A Love Song is a study in minimalism sustained by an understated, deeply authentic performance by veteran Dale Dickey and stunning natural scenery. The film is less a character study and more a meditation on time – how we spend it, how we remember it and how it passes us by. Writer-director Max Walker-Silverman and cinematographer Alfonso Herrera Salcedo express the theme through symmetrical storytelling and shots, lingering on moments and settings with focus and intentionality. Faye is a 65-year-old widow who seems to subsist on cheap beer and caught crayfish while living alone out of a camper by a lake. At first, all that we learn about her comes from observations – her hand, with wedding ring, seemingly surprised to find the pillow next to her empty each morning; a bookshelf of just two books – stargazing and birdwatching; the context that she’s waiting for someone, though we don’t yet know who, when or why. Twenty minutes into the movie, a dinner with two neighboring campers reveals a few more details about Faye, including her name, her Forest Service career, and her purpose at the campsite. When the man she’s waiting for finally appears, the two pick up the conversation as if they’d seen each other yesterday – though the memories they’re connecting about happened exactly 50 years prior. The two characters likewise seem stuck in the past – both trapped in grief over the loss of their spouses and perhaps also detained by their age and station in life. Neither seems to own a cell phone, Faye listens to an ancient battery-operated radio (that provides the conduit for much of the film’s folksy-country soundtrack) and both appear to live a remarkably loner existence. Over the course of the story, Faye evolves from a lonely widow waiting out the days to an empowered woman who climbs mountains and takes confidently to the road and her future. It’s a transformation that comes through a series of small moments. In that sense, A Love Song feels tailor-made for Dickey, much the way it’s hard to imagine anyone but Frances McDormand in the not dissimilar role of Fern in Nomadland. The deep crevices of Dickey’s weathered face are an unusual sight in motion pictures, and they underscore the character’s lived experience. The camera spends a lot of time close up on her, allowing Dickey to bring Faye to life in small gestures and looks. She seems unsure, forlorn and a little lost through much, but not all, of the film. The true love she’s grieving can’t be artificially replaced, but she realizes it was worth the time they had, even despite the pain. A Love Song is loosely organized into four parts, split at the halfway mark by, appropriately enough, a love song performed by Dickey and co-star Wes Studi, the Native American actor who plays her charmingly apprehensive long-lost love interest, Lito. The tale is bookended by largely dialogue-free opening and closing segments, where Faye and her natural surroundings are the sole focus. These feel symbolic: they fit with her description of being too lonely to speak while grieving her husband, and they embody Faye’s and Lito’s confessed family connections to the land. Likewise, the stunning scenery is captured in lovingly unhurried shots at various times of the day including some memorable, and perhaps symbolic, sunsets. The framing of the landscape is often noticeably symmetrical, which underscores a subtle but profound tranquility. This review originally ran on The Alliance of Women Film Journalists. Image courtesy of Bleecker Street.

The imposition of anachronistic elements to modernize Jane Austen's novel ultimately undermines the story and characters in this telling of Persuasion. From a trendy exploitation of fourth-wall breaking to unsubtle sexual innuendo, modern-day music, and 21st-century self-help speak, Persuasion doesn't seem content enough with its original material. This is a shame, and the excellent cast suffers for it; in fact, adding in a contemporary diversity is one modernization that does work well here. Johnson has the charisma and credibility to hold the camera's attention, but the snarky asides and forced complicity just don't fit with the character or the time period, otherwise faithfully crafted in beautiful settings and wardrobes. This is a mixed bag that could've been better. Read the full review at Common Sense Media. Images courtesy of Netflix.

There are only positive messages in this film, and they will speak to child star JoJo's legion of social media followers. The teen actors put their hearts into the song and dance numbers of The J Team (though their lip synching leaves something to be desired), and who can critique the messages put forward here about being true to yourself and kind to others? But this movie looks and feels like a stretched-out episode of a Nickelodeon show, complete with artificial settings and superficial characters and conflict. A bright spot is Campbell, who gives a campy performance with silly taunts like, "You are like human glitter!" and "You were out there looking like human jazz hands with a glitter manicure!" Read the full review at Common Sense Media. Image courtesy of Nickelodeon.

