from mid-century Westerns — specifically, those of the so-called “bad Indian” trope, in which certain tribes were depicted as more violent and hostile than others. The Mangkwan whoop, scalp and smoke ceremonial pipes; it is alarming and incongruous to see this franchise dabble in such hackneyed and harmful representation.

If we set that problem aside for a moment, “Fire and Ash” is a narrative mess. It only arrives at its central conflict — some business about the human Spyder learning to breathe on Pandora, thus establishing that humans could survive on the planet and thereby threatening a more full-scale invasion of Earthlings — after an hour of scene-setting. Ultimately, it downplays and discards that thread, opting to rehash the climactic battle from “The Way of Water.”

That fight is legitimately dazzling. It would’ve been just as effective, however, at the beginning of the film; it relies not at all on the two-plus hours of exposition and story that precede it.

“Fire and Ash” feels like a late season of a dense television drama, weaving in threads from prior installments and relying on audience buy-in. This film not only presumes we’re familiar with the story, but assumes we’re fond of it; that represents overconfidence on Cameron’s part. I understand why he has to believe we care about Jake Sully and not just the dazzling visuals; it was folly, however, to rely on that belief.

My Rating: 4/10

“Avatar: Fire and Ash” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY JOHN WILSON / NETFLIX

The films of Rian Johnson’s “Knives Out” series are feats of story and editing, expertly conceived and crafted mysteries to rival any hardcover page-turner. Most importantly, though, they are unparalleled examples of assembling all the right elements on the screen — and the latest, “Wake Up Dead Man,” is an exemplar of setting and performance.

The world of the story is beautifully realized. In a quaint yet disillusioned small town, a stately old church houses the bully pulpit of a vengeful priest (Josh Brolin). His flock has withered almost to nothing, with newcomers and casual Catholics turned away by pointed sermons. His few remaining acolytes are a mix of true believers — a devoted parishioner is played with scene-stealing relish by Glenn Close — and conniving misfits such as a jaded small-town doctor (Jeremy Renner) and a put-upon family lawyer (Kerry Washington).

A pair of wild cards is dropped into this dysfunctional ecosystem. First, there’s a faithful yet troubled young priest (Josh O’Connor), eager to use the cloth for good. Then comes the irresistible traveling detective Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig), a character with the cleverness to rival Poirot or Holmes but the humor to outpace both.

And, of course, there’s a murder — and an impossible one, at that. When a key character (no spoilers) drops dead in a seemingly locked room, the suspects scatter and the detective dives in (with some help from a beleaguered local cop played by Mila Kunis). There’s commentary on the role of religion in modern American society, to be sure — but mostly, it’s a twisty and tasty whodunit.

Johnson is a director who can do no wrong, having succeeded in franchise assignments (“Star Wars: The Last Jedi”), excelled with original ideas (“Brick,” “Looper”) and gamely adapted his style to television (“Poker Face”). In the “Knives Out” series, however, he clearly has an excellent time; while there’s heft to these tales, they’re also some of the most enjoyable cinematic treats in recent memory.

Is “Wake Up Dead Man” the best of the bunch? Perhaps; the original “Knives Out” is excellent, and “Glass Onion,” the second film in the series, has its merits. But I give a very slight nod to the third chapter as the best yet; Johnson has created a world that is sinister and foreboding, yet I still want to spend more time here.

My Rating: 9/10

“Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery” is now streaming on Netflix.

PHOTO BY PETER MOUNTAIN / NETFLIX

The winsome drama — or, perhaps, lonesome comedy — “Jay Kelly” is a summation without the possibility of a conclusion. It is an examination of a life spent without examination and a Hollywood story spent almost entirely away from Hollywood. It is thus an exercise in contradictions that add up to more than the sum of their ambiguity, even as no neat lesson or pat moral is available.

In short: It’s good, and you’ll be emotional at the end. But good luck explaining why.

George Clooney plays an actor not unlike George Clooney — or our impression of him, at least. Jay Kelly doesn’t just have a rhythmically similar name, he seems to have had a similar career trajectory to that of the actor playing him, riding good looks and charm from early-career upstart status through action cinema and into prestige pictures.

Where Jay Kelly differs, however, is the toll registered on the lives of his family and closest confidants. (At least I think that’s different from George Clooney; I don’t know him, personally.) Kelly is divorced and mostly estranged from his eldest daughter (Riley Keough); his youngest daughter (Grace Edwards) is still around but has one foot firmly planted in college life, planning for a European sojourn with friends.

The death of a mentor (Jim Broadbent) and a brawl with an old friend (Billy Crudup) spark something of an existential crisis; Kelly bails on his obligations and takes off for Europe, using a film-festival tribute as an excuse to cramp his daughter’s style and hijack her vacation. The mild breakdown is extraordinarily bad news for Kelly’s long-suffering team, particularly manager Ron (Adam Sandler), whose own family life is suffering, much to Kelly’s obliviousness.

Clooney does what he does; he speaks softly and carries a loud face, alternately evoking pathos with expressions of loneliness and laughs with glimmers of mischief. Screenwriters Noah Baumbach and Emily Mortimer give him plenty to work with, layering the film like an adventure picture; the set pieces are subtle but distinct and memorable. (Baumbach also directs; Mortimer plays a small supporting role.)

Surprisingly, though, the film is stolen in whole by Sandler. His character’s arc is more visible, as he goes from a true believer in the cult of Kelly to a broken wreck, regretting his every decision. It’s the best Sandler has ever been; in this one, Clooney is the movie star, but Sandler is the actor.

My Rating: 9/10

“Jay Kelly” is now streaming on Netflix.

PHOTO BY GILES KEYTE / UNIVERSAL PICTURES

That was certainly a long intermission.

A year ago, the 160-minute film deceptively titled “Wicked” took audiences through one half of Elphaba’s journey, cutting off the action at the moment the famed Broadway show takes a brief intermission. “Wicked: For Good” finally completes the story, delivering a satisfying ending and enough vocal fireworks to elevate this chapter above the mark set by its predecessor.

While director Jon M. Chu does cartwheels to give the back half of the tale an observable beginning, middle and end, “For Good” is not a standalone story. We pick things up with Elphaba (Cynthia Erivo) in exile, cast as a convenient villain while the smarmy, nefarious Wizard of Oz (Jeff Goldblum) embarks on a series of pet projects: driving Oz’s population of talking animals out of the country, draining coffers to build a sprawling, golden thoroughfare and getting the nation’s various governors to fall in line.

That list of gubernatorial underlings includes Nessa (Marissa Bode), the recently installed governor of Munchkinland and sister to Elphaba. After Elphaba disrupts the wedding of estranged bestie Galinda (Ariana Grande) and threatens to expose the Wizard’s misdeeds, a plan is hatched: A supernaturally occurring cyclone will hit Munchkinland, and when Elphaba rushes to her sister’s side, Oz will apprehend the troublemaking witch.

To everyone’s surprise, a girl from Kansas has also turned up, but — in an artistically intriguing but somewhat unsatisfactory flourish — we’ll never see her face. Spare a thought for actress Bethany Weaver, who dons the gingham dress and slippers in long shots and silhouettes. She’s playing no less a figure than Dorothy Gale and strolls the yellow-brick road in what is sure to be the year’s biggest film — yet if she walked through Times Square tomorrow, she wouldn’t get recognized.

There’s even more plot to be covered, including a love triangle involving a dashing prince (Jonathan Bailey) and the further machinations of the Wizard’s sneering advisor (Michelle Yeoh). But “For Good” does not suffer from the meandering rhythm of its predecessor; there’s enough happening here to justify the runtime. (It also helps that this film is 23 minutes shorter than the first.) Exercises in real-world commentary — those animals in exile are more than a bit reminiscent of current events — are well intentioned, but feel like asides.

The production design occasionally inspires awe, particularly in Elphaba’s forest hideout and the castle where she’ll square off with an angry mob. More vitally, Erivo remains an incandescent presence, bringing Elphaba to the level of an indelible silver-screen presence; with due respect to the great Margaret Hamilton, Erivo’s character is one for all time and the only presence in the “Wicked” duology that can stand toe-to-toe with the icons from 1939.

