PHOTO © NEON

One review quote appearing in ads for “Longlegs” calls it the best serial-killer flick since “Silence of the Lambs.” While that’s a slight exaggeration (that relies on a nebulous subgenre qualification), it’s easy to see why that movie was invoked; from the hardscrabble yet beautiful settings to a Clarice-esque performance from Maika Monroe, “Longlegs” seems determined to recall the 1991 classic.

The new film, however, crosses the line from human terror to supernatural fears. Written and directed by Osgood Perkins — the actor and filmmaker is the eldest son of Anthony Perkins — “Longlegs” never hides that there are otherworldly (or underworldly) forces at play, beginning with FBI Special Agent Lee Harker (Monroe) discovering that she has psychic abilities.

A no-nonsense superior (Blair Underwood) notices Harker’s abilities and assigns her to investigate a killer named Longlegs, who has left Zodiac-esque notes at a slew of crime scenes but does not appear to have ever actually murdered anyone. We only catch glimpses of the madman — played with grinning, flailing menace by Nicolas Cage — for most of the running time, as the script follows a circuitous path to bring our hero and villain together.

Undoubtedly, the script stumbles — or, rather, it ties itself up. Even within a supernatural context, the film adds a dozen unnecessary detours and spooky flourishes to get where it’s going; a lot of time is spent on terrifying dolls that serve as little more than demonic text messages.

If the script falls short of the mark, the direction far exceeds it. Perkins proves virtuosic in his ability to conjure dread and menace; you don’t fear a jump scare, you fear the sudden intrusion of mind-quaking horror. I can’t imagine watching “Longlegs” alone at night; see it in the theater, where the promise of well-lit hallways can keep you from getting lost in fear.

My Rating: 7/10

“Longlegs” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY JUSTIN LUBIN / A24

On the cusp of stardom, Maxine Minx stomps out a cigarette on the Hollywood Walk of Fame star dedicated to Theda Bara. The silent-era sex symbol was known for popularizing the vamp archetype, luring men in before destroying them emotionally; such subtleties are of no use to Maxine.

She may well destroy men, but she’ll do it literally — and she has no need of luring them anywhere.

“Maxxxine” is the third chapter in a rapid-fire horror trilogy by director Ti West, who rolled out the perfect slasher “X” in March 2022 and released its prequel, “Pearl,” just six months later. “X” culminated in a showdown between the murderous Pearl Douglas and Minx, an adult-film star with dreams of grandeur; both roles are played by Mia Goth, who is virtuosic in every frame of this series.

“Pearl” flashed back to the disappointments and dismemberments of Douglas’ youth, setting up the events of “X.” “Maxxxine” rolls forward, introducing us to a Minx on the brink of actual stardom; she’s scored her first non-stag role, she’s got an agent who would (and will) kill for her, and her single-minded focus on fame seems ready to actually pay off.

As she attempts to please her exacting director (Elizabeth Debicki), the past begins nipping at Minx’s heels in the form of a grating private detective with a Louisiana drawl (Kevin Bacon). It seems someone knows where she’s been and what she’s done and is not happy with her sin-soaked celebrity.

Genre fans will recognize “Maxxxine” as a relocation of the Italian giallo subgenre, a tawdry type of slasher in which never-seen killers stalk unsuspecting young prey against dreamy choreography and soaring scores. West transposes that style to ’80s Los Angeles, exploring the barely concealed underbelly of Hollywood; it’s ground that has been trod from “Sunset Boulevard” to “Mulholland Drive,” but the slick and appealing style makes it feel like fresh territory.

Nevertheless, there’s something slightly cold about “Maxxxine.” For want of Pearl — the character brought pitiable sorrow to “X” and technicolor intensity to her eponymous prequel — “Maxxxine” slightly lacks the madcap energy of its predecessors. I believe that’s intentional; this is a film about the cost of fame, and Maxine is defined by her steely determination.

If it’s not quite as powerful as the rest of the series, it remains a commendable and fascinating film, particularly in how fully West removes himself from the playground of his other features and insists on a new mode. If the series does not continue, he’s made one of the best horror trilogies of all time; possibly the very best. And he’s done it with three movies that share characters but not a scrap of style or tone; he has let one powerhouse performer knit together three divergent narratives.

And what a powerhouse performer. No one devours the screen like Mia Goth.

My Rating: 8/10

“Maxxxine” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY GARETH GATRELL / PARAMOUNT PICTURES

The first two “Quiet Place” films were suspenseful exercises in science fiction, simultaneously exploring a particular variety of dystopia and the cinematic potential of silence. Effective though they are, however, those films are more entertainment than art.

The prequel, “A Quiet Place: Day One,” is art. At times, it’s profound.

That’s not to say it’s not entertaining; it certainly is, and it makes deft use of the armrest-gripping tension the series loves. “Day One” rises above its predecessors in its artful explorations of mortality and trauma — subjects that are essential to its narrative yet handled so gently that the film avoids any scrap of pretension.

I thought “Day One” might be good; I didn’t expect it to be moving.

We start not in the soundless wasteland of the prior films, but in a hospice facility outside New York City. Sam (Lupita Nyong’o), dying of cancer at an early age and comforted only by her service cat, Frodo, reluctantly agrees to accompany a well-meaning nurse (Alex Wolff) into the city for a matinee. Not long after they arrive at the performance — a marionette show that quickly prompts more emotions than Sam is willing to feel — the monsters arrive.

There are inevitable echoes of 9/11 in the scenes that follow, as confused spectators peer up at fire in the sky and survivors stumble, dust-covered, through the streets. Director and screenwriter Michael Sarnoski isn’t merely interested in recalling tragedy; he’s reminding us that trauma lingers after impact, in ways far more insidious than the flashbacks and nightmares typical of big-screen thrillers.

Those feelings are embodied by Eric (Joseph Quinn), a terrified law student who quickly attaches to Sam. Having narrowly survived the initial onslaught by hiding underwater in a flooded subway station — nearly drowning in the process — he finds himself unable to continue, timidly following the confident Sam as she travels against the stream of humanity quietly searching for salvation.

Sarnoski, who mined similar depth out of a high-concept premise in “Pig,” is remarkably assured and deft, drawing soulful performances out of his cast and inescapable beauty out of an uncanny setting. As with “Pig,” part of the joy of “Day One” is how surprising its merits are. I expected a degree of cinematic suspense; I was blown away by beauty and tragedy. It’s a remarkable achievement.

My Rating: 10/10

“A Quiet Place: Day One” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY KYLE KAPLAN / FOCUS FEATURES

There’s no illusion of grandeur in “The Bikeriders,” a movie that appreciably resists the urge to cast itself as a postmodern epic. A tale of pointless power struggles in an aimless motorcycle club, the film is quick to admit that its drama is ultimately motivated by nothing; when Johnny (Tom Hardy) suggests forming a club, neither he nor his fellow bikers can explain why.

The formation of the fictional Vandals MC — loosely based on the Outlaws MC, the club that came to dominate midwestern biker culture in the mid-20th century — is presented as just something some chopper aficionados decide to do. That roster includes Johnny, a reluctant kingpin with the capacity for cold-blooded violence, as well as Benny (Austin Butler), a dim drifter who steals the heart of nominal protagonist Kathy (Jodie Comer).

Most of the film is narrated in a series of flashbacks by Kathy, speaking to aspiring journalist Danny (Mike Faist). She recounts the travails of the Outlaws with a mixture of exasperation and bemusement, spurned by Benny’s devotion to the club but understanding of its appeal — the camaraderie and lawless fun.

That spirit will eventually dissipate, as order gives way to chaos and posturing menace turns over to chilling violence. “The Bikeriders” is not gruesome, but it is unflinching; the brawls and bar fights are not presented as mere machismo but as painful and scary realities of a world that attracts those who polite society has left out.

