Year: 2026

September 10, 2026 · Watch the trailer

Rebellion isn’t a new concept in cinema. From “The Patriot” to “Star Wars,” “Gladiator” to “Braveheart,” taking a stand against perceived tyranny has been fruitful ground for filmmakers for decades. While there are always allegories to modern times in these tales of righteous insubordination, films in recent memory haven’t approached the moral quandaries of uprooting the system quite like Paul Greengrass’ new film, “The Uprising.”

Largely based on the 1381 Peasants’ Revolt in England, “The Uprising” follows a simple farmer mourning the death of his family due to the Black Plague and finding himself at the center of an armed march on London to ask for the king’s help after a massive tax increase.

Over the course of two hours, Greengrass drags audiences through fields and mud, pillaging and ransacking, while simultaneously lingering on questions of doing wrong for the right reasons. “The Uprising” is a gritty, tense drama that rarely finds anyone for audiences to rally behind and leaves far more questions than it does answers.

Andrew Garfield is exceptional as the farmer known simply in the film as the Ploughman, and it’s in Garfield’s insightful eyes and quivering lips that viewers are able to see the hesitancy with which the Ploughman acts, almost as if the wheels are actively turning in his head before every action. In the hands of a different performer, “The Uprising” could easily become a bloody, brutal slog akin to lesser medieval epics like “The King” and “Outlaw King.”

An exceptionally emotive performer, Garfield finds the humanity in his character and that which he seeks in others, and his Ploughman is conflicted with deep, unresolved emotional pain.

Unfortunately, it’s only in this character that Greengrass seeks to find any real depth and complexity, as the larger world of “The Uprising” is littered with supporting characters who serve the narrative without receiving the same psychological depth, and villains that err just on the edge of becoming mustache-twirling caricatures.

Jamie Bell and Cosmo Jarvis fit the profile of rebellion leaders John Ball and Wat Tyler well, and while “The Uprising” does a decent job showcasing their loose grip over a growing mob, nothing approaches the mental toll and anguish that this march seems to have on the Ploughman.

Thomasin McKenzie is terrific in an underserved role as Alyce, a former nun exiled from the church, and the limited scenes she has with Garfield are among the film’s best dialogue. Greengrass spends an exorbitant amount of time with King Richard II, his mother and their council, though the majority of the council becomes visually and narratively interchangeable enough that these scenes can occasionally become confusing. Both Woody Norman and Katherine Waterston make the most of the screen time they’re afforded, especially in the film’s second half.

In typical Greengrass fashion, “The Uprising” is consistently shot in his handheld style, with the frame rarely remaining completely steady as viewers shake up and down along with the camera operator through both combat and quieter narrative scenes.

It’s especially jarring to have characters simply walking down a hallway with the frame of reference constantly changing, which may easily break audiences’ suspension of disbelief. Intentionally heavy in its production design and cinematography, where viewers can almost feel the physical toll of the narrative, “The Uprising” is deeply coated in greens, browns and black mud to envelop the world of the film in a dirty texture.

The pulsating score from composer Volker Bertelmann also forces audiences to confront the urgency of the moment in a heavy-handed nature that at times feels a bit too on the nose, especially in the rare moments without Garfield in a scene. “The Uprising” is a moderately brutal film, with Greengrass only shying away from the gruesome nature of medieval combat to cut away from the numerous beheadings that occur. In the larger battle sequences, the very personal nature of the rebellion comes into focus, with justice being carried out by plough, scythe and pitchfork.

While the content seems like ready fodder for awards-season consideration, there doesn’t appear to be enough enthusiasm around the film itself to garner major attention, although “The Uprising” adds to the long list of Garfield’s filmography in which the actor delivers a knockout performance far beyond the quality of the film surrounding him.

A film that may take ardent cinephiles a bit more effort to find theatrically, “The Uprising” could easily merit a trip to theaters, although there’s nothing so urgent about the experience that would preclude waiting until it’s made available for at-home viewing.

September 3, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

Taking the law into your own hands for justice is a relatively common motif in cinema, as filmmakers find fertile ground for intriguing narratives and characters in the world of vigilantism. This concept of what happens when diplomacy fails, or doesn’t get the desired results, is easily translated into a modern context, shining a light on the ambiguity of morality when seeking the greater good.

Loosely based on a true story, the crime thriller “By Any Means,” from director Elegance Bratton, is the latest to explore the gray areas between good and evil, pairing an altruistic African American FBI agent with a New York mob hitman as the duo ruthlessly investigate the murder of Mississippi civil rights leader Vernon Dahmer in the 1960s.

Yahya Abdul-Mateen II stars as FBI Special Agent Wayne Strider, who returns to his home state of Mississippi after years on the job in Chicago. Struggling to find his place as law enforcement in a place and time where his skin color makes him largely persona non grata among the white community he lives among, Abdul-Mateen’s bullish performance as Strider is meticulously by the books, though it’s clear at times that Strider thinks himself an Eliot Ness for the South.

The reluctance Strider shows in bending the law for civic justice is layered throughout Abdul-Mateen’s physical and emotional work, and it’s clear that the conflict between doing things by the letter of the law versus the spirit of the law weighs heavily on him. Sascha Penn’s screenplay, which is often too on the nose about these moral dilemmas, envelops the argument in a discussion of the different worldviews of Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X. Though this is largely done superficially in the film’s first half, it is mostly left by the wayside for the more straightforward, formulaic elements of the crime genre.

