The once-vivacious singer regains her zest for life when a woman claiming to be her long-lost sister pops up with her Don Juan-ish boyfriend in tow. Martina wastes no time luring the guy to bed, spoken-for as he may be, and setting off on what could be fairly characterized as an erotic rampage. It all sounds much saucier than it ends up being, with too much time frittered away on life-coach-type gum-flapping about finding yourself.
Greg Pritikin, director of the criminally underseen Adrien Brody vehicle Dummy , plugs Chevy Chase and Richard Dreyfuss into the the machine that takes in geriatric acting legends and spits out toothless jokes about dentures. Orbiter 9 Only God and Ted Sarandos will ever know why, but Netflix seems to be willing to buy up just about any sci-fi project it can get its licensing contracts on.
Director Hatem Khraiche sees the putrid foundation of this premise more clearly than Morten Tyldum ever did, but the lack of star power as a serviceable distraction leaves the match-up a wash. The Highwaymen You may think that Bonnie and Clyde were a pair of sexy, morally ambiguous counterculture types thumbing their nose at John Q. Love your children, love yourself, and just go with Gnomeo if the offspring insists on diminutive-sized fun. See if you can guess where this is headed: A pretty and otherwise trait-free amnesiac Brenda Song wakes up in a hospital to find her husband Mike Vogel , who hastily notifies her that she has no job, family, or friends.
For those readers under the impression that the film would be above pitting these adult women against one another in a series of behind-the-back kvetch-a-thons, congratulations, you have given Poehler too much credit. She coasts through the production with the same minimum of giving-a-shit that Adam Sandler brings to his Grown Ups franchise, eating up what must be half an hour with karaoke-singalong scenes sent from the deepest reaches of hell.
That sounds like a wholly original horror concept — a commodity now more precious than gold — until Soraya falls back on Western visual language to bring the undead Suzzanna Luna Maya back to wheezing, dreadful life. However rooted in regional culture, this looks and moves like the least-attended title playing at your local AMC. Sometimes A notion that could be the stuff of great black-box theater turns into a limply mounted The More You Know advert in this single-issue drama imported from India.
Nicholas Hoult, to his credit, plays his reluctant soldier as a bit savvier than the usual bumpkin on a collision course with shell shock. But otherwise, Brazilian filmmaker Fernando Coimbra contributes nothing novel to the conversation. And on top of all that, the gap in age and attractiveness between PM Rispoli and Senator Rossi is, in a word, noticeable. During a big night-on-the-town send-off for Jenny Gina Rodriguez with ride-or-dies Blair Brittany Snow and Erin DeWanda Wise before she relocates to San Francisco for a choice Rolling Stone gig — please suspend all disbelief at the door — the gal pals talk in a pidgin of buzzwords and catchphrases that vaguely resembles a trending-topics chart.
Each septuplet gets to stray out in the world under a shared identity for one day of the week, though they all have one distinctive character trait, Multiplicity style. A ludicrous conspiracy plot linking government officials and nefarious schemes to control the populace through resource withholding gives the film shape, explained through endless and interminable dumps of exposition and implausible turns of plot.
Of course Glenn Close did it. Glenn Close always did it! As young adults, they return to the house where they grew up following the death of their parents, and Alia starts to get a much clearer bead on the phantoms her sister once screamed about. Realized with a inadvertently charming lack of technical polish, the film cycles through the usual haunted-house tricks as steadily and as predictably as a carnival ride.
Ali lies to his family about his med school test scores and sets a series of farces in motion, all as he pursues his crush Dianne Helenna Sawires in a lunge at personal agency. On the way to a banal final moral, director Stephanie Laing indulges in all manner of shameless emotional manipulations, the most egregious of which revolves around a rascally terminal patient portrayed by Christopher Walken. He puts a brave face on while withstanding suffering, both within and without the context of the film. Juanita Alfre Woodard gets her groove back in this menopausal comedy that just so happens to be written by her husband Roderick Spencer.
