Not that the material demanded or invited it, but I think I now know why Ralph Fiennes was never seen out of his clerical robe in Conclave. Because if we ever saw him shirtless, or even got a gander at his bare arms, that entire papal drama would've collapsed through one simple question: “How did a cloistered, late-middle-aged cardinal get so freakin' jacked?!”

It's the exact same Moana people adored eight years ago, only with vaguer threat and weaker songs.

It goes without saying that the long-awaited arrival of a Wicked movie is being met with feverish anticipation by many sects of the musical's fan base. The best news about director Jon M. Chu's film version is that it matches devotees' collective excitement with unmissable, infectious excitement of its own.

There's a kick in watching actors play their widely recognized “types” so flawlessly, and with such fresh enthusiasm, that these roles feel like ideal distillations of their portrayers' talent and presence. I'm thinking of Brad Pitt in Once Upon a Time … in Hollywood and Julia Roberts in Erin Brockovich … and also, now, Jesse Eisenberg and Kieran Culkin in A Real Pain.

There are at least two things that Calvin Vo and T Green – best-known for their slacker-buddy slapsticks featuring alter egos Johnny and Fungus – won't be delivering with their new Haus of Ruckus show. “It's not a Johnny-and-Fungus play,” says Green.

Both the funniest and saddest Cinderella tale you've ever seen, writer/director Sean Baker's Anora is a great movie with some great big problems.

Hugh Grant is is stunningly threatening in this Beck/Woods horror thriller, his recognizably benign shrugs, cheerful mugging, and self-effacing manner never masking the fact that there is one person in charge of this situation, and it isn't one of the visiting Mormons.

Star-crossed lovers. Palace intrigue. Mistaken identities. Patricide. A dude turning into a donkey. Just another Saturday night in the realm of William Shakespeare. But on the Saturday night of November 9, these and many other Bard-ian tropes will be affectionately spoofed in the return of Shakespeared!, an hour of long-form improvisational comedy taking place in Moline's Spotlight Studio Theatre.

In director Edward Berger's Conclave, both the narrative and the principal characters are hiding secrets that shouldn't be spoiled to those who haven't seen the movie and didn't read novelist Robert Harris' 2016 source material. But one secret about the film absolutely can, and should, be revealed in advance: This thing is an almost ridiculous amount of fun.

First M. Night Shymalan makes his chanteuse daughter a significant part of his thriller Trap, then Todd Phillips floods his Joker followup with songs, and now this. Is no genre safe from the global Swift-ification?

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