The ride is as shaky as the dwarfs’ rickety mine cars.

The dialogue is witty, snitty, and sharp—the kind of thing Soderbergh can craft in his sleep.

Last Breath’s confining tendrils creep into nearly every scene, pulling you deeper into its suffocating grip.

Instead of an organic sense of nostalgia, Here lands more like a sappy greeting card: visually appealing but hollow.

Conclave is a brilliant example of slow-burn, understated storytelling that works.

Twisters is a bigger mess than the towns it depicts after a direct hit.

Inside Out 2 is a schizophrenic jumble with everyone spread way too thin.

Tuesday manages to poke and prod at the fragile tendrils of a topic laden with countless taboos and cultural beliefs.

Dune: Part Two seems intent on convincing us that explosions are the same thing as plot.

Barbie is akin to Joe Camel espousing the virtues of a healthy lifestyle.

A masterwork that stands head and shoulders above Nolan’s already-impressive past catalogue.

This installment delivers more chuckles than all six past films combined.