She catches a bus to Butte, Montana, presumably a choice vacation spot for the Woodard-Roderick family, then gets her blood pumping by rehabilitating a flagging restaurant and shacking up with its fetching Native chef Adam Beach. The Climb In , a French-Algerian free spirit who had never set foot on a mountain in his life summited Everest through sheer force of will. Forcing this story into the mold of a romance negates the inspirational overtones and makes Nadia into a trophy awarded to Samy right on cue. My research suggests that some encoded details will make this a richer experience for Indonesians and those familiar with the culture.
The best thing would be French acting legend Denis Lavant as the face-painted leader of that very cabal, going above and beyond his already lofty standard for goblinesque physicality. Everything in between falls just out of bounds, or goes wide, or whatever the proper sporting metaphor might be for this particular occasion. Point is, the film stretches its 77 minutes to maximum length with a feeble blend of lesbian humor, out-of-nowhere cowboy-musical selections, and noticeably professional makeup effects.
Director Olivier Afonso, behind the camera for the first time, hails from the faux -gore department in a long line of Z-movies past. But even listing the incongruous elements making up this film runs the risk of piquing interest that it cannot generate itself. Clinical Everybody knows therapists are just as unwell as their patients, but Dr.
Every Netflix Original Movie, Ranked
Jane Mathis Vinessa Shaw has a little bit more going on upstairs than the usual head-case shrink. Take this Spanish-language con game transplanting Dirty Rotten Scoundrels from the French Riviera to a luxury cruise liner: The much-touted popularity of Like Father surely compelled Netflix to seek out other vacation-ship-based entertainment, and with scamming currently on-trend, this was a no-brainer buy.
Niccol has been wise about future panic up until now, when he alternately ignores and simplifies the implications of a complete eradication of privacy. He assigns a pat killer-on-the-loose plot to an intriguing hook, casting Clive Owen as the hard-nosed detective hunting a murderer off the universal grid, and Amanda Seyfried goes digital femme fatale as a woman mysteriously exempt from the omnipresent readout. Substitute teachers looking to keep eighth-graders busy for an hour would be better off with another Gattaca rewatch.
Rowling and the Royal Family. Director Vicky Jewson does not, saddling Sam with emotional baggage that turns her own womanhood against her, and succumbing to her own paltry-budget limitations. But without sufficient funding and off-screen talent, she never stood a chance. In Family I Trust Light enough to be blown away by a single sneeze, this Spanish-language romcom sends another hapless single lady home to regroup and rediscover her inner goddess, or something. Those not immediately put off by the preceding sentence may have a better time with absolute ding-dong Bea Clara Lago , who kicks the film off by setting her man up with a foxy newscaster she knows he has a crush on and then flipping her lid when they hook up.
Bea finds refuge in the embrace of a widower with a souped-up hot-pink hot rod, the two perfect for one another in their equal proportions of dullardry. Mercy Adult children tend to show their true colors when their parents reach their deathbed. With each brother blander than the next, however, the big reveal wields all the dramatic heft of a balloon.
Rock My Heart Hold the damn phone — another work of hardcore inspiration-porn about a spunky white girl overcoming a debilitating medical condition to attain her equestrian dreams? The broken bones have been exchanged for a heart condition and the older mentor has more bite, but aside from the language barrier, this film clip-clops along the exact same hoof tracks as its horsey forefather.
Which was, itself, following the trail of The Rider. Who will defend this poor creature, so overtaxed as an analog for ornery characters learning discipline and control in bush-league indies? Have some mercy, directors, and cease beating a dead — oh, well, you know. Music Teacher Not to paint India or its cinema with too broad a brush, but it sure has plenty of movies about developmentally stunted men getting in touch with their feelings because of the efforts of tolerant, accommodating women.
Take Beni Manav Kaul , an educator with a chip on his shoulder and unrealized fantasies of musical superstardom. To make matters more agonizing, his former pupil Jyotsna Amrita Bagchi announces a homecoming concert after eight years of making a name for herself at the uppermost pop echelon.
Will they find love? Erotic-thriller sex should be scary in a hot way, not scary in a 50 Shades of Grey way. Shimmer Lake Smarter than the average Coen Brothers ripoff looking at you, Cut Bank , this one has the good sense to also be a Memento ripoff.