“The Bikeriders” is the sixth feature by quiet auteur Jeff Nichols, who focuses his camera (and scripts, he’s also the screenwriter) on curious corners of society, well embodied here by actor Michael Shannon, Nichols’ constant collaborator, who gives a captivating performance. This is certainly an apt subject; it’s easy to get swept up in both the story and the world of the film. Unfortunately, the frame story works against the film’s momentum. Comer gives a great performance, but I wasn’t convinced that the wraparound story and flashbacks did much for the film overall — which might’ve been more enchanting as a straight (and short) narrative.

Fortunately, the performances more than make up for the somewhat uneven pacing. Hardy, always a font of potential menace, gives a brilliant performance; his every movement is compelling. Butler does his best James Dean, bringing inner life to a tricky character. It’s not quite a classic, but it plays very well in an unusual key.

My Rating: 8/10

“The Bikeriders” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO © DISNEY / PIXAR

As children grow up, new feelings start to arise.

Whereas the emotional range of the pre-pubescent child is mostly dominated by happiness, sadness, anger and fear, the psychological makeup of even a pre-teen becomes influenced by feelings of anxiety, envy and other nuanced feelings. For many, the newness of these feelings may inflate their overall importance, leading to an ego dominated by anxiousness or ennui.

I assure you: I’m not opining on child development. I’m telling you what happens in “Inside Out 2.” It’s Pixar, not philosophy — though those two are often comfortable bedfellows.

In the first “Inside Out,” wide-eyed Riley and her five core emotions (Joy, Sadness, Fear, Anger and Disgust) learned how to balance feelings and grow a personality. Now, Riley is a teenager heading to a new school; she’s desperate to impress the older students and make the varsity hockey team.

Unfortunately, those new emotions are showing up. Even as Joy (Amy Poehler) and Sadness (Phyllis Smith) think things are under control — complete with an elaborate memory-repression gadget — a quartet of newcomers begins vying for control of Riley (Kensington Tallman). Ennui (Adèle Exarchopoulos) commands Riley to disinterest; Envy (Ayo Edebiri) makes the teen pine for the life of a confident athlete; Embarrassment (Paul Walter Hauser) takes over at every faux pas; and leading the pack is Anxiety (Maya Hawke), who has a complicated plan to ensure Riley’s social success — or give her a devastating panic attack. Whichever comes first.

The original emotions will find themselves exiled and on a quest to restore Riley’s sense of self while the newcomers turn a weekend-long hockey camp into a minefield of uncertainty. When the script — by Meg LeFauve, who co-wrote the original, and Dave Holstein — tries to turn the symbolism into action, it can be clunky (a watery traversal of the “stream of consciousness” accomplishes little). But when “Inside Out 2” focuses on thoughtfully rendering inner turmoil through its cartoon emotions, it’s brilliant.

Many of the film’s jokes may land more with adults than anyone else; a sequence spent uncovering Riley’s secrets, for example, involves a meeting with a forgotten video game character whose design is straight out of 1997, not an era more timely to current teens. But for those viewers who are currently awash in the tumult of adolescence (and those who remember it clearly), “Inside Out 2” feels remarkably true.

Only one problem: There’s a missing emotion. Anxiety, embarrassment, ennui, sure … but who’s missing from the teenage feelings set?

I know we couldn’t have personified lust in a family feature, but perhaps we could’ve named it amour?

My Rating: 7/10

“Inside Out 2” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY FRANK MASI / WARNER BROS. PICTURES

The problem, as I see it: They’re no longer boys, and they’re not particularly bad.

Four films into the action-comedy saga, “Bad Boys: Ride or Die” tries to recapture the irreverent police-procedural mayhem of the popular 1995 original. Or, at least, it hopes to maintain the accidental momentum of 2020’s “Bad Boys For Life,” which became the top-grossing movie of the year by default when the pandemic hit.

Unfortunately, the film’s stars can no longer do the jobs they’re paid for. Will Smith’s straight man is supposed to be a sarcastic, trash-talking font of cool swagger. The act no longer convinces; for one thing, he’s visibly too old for this nonsense. More vitally, though, the enduring echo of his globally viewed slap robs him of the ability to play cool — and certainly sarcastic.

Meanwhile, serving as a frantic comedic hurricane is no longer within the capabilities of Martin Lawrence. There’s no shame in any performer getting older and slowing down, but it’s uniquely sad when such a performer tries and fails to rant and flail like he’s decades younger. The movie begins with Lawrence’s character suffering a heart attack and facing mortality; if you thought that would lead to a meaningful and realistic reckoning, you’re watching the wrong franchise.

Or maybe you’re just in the hands of the wrong creative team. For all his faults, Michael Bay — who directed the first two films — knew timing, bombast and spectacle. Particularly in his ’90s heyday, Bay knew how to play to the strengths of his performers and surround them with compelling mayhem. His successors in the franchise, the Belgian filmmaking team Adil and Bilall, have no sense of timing and an uncanny ability to undercut action with pointless flourishes.

There are a few stray moments where glimmers of summer-movie fun can be seen; a giant alligator eventually shows up, which helps a bit. But such glimpses are buried in meandering plot and uninspired action.

They can’t even get the titles right. They called the previous, third movie “Bad Boys For Life,” robbing themselves the opportunity of a Prince-esque pun in this title. Plan ahead. Or, better yet, give up.

My Rating: 3/10

“Bad Boys: Ride or Die” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY WARNER BROS. PICTURES

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, particularly when the tree is in a haunted forest crawling with mysterious creatures.

Writer/director Ishana Night Shyamalan has studied at her famous father’s camera for some time, helming episodes of his series “Servent” and working as the second-unit director on the films “Old” and “Knock at the Cabin.” While it can be reductive to characterize a second-generation artist’s work as an extension of their parent’s, the younger Shyamalan seems happy to be part of the family business; her work is filled with hallmarks of her father’s style.

In the case of “The Watchers,” her directorial debut, that’s a good thing; she seems to have inherited a sense of suspense and mystery while discarding her father’s self-indulgence and affinity for polemic.

Mina (Dakota Fanning) is sleepwalking through life in the west of Ireland, working at a pet shop and drinking to forget an unresolved childhood trauma. When her boss asks her to deliver a rare bird to a zoo outside Galway, she finds her GPS leading her into a dense forest — where her phone and car promptly cease all function.

She packs up the parrot and sets off into the wilderness, finding an unconventional shelter: A tightly sealed bunker, with one wall functioning as a two-way mirror peering into the woods. The bunker contains a trio of survivors — Ciara (Georgina Campbell), Daniel (Oliver Finnegan) and Madeline (Olwen Fouéré) — who explain that unseen beasts watch them each night, killing anyone who ventures out after dark.

As Mina seeks to discover more about what these monsters are and why she’s unable to leave, “The Watchers” settles into a pleasant cycle of revelation and action; the quartet learns something, then inches closer toward freedom or calamity. The story might go on a bit too long — its climax arrives long before the movie actually ends, despite an inevitable last-reel twist — but most of the proceedings are compelling and atmospherically rich.

It’s a remarkably strong start for Shyamalan, who draws desperate, raw performances from her cast and maintains a pervasive sense of dread throughout. Given her father’s recent stumbles, I can easily say that she’s the more promising of the two; hopefully, she continues down this path.

My Rating: 7/10

“The Watchers” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY WARNER BROS. PICTURES

More filmmakers — particularly those working in the muted tones of dystopian fiction — should study the George Miller playbook.

The director behind the longrunning “Mad Max” series knows how to depict desperate situations in movies that remain fundamentally enjoyable. He can do fun without losing significance; he can do spectacle without relying on digitally rendered visual soup. He depicts bizarre and off-putting creations without making them loathsome or unpleasant.

He has found, and continues to find, popcorn in the wasteland.

The latest chapter in his unending exploration of Australian oblivion, “Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga,” serves as a prequel to the series’ high point, “Mad Max: Fury Road,” the 2015 masterpiece that won six Oscars (and should’ve won more). Both the reputation of its predecessor and the nine-year gap between films have raised expectations for “Furiosa,” which stars Anya Taylor-Joy and Alyla Browne as younger versions of the titular heroine.

