Stuber is a fun little trip into the ridiculous, and while I’m not about to give this cinematic rideshare a five-star rating, it seems to me three out of four should be more than adequate.

Anchored by a superb performance from comedian, author, podcaster and essayist Maron and featuring wonderful supporting works by all three of his primary costars, especially a delightfully anarchic Watkins, Sword of Trust is a fast-paced O. Henry meets Mark Twain meets Tom Wolfe-like absurdist lark that sent me out of the theatre smiling.

The fun of Spider-Man: Far from Home is watching the younger members of its cast agreeably interact with one another, and if the actual heroic parts of the tale could have generated maybe a third of that same intoxicating ebullience maybe I’d have found this latest MCU effort to be a bit more memorable.

The last third of Yesterday is an ineffectual slog that wastes the talents of its stars, and as breezy, inoffensively enjoyable and as adorably light as so much of this was to suddenly hear it hit so many sour notes was undeniably disappointing, my emotions gently weeping the more I keep thinking about it.

There are moments Child’s Play feels like the Jackson Pollock painting of modern-day horror remakes, and I can’t help but imagine Klevberg and Smith throwing general ideas, plot developments and various character interactions at a blank canvas as if they were swatches of paint.

Loosely born from co-writer/star Jimmie Fails’ own life experiences, The Last Black Man in San Francisco is at times a broad comedy, at others a searing social commentary, and in many instances a bracingly tragic melodrama

I do hope Toy Story 4 is the last of the series, if only because the bow it puts on Woody’s four-film expedition is tied with such loving perfection I have trouble imagining the filmmakers could ever do better than what they miraculously accomplish here.

But it’s all haphazardly thrown together and never coherently focused, Jarmusch allowing The Dead Don’t Die to have a disheveled lackadaisical momentum that’s too nondescript to resonate and too messily pieced together for events to emotionally matter.

At almost two full hours, Men in Black: International trudges along with almost no interest in getting to its destination with anything approaching haste.