Stronger films with similar observations on law enforcement and morality during highly politicized, racially combative moments in American history, such as Spike Lee’s “BlacKkKlansman” or Shaka King’s “Judas and the Black Messiah,” explore these themes with both richer storytelling and more intricate, nuanced dialogue. Oftentimes, “By Any Means” feels like what would happen if a script were equal parts “Green Book” and “Lethal Weapon.”

Mark Wahlberg dons a comically ridiculous prosthetic nose to play Gregory Scarpa, a no-nonsense hitman from New York with a Boston accent that reminds everyone just how clearly Wahlberg is playing the character rather than being enveloped by him.

While Abdul-Mateen considers the weight of every decision Strider makes, Scarpa has far less compunction about questioning what he’s doing, with Wahlberg simply acting as a blunt weapon. This puts Wahlberg in incredibly familiar territory and somewhat lessens the opposite-sides-of-the-same-coin aesthetic Bratton and the filmmaking team had in mind for a cop-and-hitman duo crime thriller.

The supporting cast, including solid character actors like David Strathairn, Nicole Beharie and Josh Lucas, largely washes into a muddled background in favor of Abdul-Mateen and Wahlberg. Bratton rarely treats them as anything more than accessories to further the narrative rather than needed pieces of world-building.

When it comes to the film’s vigilante motif, Bratton rarely shies away from the inherent violence in “By Any Means,” opening with a sequence that sees Wahlberg’s Scarpa violently bloody and torture a man for information, which leads to the burial site of three civil rights activists in 1964. The screenplay attempts to make Scarpa’s mobbed-up outlaw feel like the dark hand of justice in an almost traditional Western, “Man with No Name”-style vengeance story. But the cinematic parallels don’t necessarily match the underwhelming broad brushstrokes the screenplay attempts to provide.

Visually, Bratton’s second feature takes deliberate chances to evoke both period crime drama and the visual style of Spike Lee. It’s quite jarring, though, to see an action sequence move from third person to an almost ‘Call of Duty’-style first-person shooter within the same sequence, leaving audiences looking down the barrel of a gun pointed blindly into the night.

Bratton and cinematographer Ante Cheng attempt, and largely succeed, in making the world of Mississippi feel like a visual character within the narrative. Although the bright, shining visuals that are a cinematic highlight during the day muddy into deep, ugly shades of black at night that obscure a bit too much of what’s going on in scenes.

As a whole, “By Any Means” is a mid-tier crime thriller being released with little marketing over Labor Day weekend. And while some audiences may want to catch a movie in theaters over the extended holiday, “By Any Means” is better left for a casual at-home streaming audience later this year.

August 30, 2026 · Watch the trailer

Films that constantly change release dates are usually movies that ultimately aren't worth watching. When a studio has so little faith in a film that it would rather not release it and take a tax write-off instead, that should be an even bigger warning sign to potential audiences that something's not quite right.

A couple years ago, Warner Bros. Discovery decided to shelve three of its upcoming IP titles, ‘Batgirl,’ ‘Scoob! Holiday Haunt’ and the Looney Tunes legal comedy ‘Coyote vs. Acme,’ as a way to divest its losses rather than take a chance on releasing any of the films. After significant fan and industry backlash, ‘Coyote vs. Acme’ was eventually sold to independent distributor Ketchup Entertainment, allowing the film to limp its way into theaters two weeks prior to Labor Day weekend, reinforcing Warner Bros.' initial lack of interest.

Based on a 1990 New Yorker article by Ian Frazier, ‘Coyote vs. Acme’ is a slapstick legal comedy set within the world of Looney Tunes that finds an exasperated Wile E. Coyote turning to a billboard personal injury lawyer to sue the Acme Corporation for all of the faulty products that have injured him over the years in his pursuit of the elusive Road Runner. While there is enough content for an animated short film, director Dave Green and a team of writers, including DC Studios head James Gunn, attempt to elongate the premise into a hybrid live-action and animated feature film filled with niche fan service, legal comedy and a moderate amount of slapstick hijinks stretched over the course of roughly 100 minutes.

‘Saturday Night Live’ alum Will Forte stars as Kevin Avery, a mediocre attorney whose career has been languishing in Albuquerque, settling cases for cartoon characters against Acme. While Forte is suited to play a sad-sack, everyman-style lawyer, ‘Coyote vs. Acme’ doesn't give Forte enough counterbalance, as he is often acting against a green-screen character who does not speak, with Wile E. Coyote occasionally pulling up signs or making facial expressions to communicate.

As a result, the film is not the easiest to casually follow, and its largely sardonic, dry humor requires full engagement and will often go significantly over the heads of its young intended audience. The film has the occasional laugh, though much of its moderate comedy feels dependent on the communal atmosphere of a large audience to amplify its effect — an audience ‘Coyote vs. Acme’ might not ultimately get to have. Forte lacks the charisma necessary to maintain engagement with his audience, and the conspiracy-style legal thriller aspect of the narrative doesn't grip audiences in the way Green probably intends.

Lana Condor is fine as Forte's niece and legal apprentice, Paige, though what clearly feels like an homage to the classic ‘Scooby-Doo’ character Velma only feels included to give Forte a human character to talk to rather than as a necessary element of the film as a whole.

John Cena plays against type as the film's primary antagonist, Acme attorney Buddy Crane. His charisma and onscreen presence definitely reflect the intended visual and comedic differences between Forte and Cena's characters, though Cena is clearly less comfortable playing the heel. It's a worthy exercise for the former professional wrestler looking to expand his acting chops and might serve him well for a future film, though there's nothing in ‘Coyote vs. Acme’ that makes Cena's performance exceptionally memorable.

