I've reviewed films for more than 35 years. Current movie reviews of new theatrical releases and streaming films are added weekly to the Silver Screen Capture movie news site. Many capsule critiques originally appeared in expanded form in my syndicated Lights Camera Reaction column.
Disney’s live-action Moana (C-) directed by Thomas Kail is one of those rare remakes that might have worked better as a radio play. Without having to stare at its relentlessly artificial soundstage settings, audiences could simply enjoy the songs, the story and the engaging vocal performances. Newcomer Catherine Laga’aia makes for a warm, charismatic title character, while Dwayne Johnson remains an effortlessly appealing Maui whose cocksure screen presence transcends the film’s digital overload. Like the animated original, the first act charts an inviting course before the adventure drifts into increasingly repetitive waters. Kail rarely summons a convincing visual language for bringing this fantasy world to life, leaving the production looking more like synthetic surf and turf than ever magical. Nearly every frame feels smothered in effects that flatten rather than expand the sense of wonder. Ironically, the two leads provide enough charm to keep you listening even when your eyes are pleading for mercy. Had Disney trusted our imaginations instead of these atrocious visual effects, Moana might have sailed much farther.
The latest iconic romcom lead character is a rising San Francisco culinary star, and it’s telling she whips up a fascinating banquet of bittersweet. Writer/director Leah McKendrick’s Voicemails for Isabelle (B+) centers Zoey Deutch’s Jill who regularly leaves phone messages for her late sister, Isabelle (Ciara Bravo), to cope with her grief, but the number has been reassigned to real estate agent Wes (Nick Robinson), who falls for Jill through following her outrageous and confessional messages recalling raunchy and romantic exploits her sick sibling could never experience herself. Deutch is absolutely wonderful as the multidimensional protagonist; viewers will relish her ribald humor and utter vulnerability. Robinson is winning as the sturdy love interest and gives his role some bite, even while his character falls victim to some of the shortcut tropes of the genre. McKendrick deftly explores themes of grief, and connection, with genuinely felt emotional beats and lots of nifty needle drops (the catalogue of pop star Robyn gets a distinctive showcase). The film also features a funny Nick Offerman as Jill’s mercurial culinary boss, providing additional reasons for our heroine to question if she’s really getting all she wants. Although there are some witty callbacks to Nora Ephron’s modern classics about crossed communications, McKendrick makes the milieu distinctly her own. Deutch and her director instinctively vibe here, and viewers will find this Netflix production gives us canny and convincing summer entertainment.
For a movie with so many charged objects – from snakes to lip injectors to bungee cords to rectal projectiles and even a handsy robot – there’s only so much spark left for a fifth and presumed final installment in this notorious scatological and masochistic prank series. Jeff Tremaine’s Jackass: Best and Last (C) is another slapstick stunt anthology filled with outrageous new scenarios along with several exhumed from the vaults of the show rooted in MTV’s golden reality show age. With ring leader Johnny Knoxville on the edge of age 50 accompanied by graying hooligans such as Steve-O and Chris Pontius, there’s occasionally an elegaic or valedictory vibe to the installment and as much sentiment as can be squeezed between the margins of the machismo, the candor of their camera and the “we’re getting old” hot takes on colonoscopy and prostate exams. This funhouse of generally well-meaning male bonding is as successful as it is head-scratching in equal Evel Kneivelesque doses, with a human marionette extravaganza, a full-frontal Olympic competition, an unexpected product plug for a toy car and more curtain calls than The Return of the King. These Grand Guignols of gross-out humor even manage to coerce cameos out of Brad Pitt and Paul Walter Hauser. But many of their experiments neither amuse nor titillate, leaving the perpetually tickled troupe to tread water. Their ride into the sunset is not intended to leave these guys with any dignity, but undoubtedly this film will brings some smiles to viewers’ faces as much as a slack to their jaws.
