There’s not a lot to director Max Joseph’s We Are Your Friends. Working from a story by Richard Silverman, co-writing the script with Meaghan Oppenheimer, the man behind MTV’s “Catfish: The TV Show” hasn’t exactly come up with a coming-of-age looking-to-find-stardom scenario anyone, anywhere likely hasn’t seen before. It’s A Star is Born for the Under the Electric Sky generation, a hallucinogenic sojourn into electronic dance music craziness given a Millennial twist if only in somewhat patronizing fashion.

What follows is ferociously visceral, and not for a single second do either Dowdle coddle the audience into believing anything warm or fuzzy is going to take place. This is a meat grinder movie, a motion picture that wraps itself inside the blood and viscera of its central characters asking the audience to sweat, cry and bleed right alongside of them.

Not that I’m dismissing Mistress America. As much as the stagy pitter-patter of the dialogue didn’t sit as well with me as I’d have liked, that doesn’t make the structural, character-driven cohesion of the plot Baumbach and Gerwig have constructed any less attention grabbing.

Sinister II is a horror sequel with real potential. It has a central conceit that’s inherently intriguing, building on the disturbing premise of its predecessor with real ingenuity. Yet in the end it’s nowhere near as satisfying as it might have been, and while glimmers of chilling astonishment can be found it just isn’t enough to make Bughuul’s return anything memorable.

In the end, it’s hard not to find plenty to like about Cop Car, and as minor as this little thriller might be Watts directorial talent is still undeniable, and as such for those who tend to like this type of thing the movie offers up a ride potentially worthy of the taking.

Final Girl is a fairly tedious enterprise and watching it start to finish is something of a major chore. It’s bad, but is so in ways that have more to do with forces arguably outside the filmmaker’s control so coming down hard on this is awfully difficult to do. That doesn’t mean I think anyone should watch it, mind you, I just think it’s best those that accidentally do are prepared for the obscene levels of mediocrity they’ll end up witnessing if they end up doing so.

[After] all these years, after so many bad movies and disappointing misfires, I still like to be the critic who feels any movie, any movie at all, could potentially be awesome. Hitman: Agent 47 is the type of disaster that can kill those sort of aspirations, this lethal killing machine nothing more than a dream assassin making it the most heinous type of misfire there possibly is.

There is a joyous, devil-may-care enthusiasm to this big screen adaptation, the filmmaker reveling in the humor, the charm and the characters instead of focusing on the requisite whiz-bang and over-the-top action theatrics this sort of production typically revels in. In short, it’s excellent, and for my money the best television-to-movie adaptation since 1993’s The Fugitive.

Playing with false identities, constantly keeping things anchored on Nelly and all that she is thinking and feeling, the movie builds with pinpoint precision as it moves towards its destination. Never what I thought it would be, [Phoenix (2015)] plays on convention and expectation, flipping the script and dropping the mic going out with a bang that echoes with nothing less than greatness.