Keeping in style with the aesthetic made famous by ‘Who Framed Roger Rabbit,’ ‘Coyote vs. Acme’ does well in its integration of live-action and animated characters within the same scene, as there isn't a disjointed separation between physical interactions across visual mediums. Forte's relationship with Wile E. Coyote isn't broken by a required physical distance between the two characters, and the concept of what cartoon reality would look like if it were possible in the real world is perhaps the strongest visual element in the entire film.

It's clear that Green has a high reverence for the classic Looney Tunes cartoons, and when human characters interact with cartoon props, like paint that can create passageways through otherwise solid surfaces, it works both within the context of the story and from a visual perspective.

Unfortunately, Warner Bros.' initial decision to shelve the film as a whole might have been a solid one financially as well as from a taste perspective, as ‘Coyote vs. Acme’ is largely forgettable as soon as audiences leave the theater. It plays much better in a more casual environment, and cinephiles looking for the basic nostalgia that Green and the Looney Tunes characters provide might be better served waiting until ‘Coyote vs. Acme’ ultimately lands on streaming later this year.

August 24, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

It’s easy to make a biopic become a greatest hits of someone’s life. Take their highest and lowest moments, smash them all together with a catchy soundtrack and loosely interweave disjointed parts of a person’s life, and there’s a shell of a narrative full enough to take audiences along for a two-hour ride. But it’s hard to say that audiences already familiar with the subject will find much value in what ultimately becomes a visual, cinematic Wikipedia page.

And while biopics are often Oscar bait for Hollywood’s top character actors, the films they leave behind are often pushed off to the wayside. Examining a man through a single period of his life, especially in a coming-of-age, boy-becomes-man era, is perhaps the most fertile ground for intentional character development for a young performer, while also allowing audiences to actually learn something about their subject that they might not have known before.

“Tony,” a portrait of a young writer’s escape to Cape Cod in the 1970s, is not simply about how one of America’s most prominent and influential chefs got hooked on the kitchen, but genuinely and deeply examines the inner turmoil of Anthony Bourdain in his formative years that would go on to shape both the good and the bad of his inner monologue.

Filmmaker Matt Johnson takes three summers in a teenage Bourdain’s life and condenses them down into a single season that is far less about a future acclaimed chef and far more interested in a young man finding his identity in a world that seems not to care about him at all. Dominic Sessa, an actor who is exceptionally good at portraying the everyman, makes Bourdain incredibly relatable, yet a bit fractured and kind of a jerk to those around him. There’s a very considered and nuanced standoffishness mixed with naïveté in Sessa’s performance that reflects Tony’s inability to truly allow people to get close to him.

Yet Johnson and Sessa do a remarkable job of slowly unraveling his character to the point where the demonstrable personal growth that occurs over the course of the film feels earned and rewarding rather than forced and contrived. Antonio Banderas gives an understated, yet Oscar-worthy, supporting performance as the owner and chef of the seafood restaurant Tony works at. And while it would be easy to take a simple mentorship role and play it with little effect, Banderas always seeks to find the melancholy of a man whose life aspirations have somewhat passed him by and turn that into the rationale for taking Tony under his wing.

How Sessa and Banderas relate to one another over the course of the film is also a further reflection of Tony’s personal growth and plays as a wonderful contrast to the more stoic, disengaged relationship he has with his parents in limited interactions throughout the film.

Johnson shoots “Tony” with an almost vérité, documentarian style, inhabiting the world of Bourdain’s Provincetown with a fly-on-the-wall aesthetic that keeps the camera close enough to its actors that it feels like a traditional drama, but shot from such a vantage point that it places the audience in the room itself. Viewers see Tony over the shoulder of another performer or from a slightly elevated or lowered angle that alters the traditional frame of reference just enough to make audiences take notice. The sharp production design and color palettes reflect that faded, vintage 1970s cinematic film quality that grounds “Tony” within a different era.

It’s clear throughout that Johnson and Sessa have a close relationship in cultivating and crafting this particular moment in Bourdain’s life, heavily leaning on their own shared experiences to make Sessa’s Tony less mythic and more approachable, therein allowing him to be more naturally relatable to the audience along the way.

What might be the summer’s most underseen and underappreciated film, “Tony” takes the conventions of the coming-of-age film and traditional biopic and turns them at just the right angle to make a uniquely compelling, grounded drama that ardent cinephiles should seek out, whether in theaters or once it hits a streaming service.

August 17, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

For several years, independent film studio and distributor Angel Studios has been working to expand the reach of its brand while providing an outlet for faith-based films and cinematic morality plays in theaters. First with films like “His Only Son” and “Sound of Freedom,” and now with an expanding release slate that seemingly puts an Angel Studios movie in theaters every other month or so.

Its latest release, written and directed by first-time feature filmmaker Michael Russell Gunn, “The Brink of War” is a largely stoic political drama that, while not elevating the genre as a whole, is unquestionably among the best-made and produced films released under the Angel banner.

Starring elite veteran character actors Jeff Daniels, Jared Harris and Academy Award winner J.K. Simmons, “The Brink of War” is an exceptionally accurate historical retelling of the October 1986 Reykjavík meeting between U.S. President Ronald Reagan and Soviet General Secretary Mikhail Gorbachev, as the two adversaries lock themselves in a room for a day and a half to negotiate the elimination of nuclear weapons worldwide.

