The best movies out right now

Never take pity on a film critic. Instead, let it suffice to say that I look forward to you seeing 'Hereditary' and then joining me in having several sleepless nights peering into dark corners and gnawing your fingernails off. A harrowing story of unthinkable family tragedy that veers into the realm of the supernatural, 'Hereditary' takes its place as a new generation's 'The Exorcist' — for some, it will spin heads even more savagely. As with so much inspired horror, from 'Rosemary's Baby' to 2014's psychologically acute 'The Babadook', the movie gets its breath and a palpable sense of unraveling identity from a fearless female performance, this time by Toni Collette, the revered Australian actor capable of sustained fits of mania. (To watch her in 'The Sixth Sense' or 'Velvet Goldmine' is to only get a taste of how deep she goes here.) Collette plays Annie, an artist who constructs uncannily realistic dioramas: miniature rooms that embody the film's theme of a larger, malevolent entity playing with human toys. We zoom into those rooms, where Annie is keeping it together after the recent death of her by-all-accounts severe mother. Dressed in funeral blacks are her husband, Steve (Gabriel Byrne), her oldest child, Peter (Alex Wolff), a teenage stoner, and distracted young Charlie (the awesomely concentrated Milly Shapiro, a Tony winner for 'Matilda: The Musical'). Something is wrong with Charlie. Every head cock, tongue cluck and eerie stare into the middle distance will hav

A cooler-than-thou band of criminals, a smoothly executed grand heist, flawless costumes. Expanding on the handsome attributes of the Ocean’s franchise with a radiant cast and sufficient NYC groove, ‘Hunger Games’ director Gary Ross’s ‘Ocean’s 8’ gives glossy multiplex entertainment a good name. Fully loaded with Anne Hathaway’s (often underutilised) comedic chops – her cunning movie-star character is the film’s secret weapon – and various high-profile cameos (Heidi Klum, Anna Wintour, Kim Kardashian, you name it), it packs in ample carats of glitz beyond its diamonds and sequinned designer gowns.Sandra Bullock plays Debbie Ocean, an ex-con proudly filling the shoes of her brother Danny (George Clooney, here only in spirit). She masterminds a complex scheme to steal a majestic Cartier necklace at New York’s elite fundraiser the Met Gala. Among her recruits are former associate Lou (an impeccably-suited Cate Blanchett) and the eccentric fashion designer Rose Weil (Helena Bonham Carter), who’s yearning to resurrect her waning career by dressing the impishly seductive Daphne Kluger (Hathaway) for the exclusive event. Also in the squad are Mindy Kaling’s jewellery connoisseur, Sarah Paulson’s Vogue insider, Awkwafina’s sly con and the ultra-charismatic hacker Nine Ball (Rihanna, like you’ve never seen before.)‘Ocean’s 8’ sticks to the formula, though Ross never quite matches the breezy vigour of the Soderbergh-directed trilogy, but the jokes land and there’s a satisfying twist to

With its focus on Fred Rogers, the children’s television host who extolled the virtues of positivity, Won’t You Be My Neighbor? is undeniably well timed. It doesn’t have to strain at all for immediate relevance. Early in Morgan Neville’s heartfelt, moving documentary, we see scenes from one of the first episodes of Misterogers’ Neighborhood (as it was spelled at the time) in which puppet character King Friday XIII builds a wall to keep out those he finds undesirable, before kindness brings it down again. This segment of low-budget ’60s TV carries a message we need now more than ever. If it seems egregious to approach Rogers and his show with a political reading, Won’t You Be My Neighbor? may surprise even those who grew up watching the series, with its revelation of the many world events and concerns it addressed. In his gentle, empathetic way, Rogers helped little ones deal with everything from Vietnam to 9/11. After Robert Kennedy was gunned down, one puppet’s plea for a definition of “assassination” was compassionately answered. Rogers was devoted to the innocence of childhood, but he also knew there was no way to shield kids from the ugliness of the adult world. He offered a calm, reassuring buffer to it. Neville shone a spotlight on under-celebrated talent in his Oscar-winning 20 Feet from Stardom, and here he paints an equally compassionate portrait of one of American popular culture’s most familiar faces. Through interviews with those who knew Rogers (and vintage on-