Kara Zor-El is clearly rebounding from interpersonal trauma as Craig Gillespie helms her big-screen reboot in the 2026 version of Supergirl (B), equal parts trial and era. Flying and fighting through the lightning strikes means this Kryptonite is mixed with a little opalite, to speak swiftly. It’s not a movie of big swings, soaring prose or eyes-on-the-skies wonder but rather the ramshackle tale of a troubled prodigal fending off her worst impulses and awakening into her benevolent powers. The atmosphere and antics around the central character are sometimes a messy mixed bag, but there’s no question Milly Alcock is both transfixing and tender in her bold take on the superheroine. She doesn’t need a ten-minute song or fifteen minutes of fame for viewers to recognize the pathos in her eyes as her snarky-exterior character binge-drinks herself into a stupor, outrunning the poison and power of solar orbs and outracing demons from her past she knows all too well would haunt her in full lucidity. The film’s biggest stumbling blocks are of momentum and pace; there’s one particular race against time that plays out on its own meandering beat, clear hands of that cosmic clock be damned. But in terms of Supergirl’s sisterly relationship with a similarly wounded character warmly played by Eve Ridley; juxtaposed with her ill-behaved pup companion Krypto; and opposite her more by-the-books earthbound cousin (David Corenswet great in a trio of extended cameos), she demonstrates deep heart and a capacity for goodness. There’s a subplot about sex trafficking and a few under-the-breath lines which are more subversive than expected; it’s certainly not all a bowl of cheery. Both the lived-in quality of this creative universe and fascinating flashback origin story lore contour and enrich the proceedings. Jason Manoa is perfectly in place as emerging character Lobo (think The Kurgan meets Beetlejuice meets Han Solo) on planets evocative of a Mad Max dystopia. Matthias Schoenaerts is rather upstaged as the primary villain in this dusty vista; his arc feels pretty underwritten. The overall film is not quite the action extravaganza nor the unabashed dramatic triumph necessary to help it convincingly attract detractors, but the movie is peculiar in many ways and far from boring. The same people who declare the comic book movie dead and buried (it’s been a year since we’ve seen cinematic capes) will certainly return to theatres for Peter Parker’s ninth above-the-title film outing within weeks. Meanwhile Supergirl is worth the trip: it builds on James Gunn’s punk rock universe, develops characters including a central hero with full and complete agency and transports its viewers to some interesting places both physical and metaphorical. It’s certainly not the Omegahedron in the punch bowl some have made it out to be, and mostly it’s a bit of a rush. It dares you to stare both at the sun and in the mirror rooting for this unexpected hero.
Girl dads rejoice, as the latest film in a long-standing Disney-Pixar franchise puts female friendships front and center with salient lessons about finding one’s value in a cynical era missing the simple joys of play, with youngsters increasingly isolated by the FOMO of technology. A somewhat fussy and scattered plot comes into clearer focus as young Bonnie (voice of Scarlett Spears), Jessie the Yodeling Cowgirl (Joan Cusack) and a frog-shaped smart tablet named Lilypad (Greta Lee) take center stage in Andrew Stanton’s Toy Story 5 (B+). Surrounded by her treasure trove of personified playthings including her beloved pull-string rag doll and trusty steed, Bonnie trusts her new high-tech tablet will grant her the glow-up to make new online acquaintances and friends IRL. But the tricky technology causes radical riffs for both humans and toys, and Woody (Tom Hanks) and Buzz (Tim Allen) re-team to restore balance. This installment uplifts Jessie’s existential crisis as she copes with abandonment issues, and the resulting sentiment including a return to her original ranch is truly moving. The animation is better than ever, with a parallel pop of fun line-art renderings depicting the dream life of the series’ classic characters. Additionally, the ensemble of familiar friends provides a funny peanut gallery for the pensive proceedings. The revelation here is Conan O’Brien, the hilarious voice of Smarty Pants, an abandoned toilet-training tech toy whose brazen bathroom humor torpedoes him to either #1 or #2 cherished character status. Ultimately this film may appeal even more to adults than kids, as it plumbs issues which could most challenge and break parents’ hearts. This is a solid and possibly corrective entry in the popular film series and will certainly reward viewers of all ages.
Plot holes meet policy guidelines in the watchable but barely credible romcom Office Romance (C), directed by Ol Parker, who gives his charming leads just enough trope to hang themselves. Brett Goldstein is both co-star and co-screenwriter, teamed with Jennifer Lopez as two executives maneuvering the mine fields of their airline company’s anti-fraternization rule despite immediate amorous attraction. This is the kind of movie in which any of the “meeting of the minds” obstacles could be solved with an email, so viewers will just need to suspend disbelief and enjoy the best qualities of the attractive leads endeavoring to maintain their dignity while furtively schtupping in and around the HQ. Lopez’s character is hard-charging CEO of the family aviation business (Edward James Olmos briefly plays her father), and observant viewers will get a kick out of how poorly she portrays someone flying a plane and how inconsistently she gives off “dragon lady” vibes despite workplace denizens constantly cowering. Goldstein plays the company’s in-house lawyer rather shallowly and is best when he lets his freak fly with naughty language and throwaway asides. The chemistry between the leads is ok but certainly not off the charts, and thankfully the comedic sidekick Betty Gilpin is “serving” some droll bonbons to occupy the story’s awkward margins. Tony Hale and Bradley Whitford are both casualties in the slap-shot script, and it’s unclear what influence frequent Wes Anderson cinematographer Robert Yeoman had on the saccharine, sanitized look of the film. Parker’s movie is a lark and ultimately reveals absolutely nothing about modern-day watercooler politics. It’s hard not to feast one’s eyes though on the luminous true movie star Jennifer Lopez, even in this vapid vehicle when she is (pun intended) not given much to work with. The film is best when it gets peculiar in wordplay or specific in its kinks, which isn’t too often. Anyone who signed up for a story in which the meet-cute involves a hard-on probably didn’t think they were mounting Hamlet and should report directly to HR.