Using historical records, transcripts and consultation with former Secretary of State George Shultz, “The Brink of War” is at its strongest when Gunn puts Reagan and Gorbachev alone in a room together and allows them to pull the world closer to and further from total nuclear annihilation within a single conversation. The screenplay often lifts portions or entire sections of actual dialogue between the two world leaders and takes great care to slowly reveal just how closely aligned Gorbachev and Reagan are in important areas of thought, despite being magnetic polar opposites on a political spectrum.

Daniels puts on a bit of weight and heavy makeup to largely mask himself in the guise of Reagan, a man equally interested in reducing nuclear weapons and championing universal human rights, which becomes the first major point of contention between the two world leaders. His Reagan is introspective and thoughtful, working through strategy with close adviser Shultz as if he were a chess grandmaster mapping out his strategy, all the while revisiting the emotional trauma of the 1981 assassination attempt on his life.

Conversely, Harris is masterful at portraying Gorbachev as a political equal, but also a thoughtful and emotional one who genuinely cares about his people and views them similarly to Reagan, despite the widespread mistrust between the two nations that led to the Cold War. In fact, Harris is so exceptional at bringing Gorbachev’s point of view to life that audiences may find themselves involuntarily siding with the Russian leader during longer exchanges, as the cat-and-mouse dialogue game between Daniels and Harris almost becomes a revelation of the two leaders as opposite sides of the same coin.

For his part, Simmons provides wonderful gravitas and a thoughtful scene partner for Daniels to bounce back and forth with as Shultz, though his performance is not nearly as transformative as either Daniels or Harris.

“The Brink of War” also attempts to visualize and interpret the dichotomy between the two nations through a number of smaller subplots, including a polite-society-esque rivalry between First Lady Nancy Reagan (Hope Davis) and Gorbachev’s wife, Raisa (Branka Katić). While both actresses are solid in underwritten supporting roles, the subplot largely seems designed to set up a key third-act moment between Gorbachev and his wife that provides the leaping-off point for the final section of the narrative.

Gunn does distract just a bit too much with an unnecessary side quest, pitting CIA and KGB operatives against one another in the basement of Höfði House as they debate political philosophy and mock the opposing side for having to wait in line for the restroom. While clearly meant to provide a little levity, the sequence takes away from the singularity of the moment, and “The Brink of War” might have been better served as a simple one-room, stage-play-style narrative to further heighten the dramatic tension and urgency of the summit.

Visually, “The Brink of War” takes great advantage of the filmmakers being able to shoot inside the actual Höfði House where Reagan and Gorbachev met, utilizing the same rooms and furniture in a way that heightens the authenticity of the drama. Gunn and cinematographer Magdalena Górka also make the most of the visual lines of the meeting room, repeatedly cutting the frame in half to cinematically accentuate the physical divide between the two leaders.

There is a slightly on-the-nose visual trick during the final meeting, as Gorbachev and Reagan near an agreement, that requires an additional suspension of disbelief and might not work for some audiences. Still, it is nice to see a young studio and new filmmaker take innovative chances cinematically, even when they might not land for every viewer.

Despite being released toward the tail end of summer vacation, “The Brink of War” is a well-positioned political drama featuring outstanding lead performances and should appeal to casual moviegoers who enjoy historically accurate dramas or dialogue-heavy films, either in theaters or when viewing at home later this fall.

August 10, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

The right elevator pitch can make or break a movie, simplifying several hours of cinema into a succinct teaser that convinces moviegoers to rush out to the theater or, more importantly, convinces studio executives that a project is worth funding.

What’s said in just a matter of seconds can often become indispensable to what ultimately appears on screen. Romantic comedies, especially, can be reduced to these overly simplistic explanations: rival bookstore owners unknowingly fall in love with each other online in "You've Got Mail," or a magazine writer tries to see how quickly she can make someone break up with her in "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days."

Other times, the pitch is two separate films smashed together into one new idea, a concept that usually works to a much lesser degree. "One Night Only" doesn't have a particularly compelling elevator pitch, but it does have an incredible movie mash-up: what if "The Purge," but for premarital sex?

A largely disjointed, yet well-meaning film from director Will Gluck, best known for his far superior 2023 romantic comedy "Anyone But You," "One Night Only" follows a man whose girlfriend breaks up with him on the only day they are legally allowed to have sex after the federal government bans premarital relations and implants biometric tracking devices in every adult to monitor their hormones.

A not-so-meet-cute with a commercial jingle musician sets off an awkward series of events, mostly centered on trying to hunt down protection, creating the sort of misguided hijinks one might find more appropriate in a Judd Apatow-era comedy like "Superbad."

Callum Turner and Monica Barbaro both offer solid work as Owen and Allie, respectively, though the film is rarely interested in exploring their potential chemistry as a couple. Instead, Gluck seems more interested in how the awkwardness of their circumstances repeatedly forces them back toward one another.

"One Night Only" creates a series of awkward vignettes that feel like ideas a studio writers' room might spitball during a brainstorming session before simply mashing them together into a 102-minute feature. Audiences rarely see Turner and Barbaro on screen at the same time, and Gluck's attempts to fluidly interweave the two separate storylines ultimately do a disservice to both characters, as well as to the genuine effort each actor puts into the performances.

The film's largely forgettable ensemble cast includes "Stranger Things" star Maya Hawke as Malika, Owen's ex-girlfriend, alongside a bizarre subplot involving Molly Ringwald and "Reading Rainbow" host LeVar Burton in scandalous moments that feel more like stunt casting for a cheap laugh than anything else.