Grande, too, is better used here, rising to challenges both dramatic and vocal. While it may not be the surefire Oscar bait her many fans demand, her real-life fondness for Erivo gives the characters a connection that seeps into the screen.

No matter what the title card says, “Wicked” has not been changed for good; the bifurcated presentation reduces what might have soared to classic status into two lesser films. Perhaps we’ll one day get a truncated cut of these two films that restores them to a singular experience; mixed though my own reaction to the pictures has been, I’d gladly buy a ticket to see a combined “Wicked.” (Call it “Wicked: Together We’re Unlimited.”) In the meantime, though, “For Good” is an improvement and an enjoyable film.

My Rating: 7/10

“Wicked: For Good” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY BBP TRAIN DREAMS LLC / NETFLIX

The early 20th century, at least in the popular imagination, is an odd bridge of eras. A baby born on a farm in 1899 would’ve been much more likely to ride a horse than drive a car — yet that same baby would have a pretty good shot of living long enough to see the moon landing. In the west, the trappings of frontier life remained; in the east, traders worked on Wall Street by day and saw Broadway shows by night.

Robert (Joel Edgerton), the protagonist of the excellent drama “Train Dreams,” is adrift between those eras, working on railroads and in logging camps in the Pacific Northwest. He’s got a young family — a beloved wife, Gladys (Felicity Jones) and an infant child — and he works long stretches away from home to keep them warm and fed in a house he built by hand. His jobs speak of progress, uniting the country via rail and providing timber for endless expansion. Yet his mind worries more about the core elements — fire, water, earth — that must be tamed to ensure his family’s survival.

After witnessing the summary execution of a coworker, Robert finds himself haunted by the thin line that separates life and death, especially as misfortunes pile up. The drama in “Train Dreams” is not a struggle to avoid tragedy; at the risk of a slight spoiler, Robert is a man who will experience profound tragedy. The tension, then, is whether or not it will consume him.

The antidote to all that misery, at least for the viewer, is the visual majesty that suffuses every frame of the film. Director Clint Bentley and cinematographer Adolpho Veloso present rugged landscapes as enchanting labyrinths of flora — an endless expanse of trees that dwarf the human figures in the frame.

“Beautiful, ain’t it,” asks one ill-fated character. Robert asks what he’s referring to. “All of it,” is the reply. “Every bit of it.”

Bentley and Greg Kweder adapted the film from a novella by Denis Johnson. It’s light on story and heavy on narration, two factors that can be damaging to the enjoyment of a film. Those pitfalls are steadily avoided here; as the name indicates, it’s a film with the rhythm and feeling of a dream. Even when nothing is happening, the images are laden with unspeakable meaning.

In light of all its weight, it may be a surprise to find so much beauty in “all of it.” If you watch the film, though, you’ll understand — with melancholy and something like wisdom, you’ll understand.

My Rating: 10/10

“Train Dreams” is now streaming on Netflix.

PHOTO COURTESY NETFLIX

The film is “Being Eddie,” because it definitely couldn’t be called “Understanding Eddie.”

In a pleasant yet thin documentary, we spend some time with superstar Eddie Murphy. He putters about the house, speculating on past glories and future possibilities. He reflects on friends and favorite projects. He opines on the state of comedy and the realities of the entertainment business.

He rarely gives a glimpse into what seems to be a calculated, gentle exterior — and even when he does, it feels like an accident.

Or, perhaps, a feat of editing. Director Angus Wall made his name as an editor, including work with David Fincher on films including “The Social Network” and “Zodiac.” Knowing that Wall is an editor by trade makes an unusual juxtaposition feel loaded: At one moment, Murphy reminisces about a childhood fear — the star recalls getting out of bed repeatedly to ensure that the gas burners on the stove were turned off, a habit he speculates could be undiagnosed obsessive-compulsive disorder. A moment later, Wall cuts to some of Murphy’s fellow comics, who speculate on why Murphy no longer performs stand-up.

No one says it (the editing ensures they don’t have to), but the implication is clear: perhaps there’s a psychological block between Murphy and the microphone.

That’s the closest “Being Eddie” gets to true insight. Mostly, Murphy calmly discusses his career and worldview; even when discussing loss (referencing the untimely death of his brother, the comedian Charlie Murphy), he’s unflappable. Some of the superstars who contribute interviews — Jerry Seinfeld, Dave Chappelle, Tracy Morgan and Chris Rock speak extensively — wonder at what hidden reserves of emotion lurk behind Murphy’s stoic surface.

Mostly, though, they just talk about how great he is.

The film is engaging, in that Murphy is a funny and enigmatic presence, but it’s remarkably thin and almost entirely hagiographic. Similar documentaries, such as recent looks at Steve Martin and Michael J. Fox, manage to be both cooperative and insightful; “Being Eddie” feels more like an awards-show tribute writ long.

Maybe “Playing Eddie” would be better. For the most part, the film feels more like performance than simply being.

My Rating: 5/10

“Being Eddie” is now streaming on Netflix.

PHOTO BY KEN WORONER / NETFLIX

Guillermo del Toro’s lush and gothic take on the endlessly examined “Frankenstein” is undoubtedly an adaptation of the book — and, inherently, not a remake of the landmark 1931 film. He’s making a bargain in approaching the material this way; he has chosen to tell the story with heft, grandeur and epic scale.

This approach sacrifices the pulp shock of the Universal Studios classic, which was delivered as a work of pure horror by James Whale more than 90 years ago. That film remains the best adaptation of Mary Shelley’s story. (Truthfully, Mel Brooks’ “Young Frankenstein” takes second place.) While del Toro’s doesn’t challenge the supremacy of the iconic “Frankenstein,” it easily claims space alongside it; it is a worthy, if overstuffed, companion.

Whale emphasized horror; del Toro is working in science fiction. Many have made the bold (if complicated) claim that Shelley’s book invented the scifi genre; whether or not that’s true, it undoubtedly set the tone for the century that followed. And in that book as well as del Toro’s version, it is the title character — Victor Frankenstein (Oscar Isaac), a flawed but brilliant scientist — who is the protagonist. The monster (Jacob Elordi) is the sympathetic and ultimately violent victim.

We spend much of the film with Frankenstein before he makes his creation, beginning in childhood. His exacting father, Baron Leopold Frankenstein (Charles Dance), used hurtful methods in raising the boy to be brilliant and precise; his brother, William (Felix Kammerer), was the favored child. When we jump forward to meet the brothers as adults, William is successful and engaged to the defiant and charming Elizabeth (Mia Goth); Victor falls for her, but business with corpses keeps getting in the way.

Victor has a patron, in the form of the wealthy and quite possibly mad Henrich (Christoph Waltz), who provides the young visionary with a towering building and uncapped funds. At brutal cost, Victor’s experiments are successful — leading to the birth of a creature who Elizabeth sees as a helpless child and Victor regards as little more than soulless flesh.

That tension will drive the film toward a snowbound climax; the film begins and ends on an icebound ship, as Victor has pursued his seemingly invincible creation to the Arctic. These scenes frame the story beautifully and give del Toro a remarkable canvas to work with; desolate ice meets brilliant sunsets as man and monster close in on one another.

The film proceeds with a deliberately languorous pace, as del Toro — who also wrote the screenplay — is determined to capture the feeling of reading an engrossing novel on a cold winter’s evening. (Or, perhaps, the sensation of a creeping nightmare that stretches from dusk until dawn.) In the theater, it works; unfortunately, the film will only occasionally be seen on a proper screen, as its wide release is reserved for Netflix. I worry that such a careful and deliberate film will be lost on viewers with the ability to pause and return at their leisure; I’d imagine far more will press play on this film than will reach the end credits.

That is the bargain del Toro has made. He might’ve put his considerable talents toward crafting a quick and dirty affair like Whale’s film; that version would’ve better served a home audience. Instead, he made the movie he wanted to make, regardless of how it would be seen. The result is lovely and chilling — despite a muted impact.

My Rating: 8/10

“Frankenstein” will begin streaming Nov. 7 on Netflix.

PHOTO BY ATSUSHI NISHIJIMA / FOCUS FEATURES

In cinema, 2025 may be remembered as the year prestige filmmakers tried to grapple with the fractured social realities of the 21st century.

