This week's movies cover swaggering ambition and weary disillusion: PTA’s frenetic first act bursts with off-kilter energy before easing into comfort, while an aging-showgirl drama finds mood and empathy even when it overstates its pain. A shoestring zombie cabin tale balances levity with decent gore. A stylish grifter puzzle seduces with structure, then sabotages itself with repetitive “gotcha” twists. And a glossy revenge thriller coasts on narration and recycled provocations. Despite flashes of committed performances.

This week's movies cover legacy and monstrosity, from affectionate portraits to bungled reboots. Across eras, creators chase control and love. Mel Brooks gets loving but sometimes safe canonization, while Marc Maron’s grief diary feels raw, funny, and draining. Two Frankensteins mirror each other: Whale’s classic wrestles with ethics and empathy, Del Toro’s version swells with emotion yet flattens nuance. Then Anaconda reminds how self-aware meta can still sink on cheap effects, leaving only scattered laughs.

This week’s movies cover survival, memory, and healing—both personal and collective. From the poetic, aching beauty of Train Dreams to the dread-soaked spectacle of 28 Years Later: Bone Temple, these films span genres yet remain grounded in human resilience. Whether through communal music, noir puzzles, or quiet trauma, each story seeks transcendence in a broken world. Collectively, they ask: how do we rebuild when the past haunts us?

This week's movies cover a surprising range of emotional connections under pressure — some forged in the heat of deception, others unraveling through poor writing and missed chemistry. Black Bag shines as a classy spy thriller with a grounded romantic through-line, while Neighborhood Watch leans on character warmth despite its procedural messiness. The two Five Nights at Freddy’s entries limp through chaotic animatronic lore, offering little beyond confusion. People We Meet on Vacation attempts heartfelt romance but falls into hollow genre habits.

This week's movies cover a span of time and tone—from silent German expressionism to buzzy modern satire—with each film examining the tensions between illusion and reality, myth and identity. Murnau’s Nosferatu evokes eerie permanence through its shadowy legacy, while Eggers' version strains to reanimate its Gothic core with contemporary nuance. Bugonia and Influencers tackle manipulation in different guises- bees and brands, respectively- though both fall short of deeper subversion. Under the Tuscan Sun, meanwhile, offers escapism, but little nourishment.