A little bit of money. Throwing more money at a production rarely solves problems, but for a premise that wholly orients itself around the near-pornographic gazing upon military weaponry — much of it fantastical, engineered with futuristic technologies explained at length — looking good is everything. Brain on Fire Susannah Cahalan had it all: a great job writing for the New York Post , a devoted boyfriend, bright prospects.
On both counts, the answer is a confidently intoned yes. And that title? The title is an enigma more engrossing than the film containing it. Coin Heist Coins are amazing — designed using lasers, mass-produced through an elaborate assembly line of casting and forging, inspected down to the tiniest detail for flaws so minute only professionals can see them, and all for something we keep in our pockets only to trade for chewing gum.
It is, regrettably, an apt pairing of auteur and subject. After auditioning and being rejected for the role years earlier, Larson gets the last laugh by leading as Kit, an art student booted from her program when a professor deems her Lisa Frank—esque paintings insufficiently serious.
Bomb Scared You thought eating disorders were a testy source for laughs? This Spanish-language comedy focuses on a dunderheaded gang of Basque-separatist extremists, impatiently awaiting their next mission while Spain makes a run at the World Cup in the background. Director Borja Cobeaga treats their mission to await instruction in a safe house like a tedious office job and the characters like bumbling wage slaves instead of radicalized killers. What better setting for a trip between amigos, the meat of this Spanish-language comedy on the move?
The film does everything that films about oldsters taking to the road have trained us to anticipate: drug experiences all in good fun, May-December pairings for the shoehorned hints of romance, chin-up humor about the impending visit from the Grim Reaper. One hopes that top-flight choreography might pick up the slack left by cookie-cutter writing, but alas, these Scandinavian posers have already been served by their American cousins. Skam -heads aside, best moonwalk your way to Step Sisters instead.
Until, of course, we figure out the game — at which point all that remains are some eye-catching diversions with pink, green, and yellow, along with a few practical effects shots not worth writing home about. There is only one Tyler Durden. Walraven van Hall is no Oskar Schindler — though this biopic wants him to be so very badly — and star Barry Atsma does a commendable job of giving this real-life human being an identity of his own.
His White Fang had teeth, speaking to a young-adult audience prepared to reckon with the hazards of the natural world, but this kiddie spin strips the woods of their formidable might. A scene depicting dogfighting feels out of place in a film so mushy. The title pretty much translates to Lost Girl. The preceding weeks saw an influx of photo enthusiasts streaming in from across the country to get their exposures while they still could, and this drama follows once such road trip between cancer-stricken snapshotter Ben Ed Harris , his good-natured assistant—nurse Zoe Elizabeth Olsen , and his adult son Matt Jason Sudeikis.
From the mm. A good villain could have made up for the scripting, but the trio of little undead girls only serves to add The Shining to the laundry list of superior films from which this one has leeched. Free Pugh. Take the 10 For those viewers in search of a scattershot, fitfully funny crime caper in which Tony Revolori spends one long day scrambling around the outskirts of L.
At least that one had a more charming leading man in Shameik Moore than this one gets in Josh Peck, playing a sleazebag with the pretty face of a former child TV star. That movie had some entry-level commentary on race, too, and a nifty soundtrack from Pharrell. All this dime-store knockoff has is a Pulp Fiction— lite nonchronological structure, a closeted coke baron, and one great Danny Brown needle drop it unloads in the first 15 minutes.
The most a critic can say is that its pop-culture references are very of-the-moment. Evil , about a pair of convivial rednecks who, through a series of unfortunate accidents and coincidences, present as bloodthirsty lunatics to a gaggle of nubile vacationers. Noah Centineo, a name doodled in diaries worldwide, plays a lower-middle-class high-school senior putting together cash for college by posing as an escort for girls in need of some arm candy.
Handsome From the opening narration in which the culprit introduces himself and confesses to his crime, this comedy purports to be a different breed of murder mystery. Sahara In the abattoir of lowest-common-denominator kiddie entertainment, a viewer can sometimes read between the lines and see the grown-up writers starting to crack under their own madness. I credit this cut-rate French-Canadian co-production with offering the most glimpses into the frustration that comes alongside making a cartoon about the desert adventures of a scorpion and a cobra.