Some have done so quite well; Paul Thomas Anderson’s “One Battle After Another” feels both thematically and emotionally of the moment. In other cases, an attempt to say too much leads to no great statement at all; Ari Aster’s “Eddington” is a prime example.

Perhaps it is illustrative, then, that Aster is a producer on “Bugonia,” a heavy-handed and inconsistent parable. The film is directed by Yorgos Lanthimos, who dazzled with “Poor Things,” and loosely adapted from the Korean film “Save the Green Planet” by screenwriter Will Tracy — who, by the way, was a producer on “Eddington.”

The film concerns a troubled wannabe savior, Teddy Gatz (Jesse Plemons), who has lost himself in a conspiratorial rabbit hole. He believes Earth has been enslaved by an advanced alien race from the Andromeda galaxy; he has created a reluctant convert of his cousin (Aidan Delbis) and has hatched a plan to free Earth from its bondage.

He kidnaps Michelle Fuller (Emma Stone), the CEO of a pharmaceutical company; a botched experimental treatment from Fuller’s group has rendered Gatz’ mother (Alicia Silverstone) permanently comatose, an event Gatz readily admits caused him to careen between ideologies from Marxism to alt-right agitation. The more the captive Fuller prods at Gatz’ true motivations, the more violent he becomes; meanwhile, the authorities do not appear all that close to rescuing the captive bigwig.

Most of “Bugonia” is a sad lesson about the inability of modern society to cope with trauma. Gatz and his mother are let down by the healthcare industry; Fuller is in turn abandoned by the authorities she assumes are about to swoop in and free her. This plotline is compelling; it’s cold, as are some of Lanthimos’ other films, but occasionally effective. The film is undone, however, because the tension between captor and captive never quite escalates — we know that bad things are coming, but Lanthimos is unable to or uninterested in suspense — and the skilled performers are left in scenes that feel more like acting exercises than a natural story.

It culminates in an ending that feels less like coherent commentary and more like a twist for the sake of surprise and visual flair. Commenting on current events in fiction is never easy, and it’s particularly difficult in an inherently muddled age; that does not mean, however, that attempts to do so should end with a shrug rather than a bang.

My Rating: 5/10

“Bugonia” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY 20TH CENTURY PICTURES

The biopic “Bohemian Rhapsody” is about Queen. “Rocketman” is about Elton John. “Elvis,” as you’d imagine, is about Elvis.

“Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere” is about depression. As it happens, its protagonist is Bruce Springsteen.

That’s an aberration, obviously, in the increasingly prevalent world of music biopics. There are no fictionalized scenes depicting pivotal moments in music history, as was the case in last year’s Bob Dylan biopic, “A Complete Unknown.” There are few depictions of onstage theatrics a la “Bohemian Rhapsody,” though bits of “Born to Run” and a studio recording of “Born in the U.S.A.” are thrown in to break up the melancholy.

For the most part, though, “Deliver Me From Nowhere” is about wrestling with and struggling to understand what’s inside the mind. Because the mind in question is that of Springsteen, played here in a convincing turn by Jeremy Allen White, those feelings can only express themselves in song. In this case, that takes the form of plaintive bedroom recordings such as “Mansion on a Hill” and “Atlantic City,” songs that would make up Springsteen’s acclaimed-yet-somber 1982 album “Nebraska.”

Inasmuch as there is music-industry drama in “Deliver Me From Nowhere,” it concerns the push to preserve that album — a request met with deep skepticism from Columbia Records, who was eager to capitalize on the success and hits of the double album “The River.” Producers and executives stress that they don’t get what Springsteen is doing; still, they don’t meaningfully interfere. (Columbia would be more than satisfied when Springsteen turned other songs from those sessions into the massively successful “Born in the U.S.A.” album.)

The drive of the film, then, is Springsteen’s struggle to keep the darkness on the edge of his mind from derailing his life and career. He reflects on childhood trauma, the result of an alcoholic father; he begins dating a doting Jersey girl (Odessa Young) but pushes her away, fearing he can’t live up to her expectations.

“A Complete Unknown” had its narrative climax at the Newport Folk Festival; “Bohemian Rhapsody” ended at Live Aid. “Deliver Me From Nowhere” has a brief but meaningful panic attack at the El Paso County Fair as its pivotal moment. Springsteen’s not on stage; he’s disinterestedly watching a honky-tonk band.

Perhaps this is appropriate; just as “Nebraska” was an album that didn’t make commercial sense, “Deliver Me From Nowhere” does not fit the expected mold of flashy music flicks. I wouldn’t be surprised if viewers less familiar with Springsteen’s catalog are disappointed; the film does not serve as any kind of introduction to the artist’s importance and impact, as most similar films are.

Yet, for that, it’s more memorable. If you look at Rolling Stone’s rankings of the best albums ever made, “Nebraska” ranks much higher than “The River.” I’d imagine future retrospectives will have much more to say about “Deliver Me From Nowhere” than “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

My Rating: 8/10

“Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY NETFLIX

With nothing but innocuous footage — most of it shot in bright afternoon light on a pleasant street — the documentary “The Perfect Neighbor” creates a feeling akin to being dragged bodily into a nightmare. The tension creeps as a hopeless situation is pulled inexorably toward tragedy.

What it shows is a vital portrait of violence and justice in contemporary America. With the story of one neighborhood, it teaches an uncomfortable yet vital lesson about who we are.

Told almost entirely through real-time footage by documentarian Geeta Gandbhir, “The Perfect Neighbor” observes Susan Lorincz terrorize her community under the guise of deeply felt fear. Lorincz has a tendency to call the police whenever children play near her house, claiming she feels threatened; provoking children and adults alike, she weaponizes the increasingly exasperated local law enforcement in an attempt to control the world around her.

As we watch through police body cameras, doorbell cameras and security systems, the story ends in tragedy. After another of Lorincz’ outbursts — which may or may not have involved the woman stealing a child’s tablet computer — Ajike Owens knocks on Lorincz’ door. A gunshot followed.

In both the press and the public conversation, this case played out as a test of Florida’s infamously forgiving Stand-Your-Ground laws. On screen, “The Perfect Neighbor” certainly interrogates those narratives, but it also poses a pair of vital stories: How does a community confront a threat that cloaks itself in righteousness? And how does a country cure itself of an extreme fetish for ballistic self-defense?

Such questions have no answers. Wisely, Gandbhir opts to let those dialogues take place mostly in the minds of the viewer; there are no talking heads and only one instance of voice-over narration. It is as though the filmmaker is saying that no commentary is necessary; every viewer will immediately recognize what is happening here. The fact that we’re loath to discuss such matters does not mean we are not achingly aware of them.

It is a remarkable feat of filmmaking (with almost no intentional camera work) and a brilliant piece of commentary (without much literal commentary). Few documentaries are so eloquent, and none could be more convincing — a testament both to the skill of the filmmaker and the supreme injustice of the subject. There might — only might — be better films this year, but none will be as important.

My Rating: 10/10

“The Perfect Neighbor” is now streaming on Netflix.

PHOTO COURTESY PARAMOUNT PICTURES

Are you still Robin Hood if you rob from the rich and give to … yourself? So long as you’re poor to start?

I’m not sure if Jeffrey Manchester is a hero — but no one, least of all his victims, seems inclined to label him a villain.

That rings true in the real-life story — Manchester, a serial thief in the late 1990s, was frequently cited for the politeness and care he took while robbing fast-food restaurants and other chains — and in the film “Roofman,” where Channing Tatum plays the title character (so named because he usually drilled into a target business through the roof). While the film makes no grand economic or social statement about Manchester’s crimes, he’s clearly the hero of, at least, his own story.

We meet Manchester at rock bottom; a Navy veteran, he’s now underemployed, divorced and losing access to his three children. He uses his military training to develop an effective and efficient method for armed robbery — usually locking employees in a freezer while he absconds with the money, but only after making sure his hostages take their coats with them — and turns his fortunes around.

After spending a bit too much money, he’s caught and handed a harsh prison sentence: 45 years. He escapes easily but can’t figure out his next move; while waiting for a way out of the country, he takes up residence behind a false wall at a nearby Toys R Us location, where he becomes enamored with an employee, Leigh (Kirsten Dunst).