We meet Furiosa as a daring child. Miller grants her a moment or two to enjoy the abundance of the Green Place (an oasis of plenty in the midst of the post-nuclear desert) before she’s kidnapped by scavengers; the motley motorcyclists take her to a camp run by Dementus (Chris Hemsworth), a small-time world with dreams of power.

Dementus wants to find the Green Place, but he’s quickly distracted by a bigger goal: conquering the Citadel, the center of power and home to the tyrannical Immortan Joe (Lachy Hulme).

A power struggle will leave Furiosa as a resident of the Citadel, looking for an angle on freedom and revenge for a half-dozen wrongs committed against her as a child. We know how some of that will turn out via “Fury Road,” and we’ll learn more specifics about the stoic character here.

As visually sumptuous and action-packed as “Furiosa” is, it lacks structure, playing out like a collection of scenes rather than a cohesive story. (The film is divided into chapters, each illustrating a key moment in the character’s life.) These vignettes are rich in detail; Miller knows everything about the mythology he’s created and is adept at sprinkling in facts and phrases in an intriguing way. Still, the film struggles to find its rhythm; it has a clear climax at the halfway point, with more than an hour of film to go.

Such literary concerns are no great loss, however, in the face of a powerful and sublimely cinematic vision. It has become a cliche (and an increasingly pained plea) to say that this film or that must be seen in the theater to be truly experienced; with “Furiosa,” that’s undoubtedly true. This is a creation for giant screens and stunned faces pointed upward.

My Rating: 8/10

“Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY PARAMOUNT PICTURES

I’m not sure that “IF” is actually for kids.

It’s certainly appropriate for kids, but I don’t think it’s made to appeal to them. I think it’s made to appeal to adults who want to share a movie with their kids — or, perhaps, their inner child. It’s heartwarming, sincere and lovely; this is a movie that will make you cry even if you’re barely paying attention.

Is that what kids want, though? I think kids might get bored and switch to one of the “Despicable Me” flicks.

Those films, mediocre though they often are, are humor-forward — films where the jokes are the point and the feelings are a byproduct. “IF,” however, is feelings-forward, a heart-on-its-sleeve fable about reconnecting with the wonder and imagination of youth. It’s less about the world children live in than it’s about the world adults have forgotten.

That’s an interesting subject, and “IF” has moments of genuine insight. Not sure that’s what kids are after, but hey: “IF” is what it is.

Narrator and protagonist Bea (Cailey Fleming), a 12-year-old who insists she’s no longer a kid, has lost her mother to cancer; now her father (John Krasinski, also the film’s writer/director) is getting ready for heart surgery. She moves in with an absent-minded grandmother (Fiona Shaw) and swiftly notices something strange is afoot: Cartoonish creatures are wandering around her building, ranging from a giant purple whatsit to a lithe butterfly-esque dancer.

There’s also an exasperated human (Ryan Reynolds) trying to corral these figments, who identify themselves as imaginary friends — or IFs, in a shorthand that’s given far too much discussion. Bea begins to work to pair the IFs with new kids as our assembled grown-ups learn lessons about life and confidence.

The premise is maudlin, but the tone is so sincere that “IF” is likable. Krasinski might’ve been better served by sharing the screenwriting duties, but his approach behind the camera is appropriately earnest and awestruck — a cavalcade of eye-widening spectacle, culminating in an exuberant dance number beneath the Coney Island boardwalk. The effects, too, are convincing, believably placing a delightful variety of IFs in real-world settings.

Saccharine though the story may be, the results are charming. If the hand is a bit overplayed, its so darn likable that you won’t be upset.

If you’re a grown-up, anyway. If you’re a kid, you’re too busy talking with your own IFs to worry about all these adults and their feelings.

My Rating: 6/10

“IF” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY DEAN ROGERS / FOCUS FEATURES

This movie only exists because biopics sell better than greatest-hits compilations.

The late Amy Winehouse has already generated plenty of the latter, despite the brevity of her life and career. She’s also been the subject of a hit biographical documentary, 2015’s “Amy,” a critical and commercial hit that claimed the Best Documentary Feature Oscar.

That film thoroughly and movingly told Winehouse’s life story, and did it with ample footage; the singer lived in the 21st century, after all, so the cameras were always nearby. Such a complete documentary treatment would seem to make a biopic unnecessary — yet here we are, grappling with the somewhat sanitized story told by “Back to Black,” a muddled and misguided recap of what we already know.

Starting with Winehouse’s pre-fame bar gigs and ending more or less at the moment of her death, “Back to Black” depicts the tumultuous relationship between Winehouse (Marisa Abela) and her on-again, off-again lover, Blake (Jack O’Connell). It’s the only relatively novel thing about the story — a dramatic rendering of a love affair previously depicted by Winehouse’s music. In these scenes, director Sam Taylor-Johnson finds occasional moments of madcap, messy energy.

There’s nothing compelling, however, about the numerous fully recreated performances. “Back to Black” focuses on many of the same onstage moments we saw in “Amy” — and, more importantly, watched in the recent past. Whereas biopics such as “Elvis” and “Bohemian Rhapsody” at least had the benefit of a few decades’ space for their nostalgia hits, “Back to Black” tries to make us look back fondly on an era that’s only barely over.

What credit is due should go entirely to the performers — and, I suppose, the casting department. Abela hits a rare trifecta for a biopic: She looks enough like Winehouse, she sounds enough like Winehouse and she’s a skilled actress. Few music biographies are so fortunate. O’Connell does well, as does Eddie Marsan as Winehouse’s father and frequent handler, Mitch.

In that, though, the callousness of this project is revealed. The Winehouse family was involved in the development of “Back to Black,” after having been depicted less than favorably in “Amy.” Unfortunately, that means that “Back to Black” aims to absolve them from their complicity in Winehouse’s tragic end.

Don’t forget who said Amy was fine when they tried to make her go to rehab. And don’t watch a movie seemingly designed to make that guy feel okay about himself.

My Rating: 3/10

“Back to Black” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY 20TH CENTURY STUDIOS

The inherent problem with the modern “Planet of the Apes” series, now on its fourth film despite an overall lack of enthusiasm, is … well, the apes.

They look fine, and they’re always well portrayed. But insofar as the original “Planet of the Apes” concept was novel, it was because we were visiting a bizarre civilization run by hyper-intelligent creatures distinct from ourselves. It was science fiction — and a metaphor for our own struggles, yes, but with (supposedly) distant-planet wonder and mystery.

In the new series, they’re pretty much just apes. They can talk a little, and build some things. But mostly: Just apes. On our planet, in the immediate aftermath of humanity. It is a literally earthbound fantasy: Inherently limited and narrow focused, forcing its narratives into a small box.

The new chapter, “Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes,” at least jumps a few centuries forward from the drab events of 2017’s “War for the Planet of the Apes.” (Clunky naming convention they’ve got there, but that’s the least of their problems.) Now, apes have formed hunter-gatherer clans; our protagonist, Noa (Owen Teague) is part of a group that raises and hunts with eagles.

All is not well in apedom, however; a maniacal leader, Proximus (Kevin Durand), has enslaved legions of apes in an attempt to build a kingdom using human technology. After Noa’s family is taken, he teams up with a bookish orangutan (Peter Macon) and a wayward human (Freya Allen) to find them.

Yes, there are still humans around. The planet is a complicated place.

The action sequences in “Kingdom” are impressive, brutal brawls between apes of varying sizes; when a gorilla shows up, you’re in for a thrilling fight. Narratively, there are glimmers of resonance around the way various apes engage with the legend and legacy of Caesar, the hero of the previous three films; he’s become something of a chimp Jesus, with his teachings honored widely but vastly misappropriated.

For the most part, though, this is a film soaked in overlong and overwrought storytelling. Little actually happens in the 145 minutes of “Kingdom,” yet director Wes Ball and screenwriter Josh Friedman treat the material like they’re telling a Biblical epic rather than a movie primarily driven by ape fights.

And back to the ape problem — listen, you can make a fantasy movie about anything. Dragons, fairies, wizards, whatever. If you’re just going to keep choosing “apes,” I’ll go to the zoo instead — at least I can easily leave the zoo when I get bored.