Superheroes may save the world, but parenthood requires skills far more advanced than extendable limbs. Brad Bird’s Incredibles 2—Pixar’s most spirited sequel since Toy Story 3—lovingly expresses this certainty through a bighearted familial portrait wrapped in ’60s-inspired design. But the film’s disarming appeal lies in its simpler moments of domesticity, in which the members of the all-superhero Parr family lift each other up and fight for relevance in a world of indifference. Still underground with criminalized superpowers and a destroyed home, Mr. Incredible (Craig T. Nelson), Elastigirl (Holly Hunter), and their children, Violet, Dash and the explosive baby Jack-Jack, quietly live in a dingy motel. Their luck turns when a pair of wealthy siblings—the naive Winston and brainy inventor Evelyn (Bob Odenkirk and Catherine Keener)—offer them a chance to restore the Supers’ reputation. While the sensible Elastigirl serves as the fearless face of the mission, Mr. Incredible hilariously Mr. Moms his way through the kids’ homework, boy troubles and newly emerging superpowers. When the state-of-the-art villain Screenslaver disturbs the picture, the entire crew, including the previous film’s charismatic ice maker Frozone (Samuel L. Jackson), joins the good fight. Incredibles 2 comes supercharged with timely, sophisticated themes around societal apathy and gender parity. While slightly overplotted in its finale, the sleek sequel still glows with grown-up wit, with craft and humor

Scottish filmmaker Lynne Ramsay returns with this concise, poetic and violent drama in which Joaquin Phoenix plays a troubled hit man.

An Aboriginal man accused of murder goes on the run in Warwick Thornton’s glorious Outback Western.

Wes Anderson’s second piece of stop-motion animation after Fantastic Mr. Fox brings the quirk (naturally), but weds it to a timely story of refugee camaraderie.

Natalie Portman squares off against an alien presence in a rare example of Hollywood sci-fi-horror thoughtfulness.

Surprising at every turn, Marvel’s new spinoff throws shade at the white-bread business of blockbustering.

This bearish sequel will leave you with a heart so warmed, you could trek across the Antarctic in shorts.

This fun, pacy addition to the dino disaster franchise doesn’t do much that’s particularly new – though what it does, it does with a fair whack of panache. That’s largely thanks to gifted Spanish director JA Bayona, who brings to bear the macabre touches that made ‘The Orphanage’ such a spooky treat. Short of bringing Mr DNA back as a flesh-craving zombie, ‘Fallen Kingdom’ is as close as the ‘Jurassic’ movies are going to come to a horror film and it gels nicely with a franchise that’s always had a gleefully sadistic streak. It’s at its most fun when things (limbs, mainly) are going bump in the dark in a third act that pays homage to classic horror films. Kicking off where ‘Jurassic World’ left off, we find cloning corporation InGen picking up the pieces after the catastrophic collapse of its dinosaur park. Not only is Isla Nubla now overrun with prehistoric critters, the island’s dormant volcano is erupting – seriously, were there no islands without volcanos? – and about to make them all extinct again. Cue dino rights activist Claire Dearing (Bryce Dallas Howard, swapping the heels for boots this time) and wisecracking raptor trainer Owen Grady (Chris Pratt) to help with the seemingly suicidal rescue mission and share some feisty chemistry. Jeff Goldblum’s Dr Ian Malcolm returns with doomy warnings about where all this Dino Lives Matter fervour will lead.   There’s more than an echo of ‘Jurassic Park: Lost World’ in all this, right down to the gnarly and extremely edible m

Superheroes may save the world, but parenthood requires skills far more advanced than extendable limbs. Brad Bird’s 'Incredibles 2' – Pixar’s most spirited sequel since 'Toy Story 3' – lovingly expresses this certainty through a bighearted familial portrait wrapped in ’60s-inspired design. But the film’s disarming appeal lies in its simpler moments of domesticity, in which the members of the all-superhero Parr family lift each other up and fight for relevance in a world of indifference. Still underground with criminalised superpowers and a destroyed home, Mr. Incredible (Craig T. Nelson), Elastigirl (Holly Hunter), and their children, Violet, Dash and the explosive baby Jack-Jack, quietly live in a dingy motel. Their luck turns when a pair of wealthy siblings – the naive Winston and brainy inventor Evelyn (Bob Odenkirk and Catherine Keener) – offer them a chance to restore the Supers’ reputation. While the sensible Elastigirl serves as the fearless face of the mission, Mr. Incredible hilariously Mr. Moms his way through the kids’ homework, boy troubles and newly emerging superpowers. When the state-of-the-art villain Screenslaver disturbs the picture, the entire crew, including the previous film’s charismatic ice maker Frozone (Samuel L. Jackson), joins the good fight. 'Incredibles 2' comes supercharged with timely, sophisticated themes around societal apathy and gender parity. While slightly overplotted in its finale, the sleek sequel still glows with grown-up wit, with cr