The problem isn't just with the billing, but with what audiences are actually getting. "One Night Only" is a sex comedy where almost no one engages in intimacy, a romantic comedy where two people don't really even fall in love, and an alternate-future science-fiction film that doesn't bother to explain or provide commentary on why or how the film's no-premarital-sex premise would be implemented by a federal government.

As a result, the whole movie is a floundering mess that doesn't really even hold up to the mediocre comedies released on Netflix on a weekly basis and feels like further proof of the longstanding perception that studios dump the films they have the least confidence in during a month when summer vacations are ending.

"One Night Only" isn't a bad film, per se; it's just a wildly incomplete, unnecessary one, and slightly disappointing coming from a filmmaker whose previous rom-com did a much better job with both premise and comedy. On the whole, "One Night Only" is largely forgettable and best served for an at-home viewing when it eventually becomes available on a streaming service.

August 3, 2026 · Watch the trailer

Franchise fatigue, or its more common subvariant, superhero fatigue, is a very real phenomenon for moviegoers.

Having slight variations on the same genre constantly pushed onto audiences in what increasingly feels like little more than corporate money grabs can cause viewers to unintentionally discount newer films as repetitive or lesser while simultaneously overinflating the value of older entries simply because they did it first.

Tom Holland is the third actor to portray a live-action Spider-Man and the first to receive four standalone films in the dual role of the wall-crawling superhero and his alter ego, Peter Parker.

Having wrapped up a high school-aged trilogy with director Jon Watts, Holland returns to the franchise looking to elevate both the character development and dramatic stakes with "Spider-Man: Brand New Day," a much more grounded, mature film that maintains its continuity within the larger Marvel Cinematic Universe while standing comfortably on its own, requiring audiences to have seen little more than the previous trilogy rather than more than 300 hours of Marvel lore.

The film follows Peter Parker several years after the events of "Spider-Man: No Way Home," where the world has forgotten—or has been made to forget—that Peter is Spider-Man. The isolation this creates thrusts Peter deeper into his life as a masked vigilante, triggering emotional anxiety and burnout. Forced to confront his inner pain, he must also track down a mysterious force seeking to unleash havoc across New York City.

While there are still bursts of energy from Holland's original portrayal of the character, there is a much more serious, conflicted nature to his performance in this fourth outing. His Peter isn't brooding like Tobey Maguire's in the latter half of Sam Raimi's trilogy, but instead feels exhausted by the weight of his great responsibility and the physical and emotional toll it has taken on him.

With the naïve, affable affectation Holland brought to Peter Parker and Spider-Man throughout the MCU no longer in keeping with where the character finds himself in the franchise, the growing up audiences witness on screen also reflects Holland's own maturation as an actor.

He seems far less interested in simply performing elaborate stunts to create memorable action sequences and much more interested in exploring the emotional rigors of a far more complex superhero.

"Brand New Day" also continues Marvel's recent shift toward more character-driven storytelling, delving deeper into character psychology and existential crisis in ways that may feel less engaging to younger audiences.

Yet that evolution may simply reflect a studio maturing alongside the fan base that helped build it. "Brand New Day" is far less in tune with either Holland's original MCU trilogy or the larger "Avengers" films and much more spiritually aligned with "Daredevil: Born Again" and "Thunderbolts*," embracing a smaller-scale, character-first approach that prioritizes emotional conflict over spectacle.

For a film centered on isolation and loneliness, "Brand New Day" boasts a rich, star-studded ensemble. Spider-Man stalwarts Zendaya and Jacob Batalon return as MJ and Ned, respectively, though both characters understandably take a substantial step back due to the physical and emotional distance separating them from Peter after the events of "Spider-Man: No Way Home."

Much has been made of the secrecy surrounding the character played by "Stranger Things" star Sadie Sink, and while revealing her comic book origins would spoil much of the film, Sink delivers an exceptional performance that effectively counterbalances the emotional turmoil Peter experiences throughout the narrative. She establishes herself immediately as a welcome addition to the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

The film also features solid supporting work from returning performers Jon Bernthal as the Punisher and Mark Ruffalo as Bruce Banner, better known as the Incredible Hulk. Pairing these more established heroes opposite Holland begins to illustrate Peter's renewed ability to build healthy relationships with fellow superheroes following the death of his mentor, Tony Stark.

Visually, "Brand New Day" softens the bright neon vibrancy that defined director Jon Watts' original Spider-Man trilogy as it continues moving Peter beyond his high school years. Darker hues and somber blues and grays replace much of the warmer yellow and red color palette that previously characterized the series, though that restrained aesthetic gives way during the film's numerous dynamic action sequences.

Those action scenes borrow heavily from Insomniac Games' PlayStation 5 "Spider-Man" series, particularly in their close-quarters hand-to-hand combat, fluid traversal, and Spider-Man's inventive assortment of enemy takedowns.

"Brand New Day" ranks among the stronger entries in the Marvel Cinematic Universe's post-"Avengers: Endgame" era. Some audiences may find the film's necessary, yet somewhat stilted, early time jump overly disjointed, while others may feel that the machinations of Marvel's ever-expanding cinematic universe are thrust a bit too directly into what is ultimately intended to be a standalone Spider-Man film.

Yet the film as a whole clearly accomplishes exactly what its ambitious title promises: a resetting of the hero within a more grounded, adult world. Both Holland and director Destin Daniel Cretton have a clear sense of purpose and vision for where Spider-Man is and where he is going, especially when compared to many of the MCU's more meandering post-"Endgame" titles.