Dunst and Tatum carry the film, which is directed by “Blue Valentine” helmer Derek Cianfrance, to an easy watchability. While we may be rooting for Manchester to complete his caper and find a way back to freedom and happiness, Cianfrance’s somber tone makes it seem unlikely; it falls to the cast, then, to keep us believing in what always seems like a simulacrum of freedom rather than the real thing.

It’s not quite as profound as it wants to be, but it’s far more enjoyable than it might’ve been. “Roofman” is a curiosity but a pleasant one.

My Rating: 7/10

“Roofman” is now playing in theaters.

ALICE COOPER PERFORMS AT THE PAVILION AT STAR LAKE | PHOTO BY SEAN COLLIER

Another season has wrapped up at The Pavilion at Star Lake. A burst of old-school metal from Judas Priest and Alice Cooper last Wednesday capped the exurban venue’s concert calendar; if you’re a fan of the heavy stuff (and I am), the show sent the summer of 2025 off with a bang.

If you’re counting the receipts at Live Nation, it probably looks a lot more like a whimper.

It wasn’t expensive to get into this show. A friend reported that he had bought his tickets while attending a previous event at the venue; if you’re there in person, staff will offer discounted, fee-free tickets to upcoming concerts. He reported that he paid just $30 for lawn seats — a reasonable ticket price in an era of (artificially and opportunistically) inflated costs.

I had lawn seats, too. When we arrived, though, we were informed that the lawn wasn’t actually open and were upgraded to pavilion seating. This is the second time that happened to me this year; it seems that, if there are more unsold seats in the pavilion than there are people ticketed for the lawn, the folks at Star Lake move the lawn denizens closer. (This is probably to make lawn cleanup easier as much as it’s a customer service, but it’s a nice feature nonetheless.)

There’s a paradox in this experience. The tickets for this concert were inexpensive and offered us a good view of the show. Accordingly, we had a very good time and the kind of experience that makes me want to return to Star Lake more often.

And that experience was made possible because the show clearly hadn’t sold all that well — otherwise, prices and attendance would’ve both been higher.

It seems like Yogi Berra’s wisdom has finally started to resonate with Pittsburgh concertgoers. “Nobody goes there anymore. It’s too crowded.”

I like Star Lake. There are those that would rather stay home than venture to Burgettstown, but the venue is too ingrained in my mind; it’s where I had a long string of formative concert experiences in my teenage years, including my first real grown-up show.

That was the chaotic 1998 edition of X-Fest, featuring Green Day, The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Scott Weiland, a flaming drum kit, a long-rumored backstage fistfight and certain acts of onstage public indecency I’m reluctant to enumerate. Obviously, for a 13-year-old, this was life-changing.

While I, too, grumble about the difficulty of getting in and out of Star Lake, I maintain that a handful of treks to Burgettstown are an essential part of the warmer months in Pittsburgh. And if more of them involved a proper, covered seat fairly close to the stage for about $30, I’d grumble a lot less.

The mission, then, is clear: Live Nation needs to turn these elements into a feature, not a bug. Make this the most affordable concert venue in the region, since it will never be the most convenient.

It’s difficult to imagine an entity in the modern concert economy — which seems singularly dedicated to ensuring that only millionaires ever actually attend anything — choosing value as a calling card. But it’s not too long ago that promoters competed to offer deals; look at concert advertisements from two or three decades ago, and they proudly announced ticket deals and bundle prices.

If it had actually been advertised that folks could see Judas Priest and Alice Cooper for $30, in an actual seat, I’d imagine that far more people would’ve made plans for a mid-week trip to Star Lake. (It’s Pittsburgh, after all; classic rock is still on top.) And if that surge in attendance caused the pavilion to fill up … well, that’s the point, isn’t it? Then the venue could’ve started selling lawn tickets for $15 or $20.

I don’t know when promoters forgot this, but the name of the game is getting people in the door — once you have them, you can charge them (at a premium) for beer and T-shirts.

I’ll keep going to Star Lake, and I’ll moderate my grumbling no matter what the circumstances. But there’s an opportunity here to fix the ailing live-event ecosystem not through dynamic pricing but rather through actual customer service.

No fixing the parking, though. My advice: Leave early. You’ll be able to clearly hear the encore as you walk to your car, it’s fine.

PHOTO COURTESY A24

There’s a beautiful scene right in the middle of “The Smashing Machine,” and it has nothing to do with mixed martial arts.

Mark Kerr (Dwayne Johnson) and his on-again, off-again girlfriend Dawn (Emily Blunt) are having a happy night out at a local carnival. She wants to ride the Gravitron; he’s got a sensitive stomach and worries he’ll get sick. After futile debate with the ride operator, she rides it alone. She enjoys it, but is visibly sad that he wouldn’t take the risk; he’s frustrated, but understands that his life shouldn’t prevent her from having fun.

It’s the sort of illuminating, illustrative scene that stands out in a curious character study — because “The Smashing Machine” is a curious character study. It is not particularly interested in investigating the world that, in Kerr’s heyday, was accurately dubbed “extreme fighting.” Nor does the film, written and directed by Benny Safdie, find anything remarkable or novel about Kerr’s story: the drugs, injuries and professional ups and downs are so common for sports tales that they barely warrant extended comment.

Do not expect the dramatic hallmarks of a biopic. Do not expect a nailbiting plot like that in Safdie’s previous film, “Uncut Gems.” If you instead expect a careful, thoughtful look at an unusual guy, you’ll be very satisfied.

There are indelible scenes here. There are also remarkable performances, particularly from Johnson. Long a stalwart of big-budget franchises, the actor has deliberately chosen a project to highlight his acting chops. He rises to the occasion; more than anything, this is a film about a man who is too sensitive and conflicted for the macho world he inhabits.

Safdie’s script nods at those contradictions — Kerr is occasionally called upon to defend or explain the realities of his profession — but is far more interested in the idiosyncrasies of the character than the bizarre early days of the sport. “The Smashing Machine” is a good and enjoyable movie, but it requires a recalibration of expectations on the audience’s part. Perhaps that’s the point; you’re looking at a mountain of a man, but the most shocking part is the tears.

My Rating: 7/10

“The Smashing Machine” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY WARNER BROS. PICTURES

I found myself reminded of a few films while watching “One Battle After Another,” and all of those pictures are absolute classics. There are strong echoes of “No Country for Old Men” and hints of “Goodfellas.” At times, director Paul Thomas Anderson recalls his own masterpiece, “There Will Be Blood.”

Time will tell if this film, an epic journey through sun-bleached violence and conspiratorial absurdity, rises to the reputation of those points of reference. Undoubtedly, though, “One Battle After Another” is more than the sum of its considerable parts; it is a blend of humor, drama, action, social commentary and character study that adds up to convey something elemental about the contemporary American psyche.

It’s also entertaining as hell — a quality that doesn’t always accompany movies with such complex themes.

I’m reluctant to say anything about the plot. The film’s trailer, which I found intriguing, is a bit of misdirection; if you think you know what “One Battle After Another” is going to be about, you’re mistaken. The setting is the 21st century in the American West, the subject matter is a collision of guerilla activism and personal intrigue and the tone is, in a word, exasperated.

Beyond that, I’d go in as cold as possible.

Leonardo DiCaprio is our protagonist, leaning at once into his comic side (it’s rare that he decides to be self-effacing, but it’s usually effective) and his unmatched expressiveness. Sean Penn is his foil, similarly unafraid to look ridiculous, frightening only in how callously he wields power. A perfectly assembled supporting cast includes Regina Hall, Benicio del Toro, Teyana Taylor, Chase Infiniti and Tony Goldwyn.

The script, also by Anderson and based on the Thomas Pynchon novel “Vineland,” is perhaps a bit overstuffed. It’s not quite the longest film by the director — the 189 minutes of “Magnolia” probably have that record sewn up for quite some time — but it trades some degree of impact for a prolonged, epic structure.

That aside, though, it’s a memorable and perhaps significant film. I wonder if we will one day be able to observe the rise of a new type of western in the ’20s; it’s already an observable microgenre, with exemplars such as “Love Lies Bleeding” and “The Harder They Fall.” The era of principled outlaws and corrupt lawmen may well have returned.