You've Got Mail for the texting age but with a fraction of the charm or emotion of the original, this San Francisco-set romance disappoints. Like the '90s classic, the two destined lovers in Love Accidentally find a virtual connection at the same time that they're clashing in person over a work conflict. Yet the stakes in their conflict are much thinner, and the resolution of their relationship is so rushed it's hard to believe the two have any romantic connection at all. Other aspects also feel off, like the open-ended coupling of two other colleagues, clumsy background music, and Denise Richards' odd turn as a matchmaking boss. Read the full review at Common Sense Media. Image courtesy of Amazon Prime Video.

This franchise just keeps adding to the monstrous silliness with new creatures that match the others in oddity -- and also sweetness. There are obvious diversity and inclusion messages in the way the humans, werewolves, zombies, and now aliens accept each other in Zombies 3. A "welcome vampires" song and mermaid sighting might hint at future installations. The ensemble cast here is entirely invested, and though the songs sound studio-recorded and overly packaged, the musical numbers are good fun. There's even a reprisal of "Girl and a Zombie" from an earlier film. Cynical viewers beware: This is pure camp, with characters talking and winking at the camera, an otherworldly wholesomeness, RuPaul as the mothership, and puns like "It's a U.-F.-…" "Woah!" and "Take us to your cheerleader!" Yes, football players and cheerleaders are still high school royalty, even among the non-humans. When the aliens opt to feel emotions for the first time, they are quite cute. Their message that harmony isn't always perfect, that there's some value in healthy disagreement so long as we treat each other with respect, is a good one for our times. Read the full review at Common Sense Media. Images courtesy of Disney+.

Executive produced by Martin Scorsese and winner of the 2021 Camera d’Or in Cannes for first-time feature director Antoneta Alamat Kusijanović, Murina is a slow-churning, disquieting tale of a young woman’s revelation that her life could have been entirely different than what it is, and her empowerment to change her future. As teenageer Julija, Gracija Filipovic offers a brave performance, spending most of the film in a bathing suit (which men ogle and refer to as “practically naked”). Julija has yet to start living, but she’s more than ready. She watches the adults around her – and the partying twenty-somethings on vacation – with an eagle eye, sometimes through binoculars. We see the world through her discerning, eager, ready-to-consume-the-world gaze. Julija lives on the Croatian coast with her brutish father Ante (Leon Lucev) and her beautiful mother Nela (Danica Curcic). When the film opens, Ante is nervously preparing for the arrival of old friend Javier (Cliff Curtis). It seems Ante hopes Javier (whom he refers to as “God on earth”) will buy some land from him, providing a much-needed cash infusion that, Nela notes, could allow the family to move to capital city Zagreb. But locals keep making reference to a fire and the many killed, suggesting the land has a sinister, or at least troubled, recent history and significance. And though their home, a white stone and columned structure with olive trees and stairs leading straight down to the Adriatic, looks like paradise, and characters call it just that, the family’s home life and relations feel oppressive. When Julija is in the sea, where she spends significant time, she seems free, strong and capable of anything. When she’s on land and in her home, one of the only places she goes, she is entirely under the thumb of her controlling father. Her mother is her confidante and ally, but even she abides by her husband’s authority, which borders on cruelty in some instances. A lot is left unsaid in Murina, or is said in passing. You have to pay close attention to the dialogue to follow the full story. But more importantly, you have to watch the characters very closely for clues to how they feel and what background we don’t yet know about. It’s clear Nela and Javier have a history, and their frustrated romance comes to light, but what’s not clear is why Nela chose and continues to stay with Ante. Her decisions are the first clue that maybe Javier isn’t as perfect as he seems. Still, Julija envisions a different life with a different father in a different place, and she is ready to go. In contrast to the starkly sunlit setting, the film’s mood is brooding, sometimes ominous. Every time characters dive, deeper and deeper into the sea and its maze of underground caves, you wonder if they’ll make it back out alive. Portentous music underscores the sentiment. Underwater (and on land) cinematography by Hélène Louvart (The Lost Daughter, Happy as Lazzaro) is stunning, and the film opens and closes on full-screen shots of cerulean-blue water. “Murina” translates to a moray eel, a symbolically elusive creature that Julija and her father hunt underwater. In one scene, Julija is forced by her father to recite a poem, an ode to the sea and its “nasty tempers” and untrustworthiness. The adults in Julija’s life certainly prove themselves untrustworthy if not capable of nastiness, but the sea would seem to be the one reassuring constant in her world. When she swims off in a final scene, though her direction and destination are unclear, the feeling is one of freedom, strength and possibility. The review originally ran on The Alliance of Women Film Journalists. Images courtesy of KinoLorber.