A cooler-than-thou band of criminals, a smoothly executed grand heist, flawless costumes. Expanding on the handsome attributes of the Ocean’s franchise with a radiant cast and sufficient NYC groove, ‘Hunger Games’ director Gary Ross’s ‘Ocean’s 8’ gives glossy multiplex entertainment a good name. Fully loaded with Anne Hathaway’s (often underutilised) comedic chops – her cunning movie-star character is the film’s secret weapon – and various high-profile cameos (Heidi Klum, Anna Wintour, Kim Kardashian, you name it), it packs in ample carats of glitz beyond its diamonds and sequinned designer gowns.Sandra Bullock plays Debbie Ocean, an ex-con proudly filling the shoes of her brother Danny (George Clooney, here only in spirit). She masterminds a complex scheme to steal a majestic Cartier necklace at New York’s elite fundraiser the Met Gala. Among her recruits are former associate Lou (an impeccably-suited Cate Blanchett) and the eccentric fashion designer Rose Weil (Helena Bonham Carter), who’s yearning to resurrect her waning career by dressing the impishly seductive Daphne Kluger (Hathaway) for the exclusive event. Also in the squad are Mindy Kaling’s jewellery connoisseur, Sarah Paulson’s Vogue insider, Awkwafina’s sly con and the ultra-charismatic hacker Nine Ball (Rihanna, like you’ve never seen before.)‘Ocean’s 8’ sticks to the formula, though Ross never quite matches the breezy vigour of the Soderbergh-directed trilogy, but the jokes land and there’s a satisfying twist to

A movie about a group of male buddies who’ve been playing a one-month-a-year game of tag well into adulthood had numerous possibilities: a madcap chase caper, a heartfelt comedy celebrating the power of friendship, a reflection on the manchild syndrome. Tag tries to be a little bit of everything, and the strain shows; it winds up being another symptom of what’s proving to be a long cinematic Hangover, complete with Ed Helms in the lead. Inspired by a true account reported in The Wall Street Journal, ‘Tag’ opens with Helms nostalgically voice-overing his youthful self and his pals bonding through their ongoing game. Years later, they’ve grown up to be the expected types: the married man (Helms), the CEO (Jon Hamm), the burnout (Jake Johnson), and the nerdy guy (Hannibal Buress). Then there’s Jerry (Jeremy Renner), who for all this time has demonstrated an almost supernatural ability to avoid being ‘it’. When the rest of the group learn he’s getting married, they go on a no-holds-barred quest to finally tag him. A curious Journal writer (Annabelle Wallis) and Helms’s wife (Isla Fisher) join them, solely in the interest of cast diversity; Wallis, in particular, disappears for undue stretches of screen time. Renner’s ‘Bourne’-esque strategies to avoid getting tagged generate the biggest laughs, amidst a predictable series of complications and profanities that lead to equally expected sentimentality and life lessons in the final act. Closing-credits footage of the real-life play

If you haven’t seen the first movie, which charted how gonzo mercenary Wade Wilson became Deadpool, good luck following this equally violent and potty-mouthed sequel. With its torrent of butt-foonery and CG viscera spliced with self-commentary and several hundred in-jokes, it’s seriously unforgiving of latecomers. If you’re not a fan, you may as well be living in a cave. And not the Batcave, obviously. It kicks off with Ryan Reynolds’s super-antihero blowing himself sky high. His fiancée, Vanessa (Morena Baccarin), has been killed while he was taking down another batch of faceless goons and, grief-stricken, he’s attempting to end it all. Being indestructible, this proves tricky, though it does allow for a brief meeting with Vanessa in the afterlife where he learns that finding his heart is the key to being permanently reunited. It’s so un-‘Deadpool’, you almost expect cinema’s most notorious fourth-wall-breaker to call a halt to proceeding and declare it a joke. Instead, the movie toes an unconvincing line between sweary glibness and sentiment as Deadpool tries to protect Julian Dennison’s (‘Hunt for the Wilderpeople’) orphaned misfit from Josh Brolin’s terminator-from-the-future, Cable. The action comes thick and extremely fast, too. Director David Leitch (‘John Wick’, ‘Atomic Blonde’) presides over swathes of deafening, frenetically edited sequences: things explode, stuff flips. Sometimes things flip and explode at the same time. Reynolds, who birthed this surprise hit f

You definitely wouldn’t have bet your spaceship on this Han Solo spin-off movie being anything other than a hunk of junk. The ditching of original directors Chris Miller and Phil Lord (‘21 Jump Street’) – which was well published and just shy of acrimonious – only complicated the already onerous task of bringing a new take on the beloved Harrison Ford character to the screen. Somehow, though, the pair’s replacement, Ron Howard, has come through with a frisky space caper that zips along like a speeder on a bed of air. It’s far from perfect, but it’s much better than it has any right to be. It opens back in the streetwise early days of Han (Alden Ehrenreich) in the ‘putrid sewer’ of his home planet Corellia, before skipping forward, via a hair-raising stint in the Imperial army, to a team-up with a colourful band of thieves led by Woody Harrelson’s Tobias Beckett and his wife Val (Thandie Newton). Their first heist involves boosting starship fuel at the behest of sinister playboy Dryden Vos (a scene-stealing Paul Bettany, bearing scars like he’s just faceplanted a waffle iron). The sequence is a rush, and the first of a few reminders that the man who made ‘Apollo 13’ knows how to cut between outer space action and claustrophobic cockpits. And what of the main man? Ehrenreich makes a solid fist of emulating Ford without ever quite matching Ford’s easy cool or jaded worldview. Does he feel anything like Ford’s Solo? Not really, though the film never pauses long enough to let you