My Rating: 9/10

“One Battle After Another” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY UNIVERSAL PICTURES

There’s a frequently repeated aphorism in the gridiron horror “HIM.” As presented by devilish veteran quarterback Isaiah White (Marlon Wayans), it consists of three priorities: “God, family, football.”

White eventually reveals that he prioritizes those three sacred elements in the reverse order he presents them. In reality, I think screenwriters Skip Bronkie, Zack Akers and Justin Tipping are combining two similar phrases: I’ve mostly heard “faith, family, football” and its close cousin, “God, guns, country.”

Those last two elements aren’t mentioned explicitly in “HIM,” but they’re certainly present.

A treatment of our muddy and increasingly violent cultural touchstones, “HIM” follows a hopeful superstar (Tyriq Withers) as he studies under White at a remote and sinister Texas compound. From its first moment, reality is flexible and the lines between actual threats and hallucinations — the product of head trauma — are fuzzy.

The bad news is that “HIM” has far more ideas than answers; it lacks both a cohesive philosophy and a satisfying narrative conclusion. (It certainly has an explosive and gory conclusion, but those elements are often inserted into films in lieu of a tightly wrapped narrative.) The film, also directed by Tipping under the production of Jordan Peele, is far better at setting up haunting and horrific moments than it is at tying those moments together.

Fortunately, in style and impact, it makes up for its shortcomings. Few films have displayed the physical torment of contact sports so viscerally; if you can manage to watch this movie and then tune in to a football game on Sunday, you’ve got a well-developed sense of cognitive dissonance.

“HIM” is also notable as a great leap forward for Wayans. The actor, most frequently associated with broad comedy, is not new to dramatic work; he gave a brilliant performance in “Requiem for a Dream” a full quarter-century ago. But Isaiah White is equally parts Jake LaMotta and Pennywise the Clown, a vicious trickster who manipulates the audience as well as he manipulates his protege. The film is worth seeing for Wayans alone — provided that you’re prepared to witness a lot of blood on the pigskin.

My Rating: 6/10

“HIM” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY FILM PITTSBURGH

No one film can fully capture the life story of a figure as monumental as Roberto Clemente.

But “Clemente,” a new documentary from writer/director David Altrogge, comes awfully close.

It is certainly comprehensive in its roster of voices. A half-dozen or more members of Clemente’s family are present, including his wife, Vera, in interviews recorded before her 2019 death. A slew of Clemente’s former teammates — including familiar voices such as Manny Sanguillen and Steve Blass — are present, as are modern ballplayers who speak reverentially of the Hall of Famer’s achievements. Famous fans like Michael Keaton and the director Richard Linklater (who received a personalized autograph from Clemente in response to a fan letter mailed as a child), weigh in; so do some of the Great One’s prominent countrymen, including Rita Moreno.

Moreover, “Clemente” is a holistic look at the man behind the on-field highlights. It’s not a fully hagiographic treatment; family members and teammates are honest about Clemente’s human side, including his anger at opposing players and his well-publicized tendency toward hypochondria. Those details add nuance, but more lingering are the remarkable tales of Clemente habitually visiting children’s hospitals while forbidding media attention, teaching poor children in Puerto Rico how to play the game and striking up friendships with young fans in Pittsburgh.

The film, which plays locally this weekend before being broadcast on the History Channel Sept. 23, will receive a grand rollout in Clemente’s adopted home. On Saturday, a gala screening will take place at the Byham Theater, featuring a Q&A with Altrogge. The following day, Clemente Museum founder Duane Rieder will introduce the film at Sewickley’s Lindsay Theater.

It will continue through (at least) Sept. 25 at the Lindsay and play from Friday through Sept. 23 at Downtown’s Harris Theater. Showings are also scheduled for Waterworks Cinemas, the GQT Pittsburgh Mills Cinemas and Cranberry Cinemas.

After details of Clemente’s upbringing, career and stardom — including his frustrations at the effects of segregation and his underappreciation by the baseball media in his playing days — the film concludes with a remarkable juxtaposition of events. In the autumn of 1971, Clemente leads his team to a World Series win, his second, elevating the club from decided underdogs to unlikely champions. Just over a year later, he dies in a tragic (and, the film explains, preventable) accident.

Setting aside the slight jump in time, no Hollywood fiction could be more poignant: A champion lost not long after his moment of glory.

It’s heartbreaking. But, thanks to the legacy detailed in this film, the man was already immortal.

My Rating: 8/10

PHOTO BY RORY MULVEY / FOCUS FEATURES

In an era of brashness, crudity and general unpleasantness, the gentleness of “Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale” hits like a drug.

Is the world of the Crawley family and their perhaps-too-agreeable staff overly concerned with manners and propriety? Certainly. Is this a fantasy of generational wealth — one that becomes complicated in 2025, when the only reliable source of money is already having a lot of it? You could say.

Do I care? Not in this case. I just want to watch the nice people be mostly nice to one another — and revel in a world where the absolute height of villainy is a charming con artist.

That smooth talker (an American, naturally) is Gus Sambrook (Alessandro Nivola), who arrives at Downton Abbey in the company of Harold Levinson (Paul Giamatti). Levinson, brother to Lady Crawley (Elizabeth McGovern), is having money troubles and believes that Sambrook, posing as a good-natured financier, can get him back on his feet — with some of the family’s money as capital, of course. Meanwhile, there’s a scandal brewing; word has gotten out that Mary (Michelle Dockery) is divorced, throwing succession plans for the home into doubt and causing no shortage of shocked faces at society functions.

Those dilemmas move the script, from series creator Julian Fellowes, from one moment to the next. Pleasantly, however, the film still makes time for day-to-day moments — Mr. Carson (Jim Carter) struggling to settle into retirement, Daisy (Sophie McShera) asserting herself as cook, a visit from playwright Noël Coward (Arty Froushan). If the ambition of putting “The Grand Finale” in the title indicates a dramatic sendoff, the reality of the film is much more patient.

In fact, the title might be a bit of a misnomer. This is a film that reassures us that new chapters always follow; even as characters move on in one way or another, they speak optimistically of their futures and opine on the delights inherent in the passage of time. If “The Grand Finale” often feels like a wrapping-up, it’s also a statement on the very real possibility of merging modernity with tradition. In this film, progress and propriety can, in fact, get along.

Perhaps, then, there’s more to this than escapist fantasies about a big house full of smiling staff. Maybe “The Grand Finale” contains an instruction: You need not have a title to live well.

My Rating: 8/10

“Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY FOCUS FEATURES

If I didn’t know better, I’d say that “Honey Don’t!” was born out of Ethan Coen trying to see how fast he could write a script.

Maybe someone bet him that he couldn’t finish a screenplay, say, on a single cross-country flight. He sits down, he opens his laptop, and he throws in a bunch of dead bodies and accidental murders and famous people acting silly — you know, Coen stuff. Then the plane landed and he hastily typed: “The End.”

Actually, the way “Honey Don’t!” turned out, I doubt it would’ve taken a whole cross-country flight. He could’ve wrapped up and had enough time left to watch a (better) in-flight movie.

Much like last year’s “Drive-Away Dolls” — also co-written with Tricia Cooke, and also directed without brother and longtime collaborator, Joel — “Honey Don’t!” is set in a madcap if hapless criminal underworld, with plots coming to nothing and brute force standing in for criminal savvy. Also like “Drive-Away Dolls,” it stars Margaret Qualley; this time, she’s a private investigator curious about a mysterious phone call she received from a woman who promptly turned up dead.

Unlike last year’s film, none of it works. “Honey Don’t!” is only intermittently funny in spite of a cast of talented comic performers; Aubrey Plaza, Charlie Day and Chris Evans are here, but they seem lost when it comes to what they should be doing.

It all seems very thrown together. Plaza is a cop who helps Qualley’s character — and later does a lot more than that with her — but the relationship feels forced. Evans is the charismatic leader of a cultish church, but his desires are clear from the beginning and his criminal activities seem incidental to the plot. There’s a bit about a wayward niece and an estranged father.

There’s also a whole lot of sex, which feels less like a function of the story and more like a seasoning used to add flavor to a bland dish. (To be fair, movies have been grabbing that spice off the rack for a very long time.)