The breadcrumbs leading to a close encounter are more contemplative than candy-coated in Steven Spielberg’s latest: if we were luring E.T. himself into the action, it would be done here with a bag of Reese’s Thesis. Spielberg has a lot on his mind, and his Disclosure Day (B) exports many of his deep thoughts to celluloid with a smash-up of paranoid thriller and existential essay. Without spoiling the plot, suffice it to say the director is interested in knowing if today’s global population of human beings could contemplate, agree on or even properly behold a miracle coming true in the modern world. All aren’t created equal in the film’s ensemble, with Emily Blunt standing head and shoulders over her cast mates as a news personality recently obsessed with perpetual movement toward a singular life event. As a tech expert outrunning the secrets of his sinister former employer, Josh O’Connor is on a similar trajectory toward something leviathan; his part is just less showy and interesting. Much of the movie’s first act is preoccupied with tracking down characters’ locations and leaving the viewer pondering myriad questions; but by the final act, the hot take gets cooking. There’s a propulsive, talky way of getting at some major interconnected issues, with a few magnificently staged chases including one with a crashed car attached to a moving train providing a rousing respite from all the speculating. There is an underdeveloped character (Colman Domingo) assembling others to some sort of makeshift sound stage and a stock villain (Colin Firth) who ultimately doesn’t have much to do aside from, again, finding peoples’ locations. Much of the plot could be curtailed with a good GPS! But by the time the director goes for the big swings about one of his lifelong cosmic preoccupations, he largely sticks the landing. Some action sequences feel long jn the tooth, and the intellectual passages don’t all necessarily pay off. Blunt makes the most of it all as a woman possessed; all the best sequences in the film involve her surreal journey. Wyatt Russell as her love interest is delightful and underused in a flash of comic relief and relatability. John Williams provides workmanlike music for this outing, and the effects are good but not great, with a throwaway line nearly apologizing for the rendering of some of the animal effects. Janusz Kamiński’s cinematography is stunning; there are lots of sequences with characters reflected together through glass which deepen connections and help themes to gel. Despite many great elements, the film is ultimately a prelude to a great conversation rather than a masterpiece in and of itself.
The Robin Hood legend reimagined as grim cinematic endurance test wasn’t on my bingo card. Michael Sarnoski’s moribund and self-satisfied The Death of Robin Hood (D) inexplicably deconstructs and reimagines the titular outlaw as a violent, aging man grappling with his past who finds a chance at redemption through a woman and child. As the lead character, and an antihero to be sure, Hugh Jackman plays against type in nearly every way, including gruesomely killing animals and children in a first act feast of carnage then spending most of the film’s remainder bedridden. He’s committed, I suppose, to the role. Jodie Comer and Bill Skarsgård play underdeveloped supporting characters who make little impression. The prolonged tone poem comprising most of the film’s duration may confound all but the most ardent fans of this myth. This revisionist twist on a classic tale was so far removed from its usual tropes that it might have been just as effective as “the slow death of any old violent mean man.” There are flickers of interesting film composition in this Middle Ages melodrama , and the vocal song over the closing credits made for a nice ditty as our group continued to discuss, slackjawed, what exactly we just watched. If viewers are like me, they will feel equally robbed of rich summer fun time given to the poor souls inhabiting this dim dirge.