My Rating: 4/10

“Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY JOHN P. JOHNSON / NETFLIX

I’m very happy that “Unfrosted” exists.

We don’t often see bold and deliberately zany comedies — the sort of high-concept, sketch-influenced capers that haven’t had a mainstream moment since the days of Austin Powers. Points of comparison to “Unfrosted,” an imaginatively fictionalized take on the invention of the Pop-Tart, are decades old; this film shares DNA with the likes of “Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure” or “History of the World Part I.”

And if “Unfrosted” is not quite as good as those classics, it hardly matters. Its existence is such a gift that the handful of bits that don’t land are easily shrugged off.

So why did this comedy unicorn see the light of day? Because Netflix is happy to throw money at comedy legends — particularly reclusive ones. Jerry Seinfeld plays enthusiastic cereal exec Bob Cabana, a ’60s striver riding high at Kellogg’s. When he discovers that cross-town rival Post, led by scheming CEO Marjorie Post (Amy Schumer), is developing a game-changing breakfast pastry, he assembles a dream team of pitchmen and personalities to beat the bad guys to the toaster.

Most of the plot is an opportunity to introduce famous funny folks for rapid-fire jokes. Legendary voice actor Thurl Ravenscroft (Hugh Grant) takes off his Tony the Tiger head to lead a mascot rebellion. Chef Boyardee (Bobby Moynihan) and Sea Monkey magnate Harold von Braunhut (Thomas Lennon) inadvertently create a living ravioli. President John F. Kennedy (Bill Burr) demands that Kellogg’s prevail and stop Post from establishing an alliance with Krushchev (Dean Norris).

There are so many diversions and riffs that you’ll likely rewatch the movie just to catch the ones you missed — and, vitally, none overstay their welcome. Each joke is set up, hit then discarded for the next. It has a sitcom quality; there’s no interest in lingering character development or, often, moving the plot. We’re here for the jokes — and most are good.

Hopefully, “Unfrosted” will establish that comedy needn’t be broad and bland; movies like these have been missing from both streaming services and multiplexes for too long. Regardless of the impact, though, it will stand as a delightful throwback and one of the largest collections of comedic talent ever assembled.

My Rating: 8/10

“Unfrosted” is now streaming on Netflix.

PHOTO COURTESY ALTERED INNOCENCE

While the golden age of the cinematic superhero is in an apparent decline, we can point to numerous examples of big-screen glory for the caped folks. From the early warning shot of “The Dark Knight” through the apex of “Black Panther,” there’s plenty of artful and worthy comic-book cinema.

Even the good ones, though, are usually achievements in spectacle and symbolism. When there is a message, it is often subtle — or secondary. These films, remarkable though they often are, do not concern themselves primarily with narrative and certainly aren’t message driven. (If you want to hit every quadrant, you often can’t take risks.)

“The People’s Joker,” on the other hand, is nothing but risk. That’s mostly true because it’s a fair-use appropriation of some of the most recognizable characters on the planet; the film, by writer-director-star Vera Drew, is set in Gotham and follows Joker and her nemesis The Batman, all without the approval of Warner Bros. or DC Entertainment. It is assuredly an example of protected use — despite some behind-the-scenes rancor from the house of Warner, “The People’s Joker” has apparently emerged as legally kosher — but is undoubtedly daring for a young filmmaker to make their own movie about the Joker and hope the film doesn’t get sued into obscurity.

Another risk: It’s a parody that’s more heartfelt and honest than satire ever is. Joker the Harlequin (Drew) is struggling with her gender identity and trying to make it as a comedian in Gotham City. Unfortunately, all comedy is controlled by Lorne Michaels (Maria Bamford) and the UCB (that’s United Clown Bureau) — all of which happens to be owned by Wayne Enterprises, as the caped crusader has begun focusing on protecting and enhancing his public image.

Joker meets a sneering fellow comic named Penguin (Nathan Faustyn), and the two would-be jesters hatch a plan: Start an underground comedy club and skirt authority by labeling it anti-comedy. A murderer’s row of minor villains becomes Joker’s chosen family, including Mr. J (Kane Distler), an enchanting if narcissistic agent of chaos with a cloudy past.

Yes, Joker will confront the Batman (and make it in comedy — sort of), but “The People’s Joker” sees the Dark Knight as little more than an annoyance. The real battle is a struggle for identity — the ongoing journey for Joker, and her performer/creator, to establish a sense of self in an often hostile world. Such questions resonate far beyond any discussion of gender; anyone can relate to Joker admitting that she doesn’t quite know who she is regardless of how she presents herself to the world.

An anarchic blend of animation, low-fi effects and live action is used to remarkable effect; clearly inspired by internet culture as much as by Adult Swim-style pastiche, Drew collages and experiments until something infinitely artful results. Warner Bros. needn’t have feared the improper use of its trademarks; “The People’s Joker” uses them better than the Hollywood studio has in years.

My Rating: 9/10

“The People’s Joker” is playing from May 4-9 at the Harris Theater.

PHOTO COURTESY ROADSIDE ATTRACTIONS

The gleefully violent action comedy “Boy Kills World” succeeds by refracting the “Hunger Games” formula through a funhouse mirror. The trappings of that series and its imitators — the greedy, totalitarian regime, the desperate resistance, the gamified public executions — are all here. Somehow, though, they’re funny while also being almost stunningly violent.

Should it work? Probably not. Does it? Absolutely.

As a child, Boy’s (Bill Skarsgård) family was publicly executed by the despotic Hilda van der Koy (Famke Janssen) as part of an annual celebration dubbed the Culling. Left for dead, Boy was whisked into a secret forest hideout by the Shaman (Yayan Ruhian), a martial-arts expert with a penchant for mind-altering substances. After years of brutal training, Boy is ready to pursue vengeance; he’s just a little shaky on separating fantasy from reality, a result of the Shaman’s psychoactive supplements.

To get anywhere near his nemesis, he’ll have to fight his way through a litany of van der Koy family members (Jessica Rothe, Michelle Dockery, Brett Gelman and Sharlto Copley) and hundreds of nameless goons — including several dressed as breakfast-cereal mascots, as the Culling goes corporate.

The magic element that brings it all together is H. Jon Benjamin, the hilarious voice actor best known for his work on the animated series “Bob’s Burgers” and “Archer.” Benjamin provides Boy’s internal monologue (having lost his speech and hearing in the Culling, he never knew his adult voice and assigned himself a dramatic one), adding comedy and intensity to each scene — and elevating “Boy Kills World” beyond the level of many revenge epics.

Rothe, too, adds intensity and even a dash of pathos to the proceedings; she’s an underrated performer. She’s another strength in a movie full of surprising merits; it may be too heavy on the mayhem for some, but “Boy Kills World” decidedly achieves its goals.

My Rating: 8/10

“Boy Kills World” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY NIKO TAVERNISE / MGM

Early in “Challengers,” Tashi Dunan (Zendaya) gives a coy definition for her chosen sport, tennis.

“It’s a relationship,” she says, leaving out an adjective before the noun — “intimate,” perhaps, is implied. She’s saying that tennis opponents are linked, physically and spiritually, in a moving, rhythmic give-and-take.

Getting the picture yet? This is a respectable website, so I’m not sure how much more explicit I can be.

“Challengers” is the sweat-soaked, tawdry story of one such relationship, a long-simmering love triangle between elite players — both on and off the court, a distinction that makes little difference to Duncan. She’s become enamored with a pair of lifelong friends and frequent on-court rivals, Patrick Zweig (Josh O’Connor) and Art Donaldson (Mike Faist); she’s equally charmed by their athletic physiques, their obsequious affection and their on-court prowess.

We see the sordid history of these upwardly mobile athletes in glimpses, from their first meeting as elite-level junior players to an unlikely showdown much later in their careers. Duncan, it seems, first chose Zweig — after promising to give her number to whomever won a championship match — only to reject him after he expressed disinterest in her professional advice. After a career-ending injury, she became coach and later wife to Donaldson.