There are other misses in the Coens’ filmography (whether separate or together), but none feel as unmotivated as “Honey Don’t!,” which is not a failure or success so much as a non-entity.

“Drive-Away Dolls” was a promising and delightful narrative debut for Ethan Coen as a solo filmmaker. Unfortunately, “Honey Don’t!” indicates that he may not have too many fresh ideas in the tank — or, at the very least, that he’s not yet sure when an idea is done marinating.

My Rating: 4/10

“Honey Don’t!” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY ALLYSON RIGGS / NETFLIX

Were it not for a quirk of perspective, “Night Always Comes” would be a standard, if well-acted, crime thriller. A desperate but good-hearted woman finds herself in need of lots of money; she lies, cheats and steals to get it over the course of a violent night.

Perfectly serviceable, if not at all novel, stuff. But it’s the setting of this film, based on a book of the same name by Willy Vlautin, that makes it distinct: “Night Always Comes” is set right now, in a rapidly gentrifying Portland.

That may not seem like a remarkable choice; plenty of films are modern. But, at least recently, most mainstream American films — particularly in the crime genre — ignore the nation’s current economic reality. Lynette (Vanessa Kirby), the deeply flawed protagonist of “Night Always Comes,” needs the money so she can go in with her mother on a loan that will allow her to keep their home. Even if she gets it, she’ll still have collectors of many stripes calling; if she doesn’t, she knows her checkered past (not to mention her poor credit score) will likely lead to homelessness.

Such is life in America today. And we rarely, if ever, see it in film.

Lynette lives with her mother, Doreen (Jennifer Jason Leigh), and her older brother, Kenny (Zack Gottasagen), who has Down Syndrome and requires near-constant care. Lynette needs Doreen’s signature — and money — to get the loan she needs to save the family home. Doreen, however, doesn’t really want the house at all and blows the money on a car.

Thus begins a desperate, one-night odyssey that will take Lynette from high (the posh apartment of a Senator, who’s carrying on an affair with an old friend of Lynette’s) to low (the chop shop where she takes the safe she stole from said apartment). New friends and old will let her down; violence will be a constant threat.

Kirby, an Oscar nominee for “Pieces of a Woman” and star of the current hit “Fantastic Four: First Steps,” shows her depth of feeling and fury — until she is outmatched, in an unforgettable scene, by Leigh. A strong supporting cast, including Stephan James, Michael Kelly, Julia Fox and Eli Roth, gives texture to the array of figures floating in and out of Lynette’s very bad evening.

At all times, there are glimpses of social reality too often missing from drama. These moments make “Night Always Comes” a queasily memorable tale; the blow-by-blow of its story may dabble in cliche, but there’s ample reality in its world.

As Lynette and her coworker Cody (James) carry the disguised safe onto an elevator, a neighbor hops in the door. “You guys moving out?” the stranger asks.

“Yeah,” Cody answers. “Gentrification.”

“It’s the worst,” the stranger says, blissfully unaware that he’s the one doing the gentrifying.

My Rating: 7/10

“Night Always Comes” is now streaming on Netflix.

PHOTO BY GLEN WILSON / DISNEY

In considering “Freakier Friday,” I found myself thinking about the former television network ABC Family. This film seems tailor-made to unfold over a three-hour block on ABC Family — half-watched, with frequent commercial interruptions, ready to provide comfort viewing and a smattering of positive emotions to slightly disinterested viewers.

That’s faint praise and also faint criticism. “Freakier Friday” is gentle, kind and watchable. It’s also almost devotedly bland and lacking in humor, seeming to remember only every half hour or so to throw in a food fight or a bit of physical comedy to break up a rote (if metaphysical) family drama. It is as inoffensive as it is unmemorable, while remaining utterly pleasant.

Ideal ABC Family content. As a theatrical release, though, it’s more than a bit thin.

“Freakier Friday” is a sequel to the 2003 film “Freaky Friday,” one of a staggering four films with that exact title based on Mary Rodgers’ 1972 children’s book. (This tally does not count the horror film “Freaky,” which uses the same body-switching concept on a serial killer and his target, although that was a much more inventive use of the material.)

In 2003, parent Tess (Jamie Lee Curtis) and daughter Anna (Lindsay Lohan) swapped bodies and learned lessons about family and communication. Now, Anna’s the mother and Tess is a grandmother, both with high-pressure careers; Anna is the widowed mother of Harper (Julia Butters), and she’s planning to marry successful chef Eric (Manny Jacinto), who has his own daughter, Lily (Sophia Hammons), in tow.

Harper and Lily don’t get along and are hoping to forestall or disrupt their parents’ nuptials (oddly, a plot lifted and reversed from another Lohan remake, “The Parent Trap”). That old black magic strikes again, however, once again shuffling the generations; Harper and Anna switch bodies, as do Lily and Tess.

Would it have made more sense to have Lily swap with her father? Probably, but that would’ve sidelined Curtis, who is the clear bright spot of the film. Among her many talents is the ability to go far over the top with physical comedy and mannerisms while still finding a path to heartfelt emotion; that earned her an Oscar for “Everything Everywhere All at Once,” and she reminds us of her powers even with a script written in Hallmark aphorisms.

“Freakier Friday” has a few twists and a few side characters too many and continues well past the point where it should wrap things up. It does manage to keep the proceedings breezy, and the cast is likable; Butters, lauded for her performance (at age 10) in Quentin Tarantino’s “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood,” shows star power, and Jacinto does well. It’s an agreeable trifle that never even considers that it might be anything more.

ABC Family rebranded as Freeform, by the way. You can expect “Freakier Friday” to air regularly on Freeform for the next decade or so.

My Rating: 5/10

“Freakier Friday” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY PARAMOUNT PICTURES

For too long, big-screen comedy has been afraid of being silly. “The Naked Gun” has no such reluctance; it finds silliness in every corner of the frame.

That’s a sharp contrast to many recent trends in the genre. A certain brand of big-screen comedy — I don’t want to single Kevin Hart out here, but he’s the main culprit — is structured to make its star look cool and likable first, with quantity of laughs a second priority. The best comedies of the past few years are films like “Joy Ride” and “Bottoms,” undoubtedly outlandish but grounded in a certain writerly approach.

You’d be forgiven, then, for wondering if “The Naked Gun” can work in 2025. The series, from “Airplane!” creators Jim Abrahams and David and Jerry Zucker, has always been pure, gleeful slapstick: puns, pratfalls and mayhem. With such material mostly relegated to animation now (it’s no coincidence that Seth MacFarlane is a producer), can it work again?

Well, I spent 85 minutes in a full auditorium that was rocking with gleeful laughter. So I’d say the answer is a resounding yes.

The franchise is in the right hands, with Akiva Schaffer — known for his work with “SNL” team the Lonely Island, and for directing “Popstar,” perhaps the most “Naked Gun”-esque of modern comedies — writing and directing. Just as vital is the presence of Liam Neeson, perhaps the only man alive who can match the late Leslie Nielsen’s steely, unflappable monologuing (if not Nielsen’s facial contortions).

The plot is utterly incidental and mercifully quick; the credits roll about 73 minutes into the film, meaning much more time is wisely spent on bits and gags than on the deliberately thin story (set into motion when some bad guys steal a gadget dubbed the P.L.O.T. Device). And while some performers can’t quite capture the spirit of their predecessors — Danny Huston is a fine actor who can gravel in Neeson’s register, but he doesn’t have the panache of Ricardo Montalbán or Robert Goulet — Pamela Anderson is a delight as the love interest and sidekick. (A romance montage that begins with a ski trip and ends with a snowman homunculus may be the best five minutes in the film.)

There are certainly bits that miss, but the script swings so hard and so often that it connects with remarkable frequency; you’ll roll your eyes at some jokes, but you’ll do it while still laughing at the ones that came before. At all times, it is gleefully, delightfully silly. I forgot how much fun a silly movie can be.

My Rating: 8/10

“The Naked Gun” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO © NEON

The idea in the horror film “Together” isn’t a metaphor, exactly — it’s more like a synonym. Tim (Dave Franco) and Millie (Alison Brie) are stuck together; now, they’re also becoming stuck together.

