Black Bag is a dinner party game of seduction, revelation, and retribution better played without knowing all the rules beforehand.

I was disappointed by this iteration of Last Breath. Chris has an incredible story. The same goes for all of those who were involved with his rescue. But I didn’t care. Not about Chris. Not about his shipmates. Not about any of it. Talk about a tragedy.

The Paddington movies are a cathartic jolt of kindness that the world could use more of right now.

The Prosecutor is exceedingly entertaining. It’s also not even passingly believable.

After another look, I’m starting to feel like we’re all going to look back on Joker: Folie à Deux and realize that collectively we got this one wrong.

I walked away from The Count of Monte Cristo invigorated. Its intensity, its majesty, its larger-than-life virtuosity, all of that and more filled my heart with glee.

Mufasa: The Lion King has enough going for it that it stands on its own with pride.

Boys Don’t Cry: Celebrating the complicated, problematic legacy of an essential entry in the LGBTQ cinematic canon on its 25th anniversary

Queer is an ejaculatory descent into the unfinished humanistic unknown that’s probably unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I have a feeling Burroughs, if he were still around to see the finished film, wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.