Looking to piggyback off other recent successes, like Spanish series Elite, this French film lacks the self-awareness that distinguishes a guilty pleasure from a negative portrayal of teens. Dangerous Liaisons ticks all the boxes to be a hit on Netflix, and that's part of its problem. Its creators ask us to believe we live in a global culture, so mean girls, dumb boys, surfers, rappers, and Instagram-obsessed, English-speaking teens exist wherever you go -- even Biarritz. But they might owe Gen Z an apology. These teens feel like exaggerated stereotypes taken from other films and series more than real life, or at least you hope so by the end of the movie. Based very loosely on the 18th century novel that has inspired other film versions, this one breaks high school society down to a comparison of 1782 Versailles royals, with today's teens being judged by their positions on social media. It's as cringe-y as it is clever. The actors all seem talented, especially in scenes allowing them to dance, sing, and act in a play within the film. Locatelli in particular is charming as the ingénue, and Janjaud is hilarious as her cousin. But the tale's mixed message is summarized in the way Célène's life improves once she gives up her principles, adopts the online handle Lady F--Kit, and gathers millions of followers on Instagram. Read the full review at Common Sense Media. Images courtesy of Netflix.

A Bear Grylls adventure might be the last place you expect to see men bonding over the value of true love, religious faith, work-life balance, and vulnerability, but this one has it. The addition of preternaturally charming Bollywood actor Ranveer Singh to Ranveer vs. Wild with Bear Grylls alters the formula to its core, so much so that Grylls doesn't always look comfortable in his own creation. He's in charge when the usual icky creatures, threatening beasts, poop piles, nauseating snacks, and death-defying challenges arise, but his Indian companion leads the campfire chats about feelings, the nighttime cuddles, and the cliff-side prayers to the god of courage. Singh repeatedly describes his journey as an inner one. Of course, he puts his meticulously sculpted muscles to use, and the script (and Grylls) poke fun at both his vanity and his heart-throb status. And while every Bear Grylls adventure into the "wild" requires some suspension of disbelief, this one feels more fabricated than others. That shouldn't matter much to Singh's devotees nor to Grylls' younger adventure fans, who can spend a lot more than 70 minutes with this film if they want to explore all of its interactive options. The movie could also serve to introduce these two disparate fan groups to each other's idols. Read the full review at Common Sense Media. Images courtesy of Netflix.

If a film asks you to invest an hour and a half in the breakup of two teenagers, it has to make sure those characters and their love story are epic. That's unfortunately not the case in Hello, Goodbye and Everything in Between, which dwells on their meet-cute only to flip through the months of their relationship in fast motion, then walk us back through them as reenactments. The actors/characters are likeable but not especially memorable. The location is pretty but not specified. The filming is by-the-book. A highlight are the best friends, humorous secondary characters played by Nico Hiraga and Djouliet Amara. Other movies have done this better. Read the full review at Common Sense Media. Image courtesy of Netflix.