Lucid Dream Among the curiously large backlog of East Asian sci-fi projects that Netflix has imported, this does not rank among the more memorable. She then squandered part of that goodwill on limp-noodle biopic Mary Shelley , and now threatens to completely deplete it on this rom-com lacking both volume and a lustrous aesthetic shine. Uptight advertising exec Violet Sanaa Lathan keeps her life as rigorously controlled as her elaborately treated do, but she must forsake the picture-perfect fakery to go natural up top and find herself.
Sunanda Usha Jadhav is precisely the sort of character that Chopra and other outspoken advocates for women in the entertainment industry have called for. A lawyer ardently arguing for abused women against their alcoholic husbands, she has a feminist yen for justice at war with an inner turmoil that still haunts her. Take a wild guess at what happened in her past to make her pursue this particular line of work. For a while, the character is more fully-developed than the film around her, until the final twenty minutes take some shall-we-say-unanticipated turns that seriously undercut its progressive messaging.
Slightly coercive sex and cuckolding: the cure to a flagging marriage? Revenger The seventh art started going downhill the day that CGI blood was ruled more cost-effective than squib packs and karo syrup. Hopefully, powerhouse star Bruce Khan will find more sure-handed tutelage elsewhere, and soon. The most costly production in Malay film history often feels like an extended recruitment video, showing how PASKAL soldiers save lives and assist the U.
Leader of men Commander Anwar Hairul Azreen entertains the notion that he may not be able to serve his country and his family at the same time, a nagging doubt typical of the war film, but the film settles that with the conclusion that country and family are one and the same. Though the three tactical operations around which the script has been molded are executed with the precision and efficiency expected of the military, the shut-up-and-put-up thinking leaves its topic only half-covered. The online Keanumania sparked by the episode in the middle featuring Reeves as a funhouse-mirror version of himself, however, has been well-founded.
'AHS: Apocalypse' - The Biggest Questions That Need to Be Answered in the Finale
Nowhere outside Pinterest have canned aphorisms ever carried this much clout. If only it was funnier. On the other hand, there is something slightly risky and revisionist about placing a half-Korean character in a role so historically steeped in whiteness. If nothing else, the specter of Long Duk Dong will have been forever dispelled.
From a city-block bombing to a shooting spree at a campground, Greengrass treats discretion like weakness as he shows and shows and shows. Benji The Great Louisiana Tax Break Production Boom has attracted many stars to the oak-lined streets of New Orleans over the past decade, and the latest addition to the list is the hottest star on four legs, wonder dog Benji. The best that can be said for this neutered reboot of the musty mutt franchise is that it makes active use of its surroundings where so many have attempted to obscure them.
And yet nu-Benji lacks a certain canine charisma present in his doggy forebears, and weirder still, this film plays up the element of Christian dogma — thank you, thank you — traditionally constrained to the subtextual level. Rebirth The first rule of this anti-corporate psychological thriller is do not talk about Fight Club. Goldberg breaks his pal out of a funk by inviting him to join a new movement of self-actualization he recently discovered, where instead of therapeutically punching the bologna out of one another, members chant creepy affirmations about accessing inner truth.
Ugarte slowly comes undone as a nurse capable of communicating via haunted VHS tape with a boy who died 25 years earlier. Paulo has a week-one-freshman grasp on chaos theory, and succeeds only in dumbing the concepts down while falling into the same grandfather paradox facing any time-travel movie. Not even the broad shoulders of Ugarte can carry a film so poorly thought-through. How else to account for the absolute absence of any signs of life whatsoever in each and every performance?
As a mother grieving her young son recently nabbed by wolves, Riley Keough never breaks her heart-monitor monotone, and Jeffrey Wright matches her mumble-for-mumble as the nature expert who comes to find the missing boy. Director David E. Talbert uses this pressure cooker as a breeding ground for a black comedy of schemers and bumblers, brought to life by a cast seemingly picked at random from a hat.