Figuratively, they’re stuck together due to some big life changes. Millie has taken a teaching job at a remote high school, moving them into a small town hours from their big-city lives — thus putting what may be the final nail in the coffin of Tim’s flagging music career. They “took the plunge,” as Millie’s Facebook status declares, buying a house that will lock them into a relationship neither seems all that happy with.

Literally, they’re stuck together — or at least gradually sticking. After they tumble into a subterranean cave during a hike, they wake up to find their legs are partially fused together. (Other body parts will experience the same phenomenon before they work out what’s going on.)

There’s an explanation, of sorts, in the third act. But while some supernatural thrillers use grounded dynamics to weave tales of horror, “Together” more uses horror to underline its commentary on real life. Relationships can be difficult, after all — particularly when you don’t have the luxury of space for yourself.

“Together” is written and directed by the debuting Michael Shanks, and he has a knack for escalating tension and visual drama; his storytelling, on the other hand, needs a bit of work. It would be much easier to accept the dilemma Millie finds herself in if we were given anything at all to like about Tim (a problem made more stark by the uncomfortable fact that Brie is a much stronger performer than Franco, her real-life husband).

You’ll certainly be satisfied by the appropriately shocking conclusion to “Together,” even if it’s less an earned product of the story and more an unmotivated display of flesh fireworks. On the (fused) nose though its story may be, “Together” is altogether relatable; who hasn’t felt like their partner was getting under their skin?

My Rating: 7/10

“Together” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY MARVEL STUDIOS

A funny thing happened at the end of my showing of “The Fantastic Four: First Steps.” The eager audience couldn’t decide whether or not to clap.

This is an identifiable sound; if you’ve ever been to a musical, it can happen when the audience isn’t sure if a song is over or merely paused for a moment. A few people jump on the moment and clap; some start and then stop. Others sit on their hands.

There was no such musical explanation during “Fantastic Four” (although a pleasant folk-song ode to the villain Galactus does play late in the credits). In this case, the audience seemed to be trying to decide whether or not what they had just seen warranted clapping. It was good, right? It was exciting, wasn’t it? It made us hungry for more Marvel action … didn’t it?

Like the audience I saw the film with: I don’t know.

It’s certainly not a bad film. The tale of astronauts-turned-superheroes Reed Richards (Pedro Pascal), Sue Storm (Vanessa Kirby), Ben Grimm (Ebon Moss-Bachrach) and Johnny Storm (Joseph Quinn), “First Steps” is handsomely rendered in an alternate-universe version of retro futurism, imagining a modern world if we had advanced but not redesigned 1950s-era technology. The cast, also including a striking turn from Julia Garner as the villainous Silver Surfer, is a likable collection of rising stars. There are the thrilling sequences and imaginatively rendered worlds we’ve come to expect from the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

On the other hand: Like many of the 36 preceding chapters in the studio’s overarching narrative, it all ends up being a story about the need to punch a big guy into a cosmic hole lest the world be destroyed. (The initial meeting with the big guy in question, Galactus, is impressive; the confrontation is forgettable.) Also like many of those prior films, this one feels more like place setting for future films — in this case, “Avengers” team-up epics due in 2026 and ’27 — than it feels like its own standalone adventure.

“Fantastic Four” flirts with the idea of being an unconventional-family sort of tale; Sue Storm has a baby on the way, and she and Richards fret over its future. But the film seems in a hurry to get to clobberin’ time, as only a few moments are spared for a subplot about Grimm’s difficulty fitting into life as a giant rock creature — and you’ll completely forget that Sue and Johnny are siblings.

Maybe that’s what makes it a real family: Everyone’s wrapped up in their own problems.

My Rating: 6/10

“Fantastic Four: First Steps” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY A24

Since watching “Eddington,” director Ari Aster’s western-tinged COVID saga, I keep thinking, “I suppose I can’t blame him for trying.”

Upon further reflection, however … you know what, I blame him for trying.

We are already seeing the pandemic years bleed into art in ways large and small; there were movies about the crisis made while it was still underway. Some were good (“Host,” the Zoom-inspired horror film), others were merely forgettable (“Locked Down,” a tale of love and money amid social distancing). While none of these films felt all that necessary, the desire to create during — here’s that overused phrase — unprecedented times is understandable.

The desire to look back and pass judgment with only a few years’ distance, however? That’s simply overestimating one’s own perspective.

In “Eddington,” it’s May 2020, and a small-town sheriff (Joaquim Phoenix) is fed up with mask mandates — and the sense of elitism he feels coming from the wealthy mayor (Pedro Pascal). Determined to take a stand, he spontaneously declares that he’s running for mayor himself — a fact which doesn’t please his nearly estranged wife (Emma Stone), who is getting lost in a maze of conspiracy theories.

Aster first wrote the script for a modern-day western way back in the mid-’10s, before he broke through with the excellent “Hereditary” in 2018. He claims he updated his existing story to place it during COVID. The results don’t quite fit; because the events of 2020 are made to fit onto an existing narrative, it’s often unclear why a particular element is portrayed the way it is (such as a well-funded band of Antifa instigators flying into the town on a private jet, the film’s most head-scratching thread).

The proceedings are intriguing and often funny early on, thanks largely to strong performances by Phoenix and Pascal. As Aster gets lost in the weeds of his own opinions, however, the film buckles and eventually falls apart. The writer/director seems to want to criticize everyone, taking easy shots at parties as disparate as conservative Facebook trolls and teenage Black Lives Matter protesters. It’s less a measured criticism of an admittedly absurd moment in history as it is a nihilistic, “South Park”-esque dismissal of everything and everyone.

After “Hereditary,” a minor masterpiece, Aster quickly followed it up with “Midsommar,” one of the most memorable horror films in recent memory. His third feature, “Beau is Afraid,” was a compelling mess; “Eddington” is just not very good.

The 38-year-old director still has time to reverse course; let’s just hope that he isn’t overly convinced of his own brilliance. A little success has a way of convincing filmmakers that they can do no wrong. For evidence, watch “Eddington.” Or better yet: don’t.

My Rating: 4/10

“Eddington” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY JESSICA MIGLIO / WARNER BROS.

After years of darkness — both figurative and literal — in the big-screen world of DC Comics, James Gunn has arrived to turn on the lights.

The iconic superhero brand, which exists under the ever-shifting Warner Bros. Discovery corporate umbrella, has been mired in start-and-stop storytelling ever since Christopher Nolan wrapped up his Batman trilogy. The previous era, dubbed the D.C. Extended Universe, had some legitimate highlights; Patty Jenkins’ “Wonder Woman” is among the best superhero films ever made, and the “Shazam” films are humble delights. The primary mode of the series, however, was ponderous and weighty — typified by the interminable “Justice League,” which was eclipsed by an even more interminable directors’ cut after a bizarre fan campaign.

Fortunately, that decade-plus of chaos has ended — and restarted with “Superman,” a very good film. The bigwigs at Bugs Bunny’s house evidently decided to give the reins to Gunn after the warm reception to “The Suicide Squad,” his 2021 soft sequel to the similarly named 2016 film — and the success of “Guardians of the Galaxy,” Gunn’s trilogy across town. Those films demonstrated Gunn’s penchant for humor, heart and havoc — all three of which were lacking in recent appearances by the likes of Batman and Superman.

“Superman,” then, is Gunn’s proof of concept — a big-budget, candy-colored demonstration of what he intends to do with some of the most recognizable comic-book characters in history. It seems that he wants to render them not as stoic demigods but rather as quirky, flawed humans; Superman (David Corenswet) even says as much, declaring that his mistakes and uncertainty make him more Earthling than alien.

Gunn — who both wrote and directed “Superman” — also aims for delightful wackiness. This is a film where the deliberately goofy Justice Gang dispatches an intergalactic starfish … in the background of a relationship talk between Superman and Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan). Lane asks Superman if he’s going to help; “No, they’ve got this,” he shrugs.

Blessedly, “Superman” dispatches with the origin story; after 90 years of comic books and 50 years of films, it can be assumed we know who this guy is. Instead, we meet Superman deep in a complicated conflict with Lex Luthor (Nicholas Hoult), who is playing puppetmaster for a conflict in the Eastern Hemisphere. He seems to be trying to discredit Superman so that he can take control of a remote nation — a scheme that’s equal parts media relations and high-tech goons.