Never take pity on a film critic. Instead, let it suffice to say that I look forward to you seeing 'Hereditary' and then joining me in having several sleepless nights peering into dark corners and gnawing your fingernails off. A harrowing story of unthinkable family tragedy that veers into the realm of the supernatural, 'Hereditary' takes its place as a new generation's 'The Exorcist' — for some, it will spin heads even more savagely. As with so much inspired horror, from 'Rosemary's Baby' to 2014's psychologically acute 'The Babadook', the movie gets its breath and a palpable sense of unraveling identity from a fearless female performance, this time by Toni Collette, the revered Australian actor capable of sustained fits of mania. (To watch her in 'The Sixth Sense' or 'Velvet Goldmine' is to only get a taste of how deep she goes here.) Collette plays Annie, an artist who constructs uncannily realistic dioramas: miniature rooms that embody the film's theme of a larger, malevolent entity playing with human toys. We zoom into those rooms, where Annie is keeping it together after the recent death of her by-all-accounts severe mother. Dressed in funeral blacks are her husband, Steve (Gabriel Byrne), her oldest child, Peter (Alex Wolff), a teenage stoner, and distracted young Charlie (the awesomely concentrated Milly Shapiro, a Tony winner for 'Matilda: The Musical'). Something is wrong with Charlie. Every head cock, tongue cluck and eerie stare into the middle distance will hav

First, a bit of prophecy spoken by an evil mastermind in 2004’s ‘The Incredibles’: ‘And when everyone’s super… no one will be.’ Welcome to that endgame achieved: Marvel’s ‘Avengers: Infinity War’ – an overstuffed sausage of summer entertainment – is the ‘Ocean’s Thirteen’ of spandexed heroism, if you can imagine a version of that movie with two times as many Brad Pitts and no poker dealers. Combining the casts of 'The Avengers’, ‘Black Panther’, ‘Doctor Strange’ and ‘Guardians of the Galaxy’ may have sounded like genius alchemy to studio scientists who think of filmgoing as one-stop shopping. But in practice, it results in a stream of in-fighting for alpha-dog dominance, everyone trying to make what amounts to a cameo stick. ‘There’s an ant man and a spider-man?’ asks Mark Ruffalo’s exasperated Bruce Banner – and that’s before you’ve made him Hulk-angry. Aptly titled, the nearly three-hour ‘Infinity War’ pours on the action – some of it grandly operatic, some of it breezy and fun – but mainly, it’s about a big purple goon on a bling quest. Genocidal Thanos (Josh Brolin, ready to grumble) hopes to collect six Infinity Stones for his Pandora bracelet and thereby enact a purge of ‘half of humanity’. Helpfully, the script does this for him: Depopulated New York City streets and the near-abstract grasslands of fictional Wakanda are perfect settings for battles with zero collateral damage—and zero human emotional stakes. In their place, we get showdowns over tactics: Asgardian bro

With its focus on Fred Rogers, the children’s television host who extolled the virtues of positivity, Won’t You Be My Neighbor? is undeniably well timed. It doesn’t have to strain at all for immediate relevance. Early in Morgan Neville’s heartfelt, moving documentary, we see scenes from one of the first episodes of Misterogers’ Neighborhood (as it was spelled at the time) in which puppet character King Friday XIII builds a wall to keep out those he finds undesirable, before kindness brings it down again. This segment of low-budget ’60s TV carries a message we need now more than ever. If it seems egregious to approach Rogers and his show with a political reading, Won’t You Be My Neighbor? may surprise even those who grew up watching the series, with its revelation of the many world events and concerns it addressed. In his gentle, empathetic way, Rogers helped little ones deal with everything from Vietnam to 9/11. After Robert Kennedy was gunned down, one puppet’s plea for a definition of “assassination” was compassionately answered. Rogers was devoted to the innocence of childhood, but he also knew there was no way to shield kids from the ugliness of the adult world. He offered a calm, reassuring buffer to it. Neville shone a spotlight on under-celebrated talent in his Oscar-winning 20 Feet from Stardom, and here he paints an equally compassionate portrait of one of American popular culture’s most familiar faces. Through interviews with those who knew Rogers (and vintage on-