There's a line, or rather a lyric, that fully encapsulates what Michael is about, and it's found in Jackson's 1983 smash “Billie Jean”: “And be careful of what you do / 'Cause the lie becomes the truth.”

Probably like a lot of you, upon hearing the title of the latest horror flick to hit cineplexes, my immediate question was “Who the hell is Lee Cronin?!”

It's the absolute right time for director/co-writer Daniel Goldhaber's new Faces of Death, a tight, scary, unexpectedly crafty meta-commentary built on the notion that we can no longer instinctively believe anything we're shown on-screen. On any screen.

Prior to writer/director Kristoffer Borgli's transfixing, deeply uncomfortable A24 romance The Drama, I think you'd have to go back to 1992's The Crying Game to find a film that made you – by which I mean me – quite so antsy to learn its heavily promoted Big Secret.

Is anyone else exhausted, and continually upset, by this year's plethora of movies in which women get the crap viciously kicked out of them?

Having not read the Andy Weir novel on which their film is based, it's hard to tell if Phil Lord and Christopher Miller were the right directors for the science-fiction adventure Project Hail Mary, or – for the book's many admirers, and maybe a few of us newbies – the absolute wrong ones.

If, after three of the author's films over 20 months, my up-and-down reactions continue on this trajectory, I'm already looking forward to the Colleen Hoover adaptation after the next one.

If possible, Maggie Gyllenhaal's intensely watchable, intensely problematic revisionist salute is an even nuttier achievement than Young Frankenstein, if not always nutty in appreciable ways.

As a slasher flick with comedic leanings, director/co-writer Kevin Williamson's Scream 7 is pretty weak. As a half-dozenth sequel so steeped in callbacks and meta-commentary that nostalgia is practically its plot, it's exhausting. And as a statement on big-studio moviegoing practices and habits with a quarter of the 21st century behind us, it's depressing as hell.

In this dark comedy thriller, and in a change of pace for the performer, Margaret Qualley turns out not to be an on-screen firecracker. She's more like a countdown clock, the type that requires action heroes to cut either the blue or red wire before everything gets blown to bits

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