Plus the real stakes: Kidnapping Superman’s unruly dog, Krypto. (Krypto, obviously, is the film’s breakout star.)

Superman and Lois Lane are on the screen, in large part, because Christopher Reeve and Margot Kidder demonstrated how fun and charming these characters could be half a century ago. (That’s also the reason for Iron Man, Wolverine and nearly every other big-screen comic-book icon you can name.) The new versions are fun and charming, too — as is the film and the world they inhabit.

It’s a glowing start. For the first time in a long time, Marvel has real cause to sweat.

My Rating: 9/10

“Superman” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY JASIN BOLAND / UNIVERSAL PICTURES

The best part of “Jurassic World Rebirth” comes early. A crew of mercenaries and unlucky civilians are on a high-tech boat, searching for a massive aquatic dinosaur. Quickly, the roles are reversed; they aren’t searching for the mosasaurus, it’s hunting them.

In one sense, it’s fairly stock stuff — peril at sea, an underwater beast. But those scenes are familiar because of one film: “Jaws,” which shares its director and visionary with the original “Jurassic Park.” “Rebirth” director Gareth Edwards isn’t merely paying tribute to Steven Spielberg’s original blockbuster in these scenes; he’s acknowledging that the older director knew better than anyone how to create tension, suspense and action when big monsters are around.

This is in sharp contrast to the recent “Jurassic World” trilogy, a series of new adventures at a modern dino park. In those films, the dinosaurs were known quantities in the modern world, having escaped containment and existing among modern humans, albeit in mostly isolated areas. “Jurassic World Rebirth,” which shares nothing but a world and some scant references to the other films in the series, comments on that creative decision with its own world-building: In this film, the public has grown bored with dinosaurs. Museum exhibits are closing, and a sick sauropod in Manhattan is little more than a traffic jam.

Enter the film’s smarmy corporate type — the expected villain in all of these films — Martin Krebs (Rupert Friend). Krebs represents a pharmaceutical industry that has discovered a potential cure for heart disease lurking in the cardiovascular system of dinosaurs; they need samples from living creatures to break through and make trillions. He hires a mercenary team led by Zora (Scarlett Johansson) and Duncan (Mahershala Ali) to extract the samples, then ropes in paleontologist Dr. Henry Loomis (Jonathan Bailey) for some expertise.

On arrival, a group of unfortunate vacationers, including a young child (Audrina Miranda), ends up along for the ride, having been capsized by the mosasaurus. It’s another savvy move — as in the original film, nothing evokes the audience’s sympathies like a child who’s being menaced by a tyrannosaurus rex.

Less successful is the film’s character building, as the script — by David Koepp, who co-wrote the original film — is good at putting its humans in danger but not in making us care about them. Zora and Duncan weep over recently fallen colleagues but barely blink when their coworkers on this mission are devoured. Krebs can’t dodge a single rich-guy cliche. Even the poor child is made to adopt a pint-sized dinosaur despite being terrified of everything bigger than a mosquito in earlier scenes.

Those flaws, and a distinct lack of the original film’s humor, will likely hold “Rebirth” back from becoming a particularly memorable entry in the series; when the urge for prehistoric home viewing hits, the first film will always be the only solid choice. But there’s more than enough suspense, action and wonder in “Rebirth” to warrant a trip to the cinema — particularly if a large-format screen is involved.

Fittingly, if you do see “Rebirth” this weekend, you’ll likely see a trailer for the forthcoming 50th anniversary re-release of “Jaws.” It’s not just advertising; in this case, a bit of “Jaws” correctly calibrates your expectations for “Jurassic World.”

My Rating: 7/10

“Jurassic World Rebirth” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY GEOFFREY SHORT / UNIVERSAL PICTURES

The closest analogue to M3GAN, the android antagonist of the eponymous 2022 film, might be Freddy Krueger.

Admittedly, they don’t share much physical resemblance.

But, like Krueger, M3GAN is a character who far eclipsed the story she appeared in. While both 1985’s “A Nightmare on Elm Street” and “M3GAN” are good films, they became star vehicles; Krueger went on to appear on everything from rap albums to lunchboxes, and M3GAN became an internet darling. Both characters were scary, sure, but they were also funny, charismatic and popular.

In “A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy’s Revenge,” the character retained his razor wit while getting more evil and vicious. In “M3GAN 2.0,” the robot … is an action hero.

That’s not a good move.

In “M3GAN 2.0,” there’s a new evil robot on the block: AMELIA (Ivanna Sakhno), a supersoldier who immediately and predictably goes rogue. The technology behind AMELIA is quickly traced back to M3GAN’s creator, Gemma (Allison Williams), so the beleaguered scientist gets the band back together to resurrect M3GAN (Amie Donald’s physical performance, Jenna Davis’ voice) and pit the devil they know against an existential threat.

You know — the kind of world-ending AI plot that is now featured in about 75% of action films.

This leads to a tedious and bewilderingly expository exercise in subpar action, broken up only occasionally by the title character saying something funny. It’s a terrible choice by production company Blumhouse and director Gerard Johnstone, who returns from the far superior original film while seemingly forgetting why his movie was good in the first place.

The easy highlight: M3GAN gives Gemma a pep talk that concludes with an impassioned rendition of Kate Bush’s “This Woman’s Work.” It’s an appropriately absurd moment that momentarily revives the outlandish energy of the original.

So they cut it off early and get back to more meaningless fight sequences.

My Rating: 3/10

“M3GAN 2.0” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY MIYA MIZUNO / CTMG, INC.

All zombie movies deal explicitly with death. The better ones consider how our relationship with death changes in a world under existential threat. Few, if any, tackle the subject more deeply than “28 Years Later,” a sorrowful and frenetic film from director Danny Boyle and writer Alex Garland.

Any good zombie movie, you see, forces haggard characters to consider the parts of themselves that fade away when survival becomes the only mission. But only “28 Years Later” has one such character build a towering memento mori out of the bones of the dead, using it as both a monument to lives lived and a lesson on the great span of eternity.

I expected to be thrilled and scared. I was surprised to be so thoroughly moved.

Boyle directed the first film in this series, 2002’s “28 Days Later,” written and conceived by Garland; both handed their duties off to collaborators for 2007’s “28 Weeks Later.” In the intervening years, Boyle has shifted into more traditional prestige fare, creating the Best Picture winner “Slumdog Millionaire” and less lasting awards bait such as “127 Hours” and “Steve Jobs.” Garland has remained firmly in genre territory, with some sublime efforts (“Ex Machina,” “Annihilation”) and some mixed bags (“Men,” “Civil War”).

Both seem invigorated by returning to their old lurching ground. Boyle and cinematographer Anthony Dod Mantle use a tactic of controlled chaos, turning the camera into a frenetic storyteller; it’s a film relayed to the audience like a tale told by an excited narrator around a late-night campfire. We flash and cut from one place to another, from dream to reality, from history-mining montage to high-tech effects shots.

It’s a captivating, demanding approach; it will likely overstimulate some viewers. While not every choice works, those that do are indelible; in one scene, a father and son run across a submerged causeway under the glow of the Northern Lights, a hulking pursuer on their tails. Music swells; tension mounts. It’s the type of showy filmmaking that is not in fashion — largely because few filmmakers are good enough to pull it off. Boyle is.

Garland, too, works magic, crafting a tale that would be maudlin elsewhere. In the world of the film, the English mainland has been made a permanent quarantine zone, leaving survivors to fend for themselves. On an island outpost, a sort of normalcy has set in. There is no advanced medicine, however, leaving Spike (Alfie Williams) to make a desperate journey to dangerous territory in the hopes of finding a cure for his mother’s (Jodie Comer) debilitating illness.

The pair will meet up with a doctor (Ralph Fiennes) who is also the man responsible for the towering, paganistic memento mori mentioned above. The results are heartbreaking — and oddly comforting.

It is, dare I say, a work of philosophy. The zombies are just the messengers.

My Rating: 9/10

“28 Years Later” is now playing in theaters.