Avid Marvel fans, or those hoping to avoid the inevitable spoilers that will dominate online discussion in the coming days, should head to theaters as soon as possible. While the film as a whole feels like a reset for the larger MCU, "Spider-Man: Brand New Day" has enough to say on its own to make it worthy of viewing outside of the larger comic book universe.

July 27, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

Adult relationship dramas are few and far between in the modern cinematic landscape, especially those without some sort of prestige auteur driving the production or a niche genre twist at the center of the narrative.

Simply making a film about the strains of love and marriage hasn't drawn audiences to theaters in droves for years, instead pushing studios toward largely generic blockbuster fare. It's perhaps why Olivia Wilde's Sundance breakout dramedy, "The Invite," has largely flown under the radar despite its glowing reception following its early July theatrical release.

An adaptation of Cesc Gay's Spanish film "The People Upstairs" (originally released as "Sentimental"), itself based on Gay's stage play "Los vecinos de arriba," the film is largely set inside a single apartment over the course of one evening.

"The Invite" follows married couple Joe and Angela as they bicker their way through preparations for a dinner party with their upstairs neighbors, Piña and Hawk, whose loud and seemingly insatiable lovemaking has become an increasingly frequent source of frustration—and curiosity—for the couple downstairs.

What begins as another argument over sleepless nights gradually evolves into an evening that forces both couples to confront uncomfortable truths about marriage, intimacy and the compromises that come with long-term commitment.

"The Invite" is perhaps the first film this year to rely almost entirely on the emotional and narrative balance between its ensemble cast, with each of the four actors bringing layers and texture to the film's evolving and increasingly complex interpersonal dynamics, showcasing just how messy relationships can be.

Wilde frames "The Invite" around an Oscar Wilde quote suggesting that one should always be in love, and that is why one should never get married. Using this as the jumping-off point for a darkly comic story of two married couples places the audience on the edge of its seat while heightening the nuance of the terrific character work on display throughout.

Seth Rogen brings his reliable comedic affability to Joe, driving much of the dramatic tension through his understandable disdain for his upstairs neighbors, as well as the ever-bubbling discontent within his own marriage.

Rogen's ability to linger in the background of a scene until exactly the right moment to interject with an offhand comment or a knowing glance—either to provide levity or twist the knife a little deeper—elevates the material as a whole. The contentious dynamic Joe shares with Wilde's Angela plays exceptionally well onscreen.

Wilde, for her part, has the difficult dual responsibility of remaining fully present as an actor while simultaneously guiding the narrative from behind the camera. She is largely terrific as the constantly frazzled Angela, a woman who feels so confined within the shell of her own life that her personality begins to fray around the edges.

It's unusual for audiences to spend so much of "The Invite" through the perspective of a character portrayed by the film's director, yet the effortlessness with which the group dynamic unfolds—and the natural rhythmic cadence shared by all four performers—is a testament to the trust and collaboration involved in bringing the material to life.

Oscar winner Penélope Cruz and Edward Norton find the perfect balance between comedy and drama as Piña and Hawk, discovering humor in each moment without ever appearing to chase a laugh. Individually, they cultivate characters that feel like natural extensions of the types of performances audiences have come to expect from them over the years, yet each is given just enough quirks and peculiarities to provide "The Invite" with a richer reservoir of interpersonal conflict to explore.

In a certain way, it's fitting that two actors better known for dramatic work portray Piña and Hawk with such straightforward, matter-of-fact confidence about their unconventional relationship. The comedy never stems from the peculiarity of the situation itself, but rather from Joe and Angela's increasingly bewildered reactions to it.

There's a strong sense of improvisation shared between all four performers, who clearly seem to have workshopped the screenplay's larger thematic ideas before being given the freedom by Wilde to explore the material and bring their own individual strengths to each role.

As a result, "The Invite" frequently feels like a staged play, with the audience seated just a few feet away from the performers as the action unfolds, brought intimately to life through the lens of cinematographer Adam Newport-Berra's camera.

Wilde and Newport-Berra do an exceptional job of centering the film's visual language around the unique layout of Joe and Angela's apartment, constantly isolating characters within the frame through the use of hallways, walls and other architectural features.

The result is a dialogue-heavy narrative that never feels visually stagnant or overwrought, always giving audiences something to engage with beyond the conversations themselves. The deliberate juxtaposition of characters within the frame—and the way Wilde frequently isolates individuals to capture their reactions to another character's dialogue—is among the film's greatest strengths, showcasing her ability to balance tone, performance and visual storytelling within such a confined setting.

If there is one notable flaw at the core of "The Invite," it lies in Nathan Larson's score. While clearly intended to heighten the tension during several key moments, particularly early in the film, the music occasionally becomes overly indulgent, intruding on the dialogue rather than supporting the drama.

That decision is especially unfortunate given the strength of Rasheeda Jones and Will McCormick's adapted screenplay. Wilde's ability to give audiences a free-flowing exchange of ideas, darkly comic humor and dialogue that often feels genuinely improvised is so consistently rewarding that the score occasionally undercuts scenes that would have been stronger had they simply been allowed to breathe.

This isn't to say that "The Invite" will appeal to every cinemagoer. Some viewers may find its frequent ventures into Judd Apatow-esque sexual humor and innuendo off-putting, while its dialogue-driven narrative may prove too literate and conversational for casual audiences looking for lighter entertainment.

But for those searching for a thoughtful, forward-looking adult dramedy that embraces the risks of its premise rather than shying away from them, "The Invite" is well worth seeking out in theaters or later this fall as part of an at-home viewing experience.