Queen of Glory is a story about straddling cultures and finding your identity, something main character Sarah confronts at the same time she grapples with major life changes. Writer, director, co-producer and star Nana Mensah has crafted a very personal tale with some real life-inspired aspects of the New York ex-pat and first-generation Ghanaian community. The film premiered to strong reviews at the Tribeca Film Festival in 2021. The heart of the movie, Mensah is in virtually every scene and is followed closely by cinematographer Cybel Martin’s camera, which often dwells on her stunning face in center frame. Mensah’s expressions and her tone of voice are deceptively passive for long sections of the film, making the moments when she loses her temper or breaks down and cries even more impactful. As her life and look evolve over the course of the film, these lingering close-ups serve almost as forced insights or snapshots into her changing emotional state. Sarah is an accomplished doctoral student and TA at Columbia University about to leave town with her married lover to join him as he starts a new position in Ohio, when she gets a call that her mother has passed away. Thus begins her journey back to her origins, which appear far from her current reality but are actually just up the subway tracks from Manhattan, in the Bronx. That emotional distance – despite the physical proximity – is telling. Sarah goes through the motions of participating in the Ghanaian traditions of her relatives, but she seems removed – a point that footage of scenes from African customs hits home. She wears straight hair weaves rather than the colorful head wraps of the many “aunties” she visits in the Bronx-based Tracey Towers (known as “Little Ghana” – not mentioned in the film, but viewers might be prompted to discover this via Google after the camera closes in conspicuously on the towers’ sign). When her estranged father shows up from Accra, it takes her a beat to accept his commands and entitled behavior. Meanwhile, her mom has left her Bronx home and Christian bookshop to Sarah. The store’s sole employee (played by Euphoria‘s Meeko Gattuso) is a tough-looking Latino who goes by “Pitt,” has a face and neck covered in tattoos and sells baked goods laced with weed. He’s a decent man, and he’s indebted to Sarah’s mom for taking him in and giving him a new life after a stint in prison. Sarah keeps repeating to people, like her Russian neighbors, that she’s moving to Ohio, but they don’t seem to understand or care, underscoring or perhaps foreshadowing the plan’s unlikeliness. Sarah marches forward as if her background and past could stay just there – in the background and past. Of course, they won’t, and the death of one parent, the reemergence of the other and her return to her roots make it so. As she comes to terms with the grief of her mother’s death and perhaps also of giving up one life vision for another, she changes. Mensah embodies this subtly in a softening attitude and shifting physical appearance, shown most memorably in a scene where she removes her hair weaves and lets her natural curls out before her mother’s traditional wake. Though Mensah has written a tale that feels quite universal, her film is very specifically Ghanaian-American and documents life in the Bronx in a natural yet cinematic way. That setting and identity are also brought to life in the music, particularly the rhythmic drumming carried over between scenes, as well as in a plethora of small story and character details. “You get to define you,” Pitt wisely advises Sarah, and it’s clear that’s no easy task with such an intricately blended identity. This review originally ran on The Alliance of Women Film Journalists. Image courtesy of Film Movement.

What Enola Holmes did for Sherlock -- provide a younger, female-empowered spin starring a fierce, clever young woman who outsmarts the men around her -- this film aims to do for classic fairy tales. But in Enola Holmes, we get to know the main character and are immersed in a complex mystery. While The Princess turns the Disney princess trope on its head, surely a sellable concept, it relies too heavily on audiences' familiarity with traditional fairy tales to focus almost exclusively on martial arts-style action over plot or character. The film moves very fast, and the fighting is impressively choreographed, but dialogues are mostly limited to flashbacks and snarky one-liners ("Someone needs to teach you your place." "I've heard that before."). The female empowerment message is clear, albeit simplistic: The princess (who is never actually named) has shirked her life's "duty" to be a polite, educated wife because, she says, "I was born this way." To hit the point home, other female characters are equally tough, including warrior master Linh and consort Moira, and the princess's traditionally flouncy dress is a liability she tears apart and pairs with sensible boots. Even her father the king, enlightened enough to "welcome outsiders" into his kingdom and avoid ruling "by fear," has yet to accept that a female could be sovereign. Cooper and Kurylenko as the punk-styled baddies are fun, and the film's medieval set is memorable. The Princess will find its fans, but some might wonder if it could've been done with more story to match the action. Read the full review at Common Sense Media. Images courtesy of Hulu.

The manic energy of this documentary mimics that of its controversial subject, but while the film provides some insight into the musician, it still feels overly long and ultimately self-serving. It's the nature of the genre, and Machine Gun Kelly's Life in Pink spends most of its 100 minutes with Colson Baker himself, adding in interviews with people in his circle and most notably his daughter. Fiancée Megan Fox is in a lot of the footage, and we hear her voice at the end, but she isn't interviewed on camera, nor are any other family members. Fans say they find solace in his songs, which he describes as using to work through his own emotional wounds. The story runs from 2019 to 2022, a period marked by the pandemic and a flurry of professional activity from Kells, as his friends call him. He engenders a lot of criticism for his transition from rap to punk rock, and he takes it hard. Despite his purposefully menacing exterior, he comes across as fragile, and this may well be director Sam Cahill's intention here. When the rocker breaks glasses in hotels or knocks out a friend's front windshield, it's shown as good, celebratory fun. "I'm still young, wasting my youth; I'll grow up next summer," he sings. A tour through his Cleveland neighborhood and some memories of his childhood paint a very tough background. He's up front about his addictions, but even after he says he's had a wake-up call that he needs to leave drugs following a suicide attempt, he still seems to be smoking and drinking all the time in the film. This doesn't diminish his ambition, and the impression the documentary gives is of a musically talented, hardworking man for whom music provides a kind of therapy. Read the full review at Common Sense Media Images courtesy of Hulu.