Director John Carney’s continuing exploration of the magnetic attraction of music to bring together unlikely cinematic pairs has now canonically conjoined Paul Rudd and Nick Jonas. The dramedy Power Ballad (B) follows Rudd’s character, a wannabe arena rocker who has settled into fronting a wedding band in Ireland, home to his wife and daughter. One night he drunkenly bonds and musically riffs with the Jonas character, a boy-band member in search of solo stardom. Soon an unexpected global hit song is born, and it’s not totally clear the tune’s baby daddy. It’s nice to see Rudd sink his teeth into an authentic and scrappy character. Jonas is a good fit as well in his role, with confidence cloaking just a dash of desperation. Carney’s film takes a hot minute to gain steam but is worth the patient watch for the payoffs. Jack Reynor is particularly effective as a very direct American music mogul and manager critical to the copyright custody battle of a plot. The movie also hinges on the ear-worm original song titled “How to Write a Song Without You,” and fortunately it’s a banger. With lively performances, at least one hummable new tune joining a bunch of covers sung by the starring duo and a bit of sentiment and Irish charm, it’s an enjoyable entry into Carney’s cinematic songbook.
If you enjoy comedian Nate Bergatze, his feature film debut in Eric Appel’s family comedy The Breadwinner (B) is certain to be a fun, old-fashioned, squeaky-clean romp. Although ostensibly a bit retrograde, borrowing from the premise of ‘80s film Mr. Mom, this movie makes the most of the genial nature and observational humor of its star, as his car salesman character takes over domestic duties on the home front while his wife (a plucky Mandy Moore) seeks her destiny as a mom organization inventor in an opportunity abroad. Battles with stove tops and laundry machines ensue, but the best moments in the movie are the protagonist’s interactions with his three daughters (all natural actors) as he maneuvers the minefields of kid emotions. Supporting cast members Colin Jost and Will Forte are fun too in small parts of this suburban safari. Sure some of the antics are silly, and a few of the choices strain credulity, but it’s generally brisk and buoyant. This largely critically-drubbed outing is fun for families and will likely be a streaming smash when it hits that format.
Until my beloved housekeeper comes to tidy my abode once a month, my inner sanctum sometimes resembles the labyrinth of secret bonus rooms filled with misplaced furniture and piles of clothes the protagonist played by Chewitel Ejiofor discovers in the back of his ottoman superstore. I suppose the devilish discount dreamscape depicted on screen is what is prompting many to call a surprise sleeper hit film assured and atmospheric. Backrooms (C-) is based on a YouTube series by Kane Parsons, who directs and helps compose for the big-screen event. It’s a mystery box set in a big box but doesn’t really know what aisle and shelf it’s working with to deploy its talented cast including Renate Reinsve and Mark Duplass. Along with Ejiofor, the ensemble feels like arbitrary fixtures. All in all, it’s more world-building than storytelling as room after surreal room reveal. The movie is most effective when mining tortured minds, and even then doesn’t fully inventory. The best parts of the movie evoke an absurdity familiar to fans of Salvador Dalí or David Lynch, but the most unsettling passages don’t add up to much. I love that this movie exists and is attracting young people to the cinemas in droves, but its occasional triumphs of visual imagination aren’t generally matched by its bargain basement shortcomings.
It’s evident from the first grift that this trio of shoplifting antiheroes is a gift to audiences: Keke Palmer, Naomi Ackie and Taylour Paige are the central fabric of fabulous talent stitching a meta-comedy about the fashion world together. Fresh from the Atlanta Film Festival, Boots Riley’s I Love Boosters (A-) examines the global ramifications of an industry that doesn’t always recognize the trickle-down effects of its policies. Demi Moore is effective as an artsy, aloof antagonist, a fashion impresario marshaling sweatshops of seamstresses to achieve her every bossy bidding. The ladies at the heart of this story know the assignment and deliver magnificently, and their droll, casual line readings are perfect foils to Riley’s bombastic approach to over-the-top storytelling. His philosophical and presciently political exploration of class, capitalism and labor rights is a creative fantasia of candy-hued human adventure, snippets of stop-motion animation and sassy surrealism. Although the final act almost threatens to collapse under the weight of all the colliding ideas, Riley lands the pret-a-por-plane. Palmer continues to prove herself a luminous star; it’s hard to take one’s eye off her work as the central lead, and it’s wonderful to see her get deeper into the global throes of an expanding plot and power. Fantastic flourishes throughout the movie, from the sloped shape of the mogul’s lair to metaphysical technologies with the ability to expand, enhance or illuminate the cosmic significance of apparel to gorgeous costumes matching department store environments, provide a veritable banquet. The music of Tune-Yards offers brilliantly bonkers accompaniment to the escapades. This is ambitious, audacious and great fun.
