By channeling his inner Tommy Wiseau, James Franco manages to craft an intentional comedic sensation out of an unintentionally hilarious failure, The Disaster Artist rising to a level of genuine greatness that’s astonishing.

Pixar’s latest animated offering Coco is a pleasant enough diversion, offering colorful visual delights that are as imaginative as they are gorgeous.

I love that Gilroy challenges audiences. I can’t wait to see what he’s got up his sleeve as a writer and director next. But, even with Washington’s magnificence, I’m having a hard time thinking Roman J. Israel, Esq. is anything close to a piece of essential cinema.

Last Flag Flying moved me to tears while in the same breath it had me laughing out loud, everything building to a stunningly personal denouement that left me speechless.

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri knocked me sideways, McDonagh’s latest a mesmerizing piece of satirical social commentary that packs a mean wallop.

While disjointed and more than a little structurally incoherent, gosh darn it all if Justice League doesn’t end up proving to be a heck of a lot more fun than it has any right to be.

BPM (Beats Per Minute) wrecked me something fierce, Campillo’s latest a piece of historical fiction that’s just as relevant today as it ever was a quarter-century ago.

Daddy’s Home 2 is a lump of seasonal coal delivered into the multiplex with all the pomp and circumstance of a slap to the face, this holiday-themed comedy a laughless slog better left unwatched.

Lady Bird never hits a false note, each beat of the story building one upon the next to produce a melodious coming of age symphony that’s absolutely sensational.