Tim Allen! Jessica Alba! A viewer gets the impression that nobody in this motley troupe was in contact with one another during shooting. The cartoonishly inept lawmen plotting to resolve the situation have a Keystone Kops thing going on, the news team broadcasting the events occupy a more cynical atmosphere, and on the scene indoors, the shooter and his bargaining chips are doing Coen brothers cosplay. Been So Long I am of the steadfast belief that any bad movie can be improved at least slightly with the addition of musical numbers, a principle supported by this adaptation of a London stage smash.
Without the occasional ditty to spice things up, this would be a standard-issue guy-meets-gal romance about a single mother trying to get back out there. While the music suffers from Repo! Burning Sands Yet another clone movie, this one retreading the stomach-churning account of hazing gone too far undertaken by Goat the previous year. But instead of tiptoeing around the jocks, prevailing attitudes of mandated prudence mean that our boys must tiptoe around their parents, their nation, and their own guilt.
The sword of Damocles finally drops when his partners turn against him, his wife sends a messenger boy to announce her request for a divorce, and his substance-based hobbies threaten to worsen into habits, all on the same Monday. In America, it feels like the Sundance-industrial complex gives us another one of these every couple of years. He casts a bold silhouette as the image of gallantry, oftentimes to disbelief-testing extents.
Did he really wait to deflower his teen bride, played by a poorly utilized Florence Pugh, until she was ready to give her consent? Mackenzie wants us to gawp at his lengthy tracking shots and flaming catapult, but the bouquet of loose screw-ups has a way of holding the attention. The resulting uproar destroyed treasured relationships and put him through a great test of faith in line with Christian lore, and director Joshua Marston chooses to relate this with all the dramatic nuance of a Lifetime Original Movie.
Not even a sensitive turn as an AIDS-positive organist from the unerring Lakeith Stanfield can earn this film salvation. The Killer And now for something completely different: a Western by way of Brazil, where a scar-faced killer those excited for a film about Spanish bullfighters are in for a rude awakening plays the cowboy liberating a dusty village from a ruthless capitalist.
Diogo Morgado cuts a commanding figure as our man Shaggy, a couple notches closer to feral than the usual gunslinger. The Warning Spanish filmmaker Daniel Calparsoro could have a long career ahead of him in Hollywood, where they crank out ambitious but imperfect conceptual thrillers like this one by the bushel. To work off his debt, Gudio joins the shadowy league of collectors and rapidly learns the ropes of a dishonest yet highly seductive profession where all rules have a bit of wiggle room.
The painterly photography has been supplanted by the flatness of prestige TV, and the long, pensive gaps in which viewers were once free to appreciate the rustling of tree branches or distant chiming of bells are now filled with meaningless exposition. Formulaic as his handiwork may be, director Julien Leclerq has his head on straighter than his characters, moving his minute run time at a swift clip with a few Mannly action sequences.
A national cinema once limited by censorship and old-fashioned ideas about propriety is now exploring new sexual frontiers, this romantic anthology being a bracingly blunt case in point. Behold, the first onscreen appearance of a vibrator in the history of Indian film! Four separate stories revolve around women in various states of dissatisfaction — carnal, sure, but more frequently emotional.
A lot of the comedy errs on the side of the sophomoric, with one randy set piece taking cues from the risible The Ugly Truth , but what this effort represents still counts for quite a bit. Witnessing one such distressing occurrence claim the life of his sister stays with August Khalil Everage permanently, afflicting him with agoraphobia well-suited to his fledgling career as a bedroom beatmaker. Imperial Dreams A curious specimen, this film was made and released in two dramatically different worlds.
When the picture first premiered at Sundance in , John Boyega was another handsome young Brit with a lot of promise and a stare capable of cutting metal. By the time Netflix unveiled it in , he was an A-lister with a leading role in the biggest blockbuster franchise on the planet. Not an easy sit by any measure, but director Sudabeh Mortezai maximizes the pain to unclear ends, drawing all the dread out from an upsetting rape scene early on until it feels like horror cinema and not in the good way.