July 20, 2026 · Watch the trailer

Stories of mythic proportions are immortalized for posterity not merely for their scale, but for the truths, morals, and lessons those who hear them can glean to make their own lives better. Epic tales of battles won and tragic losses have been heralded throughout the centuries in a variety of ways, yet it has proven exceptionally difficult for modern storytellers to translate the greatest pieces of classical literature into appropriate cinematic interpretations.

Auteur filmmaker Christopher Nolan, known for his striking visual imagery and commitment to practical storytelling in an increasingly digitized age, has taken on the immense challenge of adapting Homer's tale of one man's quest to return home to his family into one of the decade's most overwhelming cinematic experiences.

"The Odyssey," which follows celebrated war hero Odysseus and his men as they journey home to Ithaca following the fall of Troy, is rightly the stuff of legend and something incredibly worthy of its nearly three-hour epic runtime. The first feature photographed entirely with IMAX film cameras, "The Odyssey" is a bittersweet, poignant, yet characteristically bombastic entry in the filmography of cinema's most divisive filmmaker—a man seemingly unfazed by the daunting challenge of re-immortalizing a mythic legend while humanizing him in unexpected ways.

Reuniting with Nolan for their third collaboration, Matt Damon delivers the finest performance of his career in the central role of Odysseus. A stoic, embattled warrior whose strength and unwavering moral code resonate through every facet of Damon's instinctive performance, Odysseus is nevertheless haunted by a quiet, almost fatalistic grief that lingers like a specter throughout the film. Damon masterfully evokes that emotional undercurrent despite the hardened exterior his character presents to the world.

The way Damon approaches Odysseus' relationships throughout "The Odyssey" reflects the careful balance both he and Nolan seek thematically within the narrative. It gradually becomes clear that Odysseus' journey home is equally an examination of how his fractured psyche came to exist in the first place. The self-assuredness he exudes among his soldiers, his unspoken bonds with leaders such as Agamemnon and Menelaus, and the quiet dignity with which he treats those beneath him all emerge as richly layered textures within Damon's performance.

The only true cracks in Odysseus' armor come when Damon allows his vulnerability to surface through memories of both his past and present, particularly in scenes involving his wife, Penelope, or the ethereal presence of the goddess Athena. Damon never portrays the character as descending into a Don Quixote-like madness. Instead, he grounds Odysseus' suffering in the heartbreak, frustration, and profound loss one might expect from a war veteran living with post-traumatic stress disorder. The way Damon and Nolan slowly reveal these emotional layers—as though unraveling a spool of wool over the course of nearly three hours—is exceptionally nuanced work that many viewers may not fully appreciate on an initial viewing, overwhelmed by the sheer seismic weight of the film itself.

Anne Hathaway's Penelope is perhaps the most fully realized and emotionally evocative female character in Nolan's entire filmography. The considerable authority Hathaway brings to the Queen of Ithaca is only overshadowed by the sheer amount of story "The Odyssey" must encompass.

Tom Holland as Telemachus and John Leguizamo as Eumaeus ground the humanity of the Ithacan storyline, providing audiences with ample perspective and justification for Odysseus' overwhelming desire to return home.

The film's unsung hero—and its rightful second lead—is Himesh Patel as Eurylochus, Odysseus' steadfast second-in-command. Patel perfectly balances Damon's conflicted warrior, and the relatively understated yet deeply realized bond the two men share, forged through war and mutual trauma, helps quantify for audiences the depth of love and respect Odysseus has for his men, fueling his determination to bring them safely home no matter the cost.

The richly textured ensemble consistently elevates the material, with Charlize Theron's Calypso and Samantha Morton's Circe making relatively brief appearances that propel both the story and its emotional undercurrents forward while stealing every scene in which they appear. Some viewers may find Zendaya's deliberately elusive portrayal of the goddess Athena underwhelming or emotionally distant. Yet it increasingly feels as though Nolan intentionally leaves audiences questioning whether Athena is truly communicating with Odysseus or merely represents the manifestation of the arguments he continues to wage within his own fragile psyche.

Nolan's screenplay, rather than being overly faithful to English translations of Homer's ancient Greek text, instead seems far more interested in exploring themes of aging, regret, and the lingering psychological scars of war on both a governmental and societal level, all filtered through the experiences of one man. A more comprehensive telling of "The Odyssey," one that fully explores the psychological depth and nuanced motivations of each character, would likely require a prestige television miniseries rather than a three-hour epic feature.

Although Nolan has rightfully been criticized in the past for underwriting female characters, "The Odyssey" does not seek to sideline or erase its powerful women. Instead, they are framed within the context of Odysseus' voyage, each serving as an essential emotional or philosophical touchstone that helps define both the man and the journey itself.

From a purely technical perspective, "The Odyssey" is a crowning achievement and the culmination of decades of collaborative filmmaking at its finest. Nolan and frequent collaborator, cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema, achieve astonishing results through the immense scope afforded by shooting exclusively with IMAX film cameras. The format allows audiences to stand directly in the thick of battle, witness giants and monsters in their full mythic grandeur, while simultaneously conveying the isolation and infinitesimal nature of Odysseus' lonely voyage home.