Donaldson and Duncan became celebrities, while Zweig became a journeyman at best. The power couple, their faces emblazoned on building-sized billboards, dismiss their former third as an overgrown child. The script, by novelist and playwright Justin Kuritzkes, subtly interrogates what arrested development actually looks like, particularly in the neverland of professional sports.

Director Luca Guadagnino, no stranger to unconventional relationships (“Call Me By Your Name,” “Bones and All,”) fixates on the film’s rhythms — the pounding of the racquet, the drumming of rain, the way scenes speed up and slow down, a series of dazzling mid-game camera angles. It is, not accidentally, a frantically paced film, rising and falling like a heartbeat.

Is it pulp? Is it art? It’s both and neither. “Challengers” is a good, grown-up night at the movies, where beautiful people kiss and fight in equal measure. That’s entertainment. And sports. And … again, let’s just call it “intimacy.”

My Rating: 9/10

“Challengers” opens in theaters on April 26.

PHOTO COURTESY A24

There is a level on which “Civil War” is quite successful. It is not, I believe, the level on which its filmmaker strove to succeed.

Alex Garland, who was Oscar nominated for his feature debut “Ex Machina” and followed it with the excellent sci-fi thriller “Annihilation,” took a big swing and missed dramatically with the 2022 parable “Men,” an overly on-the-nose nightmare of a home-invasion thriller. With “Civil War,” he again seeks to say something significant about contemporary culture, depicting a near-future United States in the throes of a devastating conflict.

The characters in “Civil War” are members of the press — veteran photojournalist Lee (Kirsten Dunst), callous reporter Joel (Wagner Moura), aspiring photographer Jessie (Cailee Spaney) and aging writer Sammy (Stephen McKinley Henderson). They’re hoping to get to Washington to interview the embattled president (Nick Offerman) before opposing forces show up to execute a violent coup.

There’s something very effective about the way Garland depicts the violence in “Civil War,” handling deafening, brutal battles with unflinching intimacy and immediacy. Unlike many science fiction and action franchises, each moment of pain is felt; every explosion shakes the viewer. He makes these sequences land; sparing a few moments of unconvincing artillery effects, “Civil War” works as a teeth-clenching war picture.

And it almost works as a vision of a slightly altered present. While Garland, who directs and wrote the script, might’ve found more of a message if he had grounded the story in reality — it’s not clear who’s on what side or what they represent — the hypothetical America here is often chilling. Garland depicts the ease with which our heavily armed and extensively disquieted populace could turn to violence, and how total that violence could become. It’s muddled, but it’s certainly memorable.

Unfortunately for Garland, I think he was mostly trying to make a movie about the role of journalism. There’s certainly a good argument to be made about the importance and dangers of truth-telling in an age of rampant falsehoods; I don’t think Garland succeeds in making it. The movements of our quartet of journalists are cliched and rife with plot contrivances; while the actors do their best, the material is thin.

This loss doesn’t sink the movie; its merits as speculative action are enough. Just don’t expect much of an argument — beyond, of course, a reminder that war is hell.

My Rating: 6/10

“Civil War” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY WARNER BROS. PICTURES

A movie with this many giant monsters should be much more interesting.

When the titular titans in “Godzilla X Kong: The New Empire” finally show up and throw down — first fighting one another, then teaming up to take out some sadistic rivals — the movie becomes pretty entertaining. However we get there, seeing these kaiju smash, punch and rage is nothing if not cinematic; the look of the film is so over-digitized it’s more cartoon than live-action, but it works.

Everything before the smackdown, however, is another matter (and the marquee beasts don’t get together for about 90 minutes). During that time, a group of overpaid and underused performers — Rebecca Ferguson and Brian Tyree Henry lead the way — stand around explaining a convoluted plot to us.

I don’t know if I can distill that tome of exposition into a pithy summary, but here goes: Kong now lives in the dizzying subterranean area dubbed Hollow Earth, hunting for large, goopy beasts and occasionally getting melancholy about his lost life on the surface. Godzilla hangs out below the waves unless a fellow monster shows up, at which point he rushes to action to defeat the bad beast. (And then naps in the Roman Colloseum, one of the film’s rare visual treats.)

There’s more than just Kong, however, hiding beneath the surface. A (human) indigenous tribe hides behind a mystical wall; nearby, a group of fellow giant apes lives in bondage, serving a maniacal monster named Skar King. When Kong runs afoul of Skar King, the humans and monsters must unite to draw Godzilla (and a few others) into the fight.

It is, admittedly, in keeping with the tradition of the kaiju films that the human action is far less interesting than the monster fights. Unfortunately for “Godzilla X Kong,” we’ve been reminded that there’s a better way; just a few months ago, the film “Godzilla Minus One” arrived and established itself as perhaps the best kaiju film of all time by making the story as important as the carnage.

That film is part of a separate franchise, and the filmmakers behind “Godzilla X Kong” can’t have anticipated that “Minus One” would’ve become a global, Oscar-winning hit. But it has, and it makes soupy, overcooked monster flicks like “Godzilla X Kong” seem more than a bit silly — particularly when “Minus One” was made for a 10th of the budget.

We’ve seen that there are ways to do this sort of thing very well. Unfortunately, “Godzilla X Kong” is satisfied to simply give us more of the same old beasts.

My Rating: 5/10

“Godzilla X Kong: The New Empire” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY JAAP BUITENDIJK / CTMG INC.

If we try to take “Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire” as its own movie, it’s a mess.

Let’s forget the heavy legacy of the original film, a 40-year-old comedy megahit with immense influence on modern blockbusters. If we set that aside and attempt to simply evaluate “Frozen Empire” as its own film … there’s not much to it. An ancient doodad contains the spirit of an all-powerful, ice-spewing demon; when its unwitting owner (Kumail Nanjiani) tries to pawn it off on retired Ghostbuster Ray Stantz (Dan Aykroyd), a supernatural cataclysm is set in motion.

This story is underwritten, a hopeless series of deus ex machinas; a problem arises, a character spouts ghost jargon to tell us how to solve it. A subplot about teenage legacy Ghostbuster Phoebe Spengler (Mckenna Grace) trying to prove her mettle is meant to add some emotional heft , but is treated as an afterthought; the producers might as well have put a sign reading “feel free to go to the bathroom now” in the background of those scenes.

On its own merits, then, “Frozen Empire” is thin. But we cannot possibly try to evaluate it on those bounds — even though that should be how every sequel and reboot is judged — because this film will not for a moment let us forget how important its progenitor was.

Any available performer, reference or setting from the first film is brought back; the returning Annie Potts is calmly placed in the background of a half-dozen scenes without any justification or business, while afterthought mid-tier “Ghostbusters” villain Walter Peck (William Atherton) is dragged back to no effect. Slimer is back, as are a fleet of tiny Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. We reclaim the old firehouse set and even journey once again to the New York Public Library, where the original film began; Aykroyd takes a moment to make the same shocked face at the same floating ghost he encountered 40 years ago.

The nostalgia is the point, you see — even moreso than in most latter-day retreads. While fellow revivals, such as those in the Top Gun and Scream series, have aimed at least to comment on what has changed in the intervening decades, the newer “Ghostbusters” films prefer to pretend that nothing has — desperate to insist that your memories are intact and waiting just around the corner, unaffected by the years in between (no matter how much the performers have aged).

This film even features a brief glimpse of Ray Parker, Jr., the performer behind the “Ghostbusters” theme tune — never mind that the song presumably is from our reality, not the world of the film. In “Frozen Empire,” there’s no difference between your childhood memories and the films themselves. If that feels like exploitationing your memories, it should.

My Rating: 3/10

“Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY LAURA RADFORD / AMAZON

The 1989 film “Road House” succeeded due to three factors.

Actually, hang on — the 1989 film “Road House” didn’t really succeed. It was a critical flop that did ho-hum box office at best. It became something a mild sleeper hit via VHS sales, then (much later) became a cable-TV staple that endured more due to repetition than anything resembling actual quality.

That’s not to say that “Road House” is exactly bad; it has nothing but charm and plenty of agreeable quirk. It’s not, however, a particularly good film — and its path to recognition was winding and largely incidental.