The Angel By , tensions along the Egyptian-Israeli border had escalated to powder-keg levels, and a violent engagement was all but imminent. This true-to-life thriller contemplates the answer and settles somewhere between the two in a conflicted character study that resists simple heroism. If only director Ariel Vromen had put a little more oomph in the scenes where things happen and sunk less time into scenes in which people talk about things happening. What could have been an amoral romp in the vein of American Made lands in a more subdued, inert mode, never quite reveling in its own misdeeds.
Solo All right, cards on the table, Netflix. Two days later, this Spanish tribute to real-life perseverance popped up under a nearly identical title. Kidnapping Stella Sometimes, the less said in a movie, the better. Striking all dialogue can force a plateauing filmmaker to get back to basics and relearn how to convey information visually, through camerawork, editing, and the choices of the actors.
Director Thomas Sieben applies a zero-fat, economical style to the Stockholm Syndrome thriller, until the perpetrators get talking and turn from wraithlike presences into regular guys. The retelling of one Irish U. That results in a weird dissonance, where the film works as a discrete whole but fails on a scene-by-scene basis. The ensuing dash to get the sinewy hellion back in his container drably shuffles through its action sequences and has a, shall we say, utilitarian relationship to language.
Tallulah Former Orange Is the New Black writer Sian Heder tries her hand behind the camera for this study in contrasts about three women all chafing under the demands of motherhood in their own way. In the title role, Ellen Page is a street urchin feeling lost after her good-for-nothing boyfriend abandons her, but finds new meaning in life when fate puts a helpless infant in her custody. Well-measured restraint improves the acting across the board, which in turn keeps this film away from the treacly sentiment that occasionally rears its weepy head.
Janney takes it in a walk, naturally. Targarona has a perceptible admiration for Boix and the bravery required to surreptitiously document some of the most heinous crimes against humanity that history has ever seen. Targarona, a veteran of the Spanish film industry, has earned the right to have a little more faith in herself.
The Titan Sam Worthington is one of those actors whose blank expression and generically handsome features make him the perfect candidate to portray a robot. See also: Emily Ratajkowski, Jamie Dornan. Forestalling the inevitable, this sci-fi thought exercise gets near the mark by casting Worthington as something other than human — in this case, the next stage in evolution.
The film lacks focus, however, glancing past a number of thoughtful paths in an effort to simultaneously take all of them. Pickpockets Those small-time hoodlums rationalizing theft as a victimless crime often tend to not realize that after long enough, they will become the real victims.
A sense of coiled-spring energy and an emphasis on the fascinating nuts and bolts of ripping strangers off can make a hundred-dollar job feel as exciting as a bank heist, both for us and the purloiners onscreen, who steal for the sheer rush as much as the money. Director Peter Webber is never better than when exalting in the kinetic glory of petty larceny, his camera as weightless and carefree as its subjects, but the need to impose an arc on their lifestyle mucks up the merrymaking. The arrival of an elder mentor in misdemeanors steers the younger leads to betrayal, jealousy, and internal conflict, all of which makes for adequate drama at the price of the poetry-in-motion exhilaration of their earlier cooperation.
Emmet Walsh could be altogether bad. Still, the script arrives at the same inevitable endpoint as any other movie about someone avenging a loved one. You know the old saying — before you embark upon a journey of revenge, dig two graves. The hole acts as a statement bangle for the film, a pop of difference standing out from the sameness. Terron leaves his fellow middle-schoolers in the dust on the basketball court, and before long, a coach Josh Charles from an elite private academy headhunts him for their team. Koo misses the three, but sinks the layup.
The grainy mm. He gives a much better showing than the rest of the movie deserves, the room-temperature casserole of saccharine little-kid antics and uncanny-valley-plumbing CGI elves that it is. The Italian case of Stefano Cucchi, dramatized in this work of righteous outrage by Alessio Cremonini, sounds all too familiar: After getting apprehended by the feared martial peacekeeping force known as the Carabinieri on a minor drug-possession charge and held in custody, the young infrastructure worker was winnowed down to a malnourished husk of himself, beaten, and ultimately killed.