There are any number of instantly iconic images throughout Nolan's film, from Odysseus' encounters with towering Cyclopes and giant warriors to the arresting landscapes that give Ithaca its grace while transforming the open sea into a vast prison separating a husband from his family. The remarkable diversity of the film's production design, lighting, locations, and practical sets continually refreshes the visual palette, providing constantly engaging environments for Nolan to explore. Audiences will frequently find themselves wondering how he and his collaborators managed to capture imagery of such immense scale through practical filmmaking rather than digital illusion.

Equally mesmerizing is the haunting score from Academy Award-winning composer Ludwig Göransson, who imbues the film with an overwhelming sense of purpose while continually heightening and challenging the audience's emotions despite working without the benefit of a traditional orchestra. Instead, Göransson builds his score around bronze drums, authentic Greek lyres, and other period-appropriate instruments, creating an emotional through line within the film's soundscape that further envelops audiences in the mythic world of "The Odyssey."

As a film already being heralded for its unprecedented achievement as the first feature photographed entirely with IMAX film cameras, there will rightfully be considerable discussion surrounding the ideal format in which to experience "The Odyssey," particularly since its native IMAX 70mm presentation will be available in fewer than 50 theaters worldwide. Fortunately, whether viewed in IMAX or in a traditional theatrical presentation, audiences will still feel the immense wave of emotion and cinematic energy Nolan creates. Regardless of format, "The Odyssey" is a film that deserves to be experienced on the biggest screen possible.

It is difficult to imagine Nolan's thirteenth feature film receiving anything fewer than double-digit Academy Award nominations next spring. Best Picture, Best Director, and numerous technical categories appear to be virtual certainties, while "The Odyssey" could realistically contend for as many as four or five acting nominations, with Damon the most likely candidate alongside worthy supporting performances from Hathaway, Leguizamo, and Morton.

Viewers who have historically struggled to connect with Nolan's filmography, particularly outside of "The Dark Knight" trilogy, may find "The Odyssey" somewhat meandering or overly self-important. However, ardent Nolan admirers and cinephiles alike should make "The Odyssey" an unquestioned priority during this summer movie season.

July 11, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

Animation, when done right, gives cinema a sense of artistry and fantasy that is difficult to replicate with a live-action cast. It has served as a cornerstone of family-friendly filmmaking for decades, and on occasion, the genre has produced some of the finest films of any given year.

At the forefront of animation, both through its traditional hand-drawn classics and Pixar catalog, Disney has long demonstrated an ability to create captivating musical stories that become household favorites for audiences of every generation.

Their 2016 tale of a young Pacific Island girl who sets out to save her family as a lone explorer continued the reinvigoration of Disney’s animated catalog that began several years prior with “Frozen.” Yet at the same time, the studio has increasingly limited its original storytelling by revisiting existing intellectual properties through live-action adaptations of beloved animated classics.

Director Thomas Kail, best known for directing both the Broadway production and filmed version of the musical “Hamilton,” goes above and beyond to make an overtly faithful, nearly shot-for-shot adaptation of “Moana,” complete with specific camera angles and visual compositions designed to remind grown-up audiences of their youth.

The result, however, is a thin and shallow shell of its animated predecessor as despite Kail’s best efforts, nothing in his film possesses the same vibrancy, spontaneity or playful energy that made the original “Moana” such an enduring Disney classic.

Catherine Lagaʻaia takes over for Auliʻi Cravalho, who voiced Moana in the 2016 original, and does a solid job of attempting to recapture the magic while bringing an emotional expressiveness to her face that viewers could never get from a two-dimensional drawing.

Her performance is solid throughout, yet with how closely this film seeks to replicate its predecessor, her turn will inevitably, and perhaps unfairly, be compared with Cravalho’s vocal performance, which ultimately proves stronger during the film’s musical moments.

Dwayne Johnson reprises his role as the demigod Maui, and the physicality that Johnson brings to the role seems to be front of mind throughout his performance, as he is unable to recapture the same tonal and emotional performance that made his vocal turn in the original so memorable.

For a film with largely only two live-action characters on screen, a tremendous amount of responsibility falls upon the production design and computer graphics to make “Moana” believable, and it is here where Disney’s insistence on making everything as photorealistic as possible removes some of the wonder from its animated iteration.

Although bringing the ocean to life as the mystical force that helps guide Moana on her journey works surprisingly well in this format, the Kakamora coconut creatures become comically bizarre and absurd, lacking the same sense of nostalgia and whimsical charm that Kail and Disney likely intended them to evoke.

Lin-Manuel Miranda’s familiar and iconic songwriting from the original “Moana” continues here, with the Oscar-nominated “How Far I’ll Go” maintaining the same narrative and emotional through-line in the 2026 adaptation that it did a decade earlier. Johnson’s rendition of “You’re Welcome,” however, fares less successfully due to many of the same challenges he faces transitioning from a purely vocal performance to a live-action one.

There is a strong possibility that Miranda could receive another Academy Award nomination for the original song “Along the Way,” penned specifically for the live-action adaptation and performed over the end credits by Lagaʻaia, Cravalho and Johnson.

Functioning as both a symbolic passing of the torch between the two actresses to portray Moana and an affirmation of the character’s enduring legacy, the song becomes one of the few additions to Kail’s film that genuinely justifies the film’s own existence.

Where Kail’s film works, it remains true to everything that made the original “Moana” an instant Disney classic. Where it falls short, it struggles to maintain that same momentum because it so rarely contributes meaningful artistic ideas of its own.

People who have never seen the original “Moana” may still find charm in Kail’s film, though there is little that is visually or artistically compelling enough to justify the cost of a trip to the theater when audiences can instead experience nearly everything that made the original film so memorable from the comfort of their own homes.