Vicky Krieps turns in her most impressive effort since "Phantom Thread" as a sovereign out to save herself.

Powerhouse performances make this moderately deranged story about past demons and inner demons one to watch.

Juliette Binoche and Vincent Lindon are passionate and volatile in this hazy melodrama about love's tendrils wrapping themselves around the present.

Hanna Bergholm's feature directorial debut is devilish, thematically tangled slice of creature-feature grotesquerie.

Jacques Audiard’s almost-anthology movie struggles to turn the spark of intersecting relationships into a blaze of emotion.

The latest from the filmmaker behind "American Honey" and "Fish Tank" is an ecologically minded endeavor that finds comfort in the uncomfortable.

Sean King O'Grady's feature debut is a nasty bit of limited-perspective horror dulled by dramatic slightness during a maybe-apocalypse.

Wyatt Rockefeller's meditative Mars-set drama works best when it keeps its scope small, its focus tight.

“Moffie” emerges not as a story centered on the dehumanization of Black South Africans during the apartheid era, but rather on the empathy-starved soil of military boot camp from which hatred so easily sprouted.

Jackson Greer is both a fish out of water and a man out of time in Conor Allyn’s contemporary Western “No Man’s Land,” although you wouldn’t know it by the way Jake Allyn’s handsome Texas rancher reckons with having killed a migrant boy in the heat of confrontation by cheerily swigging beers at a Mexico bar. This is a movie of inelegant craft, five-cent metaphors and stilted convictions, though its most self-defeating attribute is how it cheats itself into having a short memory.

If the history explored in Sam Pollard’s relatively straightforward yet revelatory “MLK/FBI” were in danger of emanating a certain obviousness about the United States’s infrastructural hypocrisies pertaining to its treatment of Black citizens, recent events render those concerns moot. Having premiered at September festivals with images from a summer of protest still fresh in viewers’ minds but the thought of a deadly siege at the nation’s governmental heart too dystopian for most to consider, this documentary takes on renewed significance as it prepares to wide-release on Friday—just nine days after a group of largely pro-Trump radicals stormed the U.S. Capitol, looting souvenirs, kicking back at political leaders’ desks and asserting fiery reality for anyone still denying that America can afford to delay its reckonings.

Dance can be a most liberating (and cinematic) form of self-expression, as a large swath of 2020’s better films have attested to. In Steve McQueen’s evocative “Lovers Rock,” young Black people groove and jive to the sultry step of their souls. In Levan Akin’s devastating “And Then We Danced,” an aspiring Georgian dancer’s dream of joining the national troupe gives him purpose. In Fernandro Frías’s melancholy “I’m No Longer Here,” a Mexican teenager relies on cumbia to sustain his identity after he’s forced to flee across the U.S.-Mexico border. Dance is vital to Ekwa Msangi’s “Farewell Amor” as well.