Anyway: It partially succeeded due to three factors: The supernatural charisma of Patrick Swayze; an unintentional over-the-top ridiculousness; and the inherent appeal of big-screen bar fights. The first factor is gone; the second can’t be replicated; the third can, but is easy to get wrong.

So naturally, the remake of “Road House” is as disjointed as it is ill-conceived.

Like the original, the new film — helmed by notably uneven director Doug Liman — puts a seemingly invulnerable bouncer (Jake Gyllenhaal) against a scheming capitalist (Billy Magnussen). Once again, the flashpoint for this feud is a rough-and-tumble bar; our nominal hero comes in to quell the nightly brawls and discovers deeper tensions.

Unlike the original, we’re stuck with a poorly written and ultimately loathable protagonist. Gyllenhaal isn’t necessarily a bad actor (he’s particular skilled when playing unsavory types, as in “Nightcrawler” and “Okja”), but he’s unconvincing as the gentle bruiser in the first half of the film — then detestable in the back half. Instead of making its lead a zen drifter like Swayze played, this “Road House” pivots in a surprisingly dark direction. (I’d comment on the love story, but I don’t want to devote more words to it than the script does.)

There are moments of fun; Magnussen chews the scenery with gusto, and pro fighter Conor McGregor causes ample mayhem. But they can’t make up for a project that never should’ve existed and doesn’t know what to do now that it does.

No one even says “pain don’t hurt.” What’s the point?

My Rating: 4/10

“Road House” is now streaming on Prime Video.

PHOTO BY CARLOS RODRIGUEZ / LIONSGATE

On the one hand: This movie has a bad script, an unappealing lead performance and a distinct lack of motivation and stakes.

On the other: It has a very good dog.

“Arthur the King” adapts the true story of a mutt named Arthur, who linked up with an adventure racing team and followed them across the treacherous Ecuadorian jungle. The real Arthur, as depicted by his owner and biographer Mikael Lindnord, was a plucky survivor and inspired a foundation for the protection of stray dogs.

The fictional version, moved to the Dominican Republic for unclear reasons, has a bit of a life-on-the-street backstory before running into Mark Wahlberg and crew (Ali Suliman, Nathalie Emmanuel and Simu Liu) in the middle of the adventure racing world championships. That sport, which I became aware of entirely due to this movie, tasks hardy teams of fit survivalists with trekking across untamed terrain for days at a time; unfortunately, this makes “Arthur the King” spend ample time explaining to the audience what its characters are doing and why.

That’s one of several weaknesses to the film, most of which are structural; while the dog is clearly the star, we spend more time with the racers as they squabble and overcome setbacks. While Emmanuel and Liu do their best to elevate the travails of what is essentially a hobbyist competition to the level of high drama, their lead doesn’t help; Wahlberg just isn’t trying very hard.

Fortunately, the back half is much more focused on canine matters. Arthur, played by an expressive pup named Ukai, carries the film throughout its third act; by the time we get to its dramatic post-race developments, even cat people will likely be weeping.

Does that add up to a good movie, or just a good dog? It’s hard to say. But I think the film’s ambitions were humble: we were to leave very impressed at the bravery of both a real-life pooch and its on-screen counterpart. In those respects, it was a success.

Because it’s a very good dog.

My Rating: 6/10

“Arthur the King” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY NETFLIX

Is “Irish Wish,” a holiday romcom starring Lindsay Lohan as an underappreciated book editor, a good movie?

No. Of course not. But why the hell would that matter?

It’s undoubtedly a good move for Netflix, as the studio may have found its answer to the holiday-romance boom dominated by cable-television rivals. With its endless resources, the streamer has here copied the festive meet-cute formula from the likes of Hallmark and Lifetime but added actual locations and a recognizable star.

Repeat 30 times each Christmas, and you’ll get those streaming minutes back up again.

Maddie Kelly (Lohan) is hopelessly devoted to hotshot author Paul Kennedy (Alexander Vlahos), despite the fact that he’s taking all the credit for the bestselling romance novels Maddie is writing for him. Just as she’s about to confess her feelings, he begins a relationship with Maddie’s bestie (Elizabeth Tan); a year later, everyone heads to Ireland for a destination wedding.

At the airport, Maddie has an awkward meeting with a suspiciously handsome side character (Ed Speleers) before reluctantly getting in on the wedding-week festivities. When the gang visits an idyllic and purportedly magic lake, however, Maddie wishes she could trade places with the bride — and a mysterious creature arrives to make her wish come true.

For those hoping for one of the more colorful Irish faeries or at least a respectable banshee, I have bad news: It’s just Saint Brigid (Dawn Bradfield).

The proceedings are predictable and low-stakes, but that’s the point; the nature of films like these is to be affirming and calm, not surprising. Lohan puts in a respectable effort, even if much of the supporting cast — including Jane Seymour, literally phoning in a performance as Maddie’s flustered mother — appears to have received their scripts three minutes before shooting.

By any standard measure of success, the movie is unimpressive at best and soporific at worst. But, somewhere between the sweeping Irish vistas and the earnest performance of a reborn movie star, “Irish Wish” may charm you anyway.

As long as you don’t pay much attention to the dialogue.

My Rating: 4/10

“Irish Wish” is now streaming on Netflix.

PHOTO BY PARRISH LEWIS / LIONSGATE

If the horror flick “Imaginary” ekes out a win — and it’s a close win — it’s by being slightly more interesting than necessary.

A thousand PG-13 frights work pretty much like this one. A family moves to a new house; a child starts behaving strangely. Secrets are uncovered as a malevolent presence rears its head.

Blumhouse, the studio behind “Imaginary,” makes a movie like this roughly every six months. Yet in this case, the outcome is just a bit more surprising (and decidedly strange) than all the other apples in the bunch.

The family in question has a newcomer, reluctant protagonist Jessica (DeWanda Wise). She’s married passive hunk Max (Tom Payne), whose two daughters — rebellious teen Taylor (Taegen Burns) and melancholic moppet Alice (Pyper Braun) — are still reeling from the absence of their biological mother. The family attempts a fresh start by moving into Jessica’s idyllic childhood home — and it seems to work at first, as Jessica reconnects with her youth and Alice begins gleefully playing with an imaginary friend.

After some disturbing incidents, however, that friend — embodied by a cock-eyed teddy bear called Chauncey — turns out to be a bit of a problem. With an assist from an elderly neighbor who has a flair for the metaphysical (Betty Buckley), Jessica discovers that Chauncey isn’t quite imaginary.

The result, which I won’t even hint at here, is the rare third act that goes exactly where I hoped it would. Many lazy horror flicks of this ilk simply turn their conclusion into a high-tension chase sequence; Blumhouse did it themselves not two months ago with the drab “Night Swim.” But “Imaginary” has more uncanny ambitions, delivering a conclusion of the sort more typical of the fantasy horror films of the 1980s.

Whether or not that conclusion is unsettling or silly will likely be in the eyes of the viewer; some will certainly chuckle — though I think “Imaginary” is not entirely meant to be taken seriously. It is admittedly a bit of a slog to get there — the opening events are downright dull — but, by a button nose, “Imaginary” is just weird enough to work.

My Rating: 6/10

“Imaginary” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY NIKO TAVERNISE / WARNER BROS.

Denis Villeneuve’s “Dune” series is the rare franchise that rises to the level of its own ambitions. Its uncanny, stately visual style is fully realized; its haunting tone is effective; its epic narrative feels endless and ancient.

Deliberately, the filmmaker designed “Dune: Part Two” as a pure continuation of the first film, drawing a distinction from a traditional sequel. That’s not mere marketing; this film does not function like a standalone film but rather as more chapters of the same book.

That approach further cements the grand scale of this narrative; its world feels well-established and vivid and its characters grow to mythic proportions. To some degree, however, that expansive structure is also the only significant flaw of “Dune: Part Two.” Not only does it not have a neat structure, it has no beginning and no end; it’s three hours of events without a clear arc.

As you’re watching, you won’t mind; it’s just too impressive.

