But Abrahamson’s direction is just so strong and Donoghue’s script so refreshingly honest it’s hard to get to angry about little things that don’t rise to the same level of near-perfection the majority ascends to. Ultimately, Room (2015) is a lithe, deeply moving wonder that builds to a miraculous coda, the hope pulsating through my soul a feeling of true bliss unlike any I’ve felt watching a movie this entire year.

An enjoyable gore-filled trifle, [Scouts Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse] is an absurdist combination of Shaun of the Dead, Dead Alive, The Goonies and American Pie, and while things never go anyplace surprising, it’s all so easygoing and good-natured I had a good time watching it even if part of me knew better than to do so.

But some of these filmmakers, like Mendez, like Schifrin, like Parker, do a wonderful job, crafting short, sweet and merrily ghoulish holiday-themed yarns deserving of praise. As anthologies go, [Tales of Halloween] is a heck of a lot of fun, even the misses having a spunky, go-for-broke attitude worthy of going a tiny bit crazy for.

The Gallows isn’t very good. I gave it a second chance mainly because I feel like the filmmakers do have some talent, and while the idea they’ve come up for the film isn’t entirely original it’s still solid enough the potentially for a solid ghost story is definitely present. But it’s just so dumb, consistently so. Worse than that, it’s boring, trying to watch it again, even while folding laundry and doing dishes, about as tedious an operation as any I’ve attempted in quite some time.

All of which makes Burnt an intriguing misfire that’s impossible to dislike yet difficult to fully embrace. I appreciate what Knight and Wells are attempting, like how they desire to tell a story from the middle in, not wasting a lot of time recounting events we don’t need to know a lot about…It’s all too familiar, too rudimentary, and while the kitchen they’re working in is top-of-the-line the meal they ultimately prepare isn’t that much better than a Denny’s breakfast left under the heat lamps a few minutes too many.

The movie’s satirical jabs at the political process are familiar across the board, and not a single thing anyone says or does is near as shocking as it needs to be in order for the film to resonate on a meaningful level. It’s pretty standard stuff, most of the narrative elements content to roam along the surface, the script rarely, if ever, digging deeply enough to matter as far as the bigger overarching picture is concerned.

Journalism isn’t above its own sort of reproach when stories are not vetted as they should be, and even if the core is correct and the conclusions are factual few are going to care if they can pick apart the puzzle pieces that supposedly lead there. Truth (2015), as much as I agree with many of its contentions, fails to hold itself to the same level of scrutiny as it does those going after Mapes and Rather, and as such never feels as authentic as it should have.

Narcopolis never rises above mediocre as far as story is concerned, building to a supposedly slam-bang stunner of a finish that’s nowhere near as inspired as I think the director intends it to be. While Cowan is a solid Dana Andrews meet Harrison Ford clone, his performance alone isn’t enough to make up for the structural silliness of the plot itself, and while Trefgarne shows promise behind the camera his skills as a screenwriter sadly still leave something to be desired.

The line between historical fidelity and narrative creativity isn’t always a comfortable one, and there are times I did wish the filmmakers had taken a more documentary-like approach, especially as it pertained to the more violent and disturbing clashes with the police. Yet, overall, Gavron’s approach is spot-on, and the way she allows Maud to tell her own story at her own pace only augments the emotional purity of all she endures and overcomes, giving Suffragette a universality that’s sublime.