Movie reviews of David McGinnis

If Onward came earlier in the studio’s run, I think it would be heralded as a masterpiece. It only suffers when compared to the predecessors that perfected the formula; the surprises instead come through batty visual gags and other catnip for fantasy nerds like me.

The Two Popes is a warm and ultimately affirming experience, floating on divine grace like a feather in the wind.

The more the walls close in, the harder Uncut Gems is to watch, and the harder it is to stop watching. That’s in huge part due to Sandler, bringing every ounce of his trademark charismatic, sociopathy to bear in his customary twice-a-decade reminder that he can really act when he wants to.

But it wasn’t just fun pulp storytelling; there was some great filmmaking on display, especially from directors Deborah Chow and Bryce Dallas Howard.

Like Jo, and like Alcott, Gerwig is a born storyteller, and it’s a privilege to watch her do it.

It is simultaneously a thrilling culmination and a crushing disappointment; its choices are often either nonsensical or cowardly, aiming only for pleasure, never inspiration. For me, it hit the mark just enough times that I don’t think it deserves hate.

Frozen II doesn’t play like a retread, but a proper continuation of the story.

It’s a lovely, restrained performance from the former Americans star; he balances Hanks’s otherworldly, weaponized decency without bluster or artifice.

The Irishman doesn’t beat Silence or Wolf of Wall Street for me as far as the master’s work this decade, but don’t mistake your lack of engagement for its lack of substance.

Right now, with one month to go, it’s my favorite film of 2019.

Only Robert Pattinson, as the long-locked, sociopathic Dauphin, seems to be having a delightful time; I don’t know whether he’s making good acting choices, but he’s definitely doing something, and gives the film a shot in the arm when it desperately needs it. All hail Pattinson, at least.

Ford v. Ferrari is a crowdpleaser, expertly paced even at two and a half hours, and compelled many leaving the parking lot of our theater to squeal out recklessly.

You’ll realize you’re watching something truly special. I wish I could say more, but trust me — you don’t want me to.

The film is ultimately about the difference between loyalty and love, and the large impact of small choices…by small people.

It’s Soderbergh, so you know it’s good. A minor entry in his oeuvre, but good nevertheless.

Vince Gilligan & co. are extremely good at what they do, so calling El Camino average is still rating it higher than most things.

The Lighthouse is pure cinema, dazzling and fanatically detailed; challenging and hysterical in both senses of the word.

Joker’s scattershot approach to issues of class and mental illness, not fully committing to either in exchange for shoe-horned in scenes of the Waynes, never coalesces into anything meaningful, much less original. I’ll be relieved when the conversation has moved on from it.

But as cool and interesting as time travel always is, the characters are memorable enough on their own, beginning with Salazar’s fierce, funny performance — oil to Odenkirk’s reliably still water.

Age of Resistance is a masterpiece.

Ad Astra isn’t The Martian, or Gravity, or even Interstellar (though it probably shares the most in common with the latter). It’s its own beguiling journey.

It’s best to think of these free-money reproductions as Broadway revivals, enjoyable solely for hearing performers you already like doing parts you already know. Because this ain’t a director’s medium.

Most of all, the film is a loving, fanatically-detailed recreation of a specific point in time. It’s drenched in authentic radio broadcasts and signage, like Tarantino saw the Coen brothers’ Hail, Caesar! and cracked his knuckles.

There’s actually a great deal of charm to go around; this iteration of cinematic Spider-Man is unique for its earnestness.