When last we left Paul Atreides (Timothee Chalamet), he was hiding on the desert planet Arrakis, sheltered by suspicious ally Chani (Zendaya) and tribal leader Stilgar (Javier Bardem), members of the beleaguered Fremen people. Atreides and his mother, Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), are presumed to be the only survivors of House Atreides; their family and people were destroyed by the evil House Harkonnen, led by floating despot Baron Harkonnen (Stellan Skarsgard).

House Harkonnen has taken control of Arrakis and its valuable spice mining; Atreides believes he can join with the Fremen to throw the villains off the planet, but keeps having visions of inadvertently sparking a devastating holy war.

The political machinations only get more complex from there, eventually involving the arrival of the emperor (Christopher Walken) and his ambitious daughter (Florence Pugh), as well a vicious Harkonnen heir (Austin Butler). If these names and places make little sense, you may want to watch a recap of the first film; “Dune: Part Two” deposits you in the middle of a lot of information, with no quarter given to newcomers.

Moment to moment, it’s breathtaking. The design and pace of “Dune: Part Two” match its somber, wondrous tone (amply helped by Hans Zimmer’s haunting score). This is a film awash in the kind of images that most science fiction works only manage once or twice; almost every frame is striking, and many are unforgettable.

Its action is tense; its twists are shocking. After the credits roll, its spell may not linger; the plot is too inconclusive, a clear middle chapter before a presumptive concluding film. But few theatrical experiences, this year or any, will be more dazzling.

My Rating: 8/10

“Dune: Part Two” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY NETFLIX

It’s remarkable that filmmakers try to make sad space movies as often as they do.

The microgenre, which concerns lonely astronauts and explorers undergoing journeys of the soul while simultaneously stumbling around the cosmos, can lead to some very good results — such as Denis Villeneuve’s masterful “Arrival” and Christopher Nolan’s underrated “Interstellar.” It can also lead to forgettable, plodding misfires.

Which brings us to “Spaceman.”

Directed by “Chernobyl” helmer Johan Renck and based on a well-regarded novel by Jaroslav Kalfař, “Spaceman” stars Adam Sandler as Jakub, an astrophysicist on an impossibly long journey. A mysterious particle cloud has turned up in the vicinity of Jupiter, and Jakub is sent on a years-long journey to see what’s floating around up there.

Meanwhile, his wife (Carey Mulligan) is thinking of leaving him, increasingly embittered that Jakub agreed to float through the solar system during her pregnancy. Amid uncertainty both cosmic and domestic, Jakub starts to break down.

Then a giant, soft-spoken spider with a human mouth shows up.

Does that sound silly? Because it’s pretty silly. While some forgiving viewers may accept the presence of Hanuš, an ancient floating arachnid voiced by Paul Dano, more will likely chuckle at the beastie’s searching eyes and unsettling molars. Over the course of a very long hour, Hanuš helps Jakub unpack his feelings while teasing secrets from the beginning of time.

Curiously, the film does arrive at an effective conclusion — but only if you ignore the dull events that precede it. While Sandler, in his serviceable sad-sack mode, approaches the material earnestly, the pieces never come together.

Sad space movies are all indebted to a pair of masterpieces: Kubrick’s “2001: A Space Odyssey” and Tarkovsky’s “Solaris.” Those are pillars of filmmaking made by some of the most gifted (and, it must be said, reckless) directors in history — and what’s more, they are unconventional works that succeed in spite of their atypical structures. Attempting to imitate them is risky business; it can be done successfully, but it requires a combination of incredible luck and remarkable skill.

“Spaceman,” while not without merit, lacks both.

My Rating: 4/10

“Spaceman” begins streaming March 1 on Netflix.

PHOTO BY WILSON WEBB / FOCUS FEATURES

The madcap comedy “Drive-Away Dolls” tears across the screen like a tornado, demolishing expectations with the same delightful verve it uses to summarily dismiss its wet-blanket villains. This is not a movie about hardship and difficulty; this is a movie about how some people are just so cool that they can’t fail.

Even if they have to endure a crime movie — that becomes a road movie — to get to the romance at the end.

Devil-may-care Jamie (Margaret Qualley) and tightly wound Marian (Geraldine Viswanathan) are both bound for Tallahassee; Marian wants a break from the daily indignities of her life and plans to visit an aunt, while Jamie has just been dumped by melodramatic cop Sukie (Beanie Feldstein) and needs a cathartic road trip. The duo rents a car for cheap, only to discover there’s been a tragic error; they inadvertently drove off in a vehicle containing some very sensitive contraband. Now, a network of ill-equipped goons is on their tail.

The adventure will involve brief appearances by some big names — Pedro Pascal, Colman Domingo, Matt Damon and Miley Cyrus among them — and a winding journey south, wherein Marian’s sensible plans are repeatedly shaken up by Jamie’s joie de vivre.

That’s before they discover what’s in the case. Or what’s in the hatbox beneath the case. Or get the volleyball team involved. And no one expected a Senator to show up.

It’s a story that only works with genuinely charismatic performers, and “Drive-Away Dolls” has some of the coolest young actors on the planet. Viswanathan, who broke out in the underrated 2018 comedy “Blockers,” is as funny as she is commanding, an effortlessly compelling screen presence. Feldstein spends the entire film trying to make you hate her; you can’t, though, because her comedic timing is just too powerful. Qually — most recognizable for “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” but a fixture in indie flicks including “Seberg” and “Sanctuary” — exudes cool in her every motion, affecting a charming Southern accent as instantly iconic as that adopted by Frances McDormand in “Fargo.”

That’s a deliberate comparison. “Drive-Away Dolls” is directed and co-written, with Tricia Cooke, by Ethan Coen. Along with brother Joel, Coen crossed over from outre indie darling to mainstream hitmaker with “Fargo,” which was nominated for seven Academy Awards. That film seemed to prove that the Coens could play to the masses; “Drive-Away Dolls,” the first narrative feature Coen has made without his brother, seems to say that the duo’s signature tone and humor can exist even without both halves of the duo present. (This may be due in part to the presence of Cooke, a longtime collaborator.)

As much as it’s a triumph of direction and writing, though, it’s indelible for its performances. Marian and Jamie are an instantly indelible duo, a Butch and Sundance for the raging ’20s — even if the film is set in 1999. No one will only watch “Drive-Away Dolls” once. You’ll want to hang out with these two much more often than that.

My Rating: 9/10

“Drive-Away Dolls” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY SONY PICTURES / CTMG INC.

It is difficult to explain why “Madame Web” is as bad as it is. I could tell you about the individual absurd moments, which are legion, or quote particularly insipid lines from the insufferable script. I could point out the innumerable plot holes, which are so vast they can no longer accurately be called holes; they’re more plot voids.

But the film’s unique decrepitude is cumulative. The individual badness of these many, many flaws is notable, but not exceptional; plenty of movies have bad lines and nonsensical plot developments. But “Madame Web” stands alone in that it never manages any counterpoint to these failures; there is not a good stretch, a compelling arc or an intriguing development to offset all of those inanities.

It’s bad. It never gets any better. Then you go home. That’s the whole experience.

If you manage to stay alert and attentive from beginning to end — and trust me, you won’t — you’ll scratch your head through a thin story of arachnid destiny. Cassie Webb (Dakota Johnson) was born in a cave in the Amazon, with a tribe of superpowered spider-people serving as midwives; her mother, a researcher, died in childbirth after a generic bad guy (Tahar Rahim) shot her to steal a rare spider.

I’ll give you a minute to work out the details in the preceding sentence. Actually, don’t — they won’t make more sense no matter how long you think about them.

After a near-death experience, Webb begins seeing fractured visions of the future. When they show that the same underwritten villain who killed her mother is planning to kill a trio of unassuming teenagers, she reluctantly lurches into action.

There’s very little action in “Madame Web,” as most of the runtime is spent hiding from the villain or seeking answers about Webb’s headache-inducing visions. When it is time for a daring rescue, our hero drives through a wall and hits the bad guy with a car, in a sequence that plays out like a hastily edited “SNL” punchline.

This happens twice.

It must be said that Johnson provides some moments of joy, occasionally creating an endearing moment through sheer charm — and even throwing in a sarcastic eye roll or two, helpfully acknowledging that she knows this is a ridiculous endeavor. She’s good enough that “Madame Web” probably isn’t the worst superhero movie ever made.

That is, however, the best thing I can say about it: There are probably worse movies out there.

My Rating: 2/10

“Madame Web” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY CHIABELLA JAMES / PARAMOUNT PICTURES

The music is the saving grace of “Bob Marley: One Love,” a largely by-the-numbers biopic. When the film gets dull — which is often — we’re left with something that’s still pretty entertaining: a reasonably convincing recreation of one of the world’s great musicians creating his most indelible songs.

The film, directed by “King Richard” helmer Reinaldo Marcus Green, covers the most tumultuous years of Marley’s (Kingsley Ben-Adir) brief life, beginning with his 1976 shooting and ending not long after the cancer diagnosis that would ultimately claim his life. There’s a “Behind the Music”-esque rise embedded somewhere in the middle, as Marley records “Exodus” and becomes a chart-topper around the world; if the film has a recurring theme, though, it’s about the icon trying to find peace amidst constant challenges.

While it doesn’t quite ignore struggles in Marley’s personal life, his wife Rita (Lashana Lynch) is treated as a pillar of support and little more. Lynch grants Rita much more depth than the screenplay does; credited to four writers (including Green), the script doesn’t leave much room for nuance. It careens from moment to moment like the recounting of a legend, too busy with where and when to consider why and how.

Ben-Adir is quite good and clearly studied the accent thoroughly; there’s no questioning the film’s commitment to the details. (Marley’s son Ziggy is credited as a producer.) The producers wisely don’t task him with singing — he lip-syncs to recordings of Marley — but he captures the legendary performer’s frantic dancing and faraway gazes with aplomb.

The pitfalls of the biopic format, however, are not avoided. Career and personal hurdles are depicted then immediately swept aside. Title cards fill in some history, where other topics — notably the complex and significant role of the Rastafarian movement in Marley’s story — are underwritten. Clunky flashbacks attempt to add context but feel like afterthoughts.

Those drawbacks balance out the strengths of “One Love” and make for a middling film. Fortunately, audiences spend two hours listening to Bob Marley sing; that’s enough to make it a worthwhile experience.

My Rating: 5/10

“Bob Marley: One Love” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO BY MICHELE K. SHORT / FOCUS FEATURES

Befitting its late-’80s setting, the protagonist of “Lisa Frankenstein” doesn’t revive dead flesh with a mad-scientist setup of switchers and beakers hidden in a gothic castle.

She uses a malfunctioning tanning bed secreted away in a detached garage.

Lisa (Kathryn Newton, delightfully awkward) isn’t exactly a woman of science, either; she’s a traumatized teen who whiles away her hours in an overgrown graveyard, pining after the centuries-old heartthrob (Cole Sprouse, doing world-class wordless acting) buried beneath a fetching bust of himself. When lightning strikes the grave in question and the deceased hunk returns to life, he shows up at Lisa’s doorstep; she’s mostly amused by the whole thing, even though his unspoken love is true.

Lisa’s got bigger problems. Her mother was killed in a tabloid-tempting home invasion a year ago, and her father (Joe Chrest) quickly remarried, bringing Lisa into the “Precious Moments”-festooned home of Janet (Carla Gugino). A new stepsister (Liza Soberano) is supportive, if not exactly understanding, but Janet thinks Lisa has serious issues — and wants to see her institutionalized.

That doesn’t sit well with the ambulatory corpse in the closet, setting into motion a macabre and madcap comedy informed less by John Hughes and more by John Waters.

“Lisa Frankenstein” is the feature debut for director Zelda Williams, but it fits neatly into the oeuvre of its writer/producer, Diablo Cody. An Oscar winner for “Juno,” Cody previously went dark with the initially maligned then later reconsidered “Jennifer’s Body,” and it’s easy to imagine “Lisa Frankenstein” gaining a gradual audience as well. While it’s very funny, its somewhat odd tone — it recalls “Heathers” and not much else — may deter older audiences looking for it to neatly slot into one subgenre or another.

That’s to its credit; “Lisa Frankenstein” is a unique and unusual film. The fact that it’s often hilarious is a bonus.

My Rating: 8/10

“Lisa Frankenstein” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO © BLEECKER STREET

I’m very thankful for enjoyable bad movies.

Make no mistake; “I.S.S.” is by no definition a good movie. The tension never arrives, the stakes are vague at best and many of the directorial decisions are distracting. Its premise, however, is dynamite — and such a naturally combustive narrative that I don’t care much about the film’s numerous faults.

A crew of six — three Russians and three Americans — are aboard the International Space Station when war erupts on the planet below. Their nations are bombing the hell out of one another, leading to a desperate message delivered to both halves of the crew: Take control of the space station “by any means necessary.”

Suddenly, the previously cooperative crew members are exchanging nervous glances. Then they’re exchanging punches.

It’s a desperate, us-versus-them survival movie in zero gravity, a premise that easily fuels an hour of action. Two of the crew members — Weronika (Masha Mashkova) and Gordon (Chris Messina) — are engaged in a clandestine cross-border romance, further complicating matters for new arrival Kira (Ariana DeBose), who has to determine both who to trust and what objectives to prioritize as the bombs fall under the atmosphere.

DeBose is charming and relatable, making her a great protagonist for director Gabriela Cowperthwaite (“Our Friend,” the documentary “Blackfish”) to hang the movie on. It’s a new mode for Cowperthwaite, who doesn’t seem to wrap her arms around generating suspense; while the story motivates the action, the blow-by-blow can get a bit dull.

Viewers will likely find the ending unsatisfactory, and while I appreciate the closed-room nature of the film, I do wish we knew a little bit more of what was happening below. (I would’ve traded some go-nowhere character development for a few shots of mission control.) I am, however, a supporter of “I.S.S.,” even if I won’t be including it on any best-of lists.

I’m just glad I can still go to the movie theater for a high-concept, mediocre movie. I thought this entire species only survived on streaming.

My Rating: 5/10

“I.S.S.” is now playing in theaters.

PHOTO COURTESY AMAZON MGM STUDIOS

The bombastic action flick “The Beekeeper” takes more care than many of its ilk in setting up its villains. Where most beat-em-ups are more than happy to supply their heroes with an army of indistinct European goons, “The Beekeeper” instead spins a careful yarn about a domestic network of fraudsters; the bad guys here are not nebulous toughs but people scamming the vulnerable out of their life savings.

It’s a thoughtful approach. And that marks the one and only time “The Beekeeper” is thoughtful.

Everything else about the movie, from inconsistent mayhem-slinger David Ayer, is as elegant as a concrete block. Jason Statham stars as the titular apiarist, a retired mercenary now maintaining several hives on the property of an impossibly pleasant elderly woman (Phylicia Rashad).

When she is scammed by a slick tech-bro, our hero goes on a honey-chucking rampage of revenge. Not content to merely obliterate the thieves in question, he follows the money up the ladder — quickly finding that there’s much more power behind this scam than he thought. No matter; he’s happy to throat-punch any number of elite kill squads in the name of “protecting the hive,” one of an exhaustive array of bee metaphors screenwriter Kurt Wimmer deploys.

Statham remains a steely and watchable presence when dispensing beatdowns, though his occasional moments of variety — about two emotional monologues and four jokes — fall flat. That’s more on the script than him; the only person who can make this dialogue sound halfway decent is Jeremy Irons, present as the bodyguard and fixer for the bad guys and given most of the expository text. While I have no idea how he ended up in this project, his presence helped considerably.

Is it good? No. Is it satisfying? Yes — and in a very January way, when moviegoers (other than those exploring the Oscar bait) are looking for an uncomplicated experience to get through the winter months. While “The Beekeeper” is far from a success, it’ll give you exactly what you’re looking for.

My Rating: 5/10

“The Beekeeper” is now playing in theaters.