Writer/director Josh Boone's fledgling-superhero saga The New Mutants is ironically titled considering there's nothing remotely new about it. Not the story, not the storytelling, not the overall crumminess of its execution, and certainly not the film itself, which was originally planned for release in the spring of 2018, and then was delayed and re-scheduled and delayed and re-scheduled until it was finally unleashed, like a sacrificial lamb, on August 28.

Even though I didn't really care for either offering during my first double-feature since March, I wouldn't have traded the collective three-and-a-half hours of Unhinged and Words on Bathroom Walls for anything. Except, maybe, for better scripts.

The following five films from 1957 to 1985 were all the first feature-length releases by directors who have been, or were, significant cinematic forces for more than 30 consecutive years. Don't even try fighting me over inclusion three, because you know you love it, too. Um … right?

If you've ever found yourself escorting others to, or hosting home viewings of, entertainments that your loved ones found resolutely not entertaining, here are five titles from 1977 to 1995 that, for me and my friends, led to awkward silences, napping, outright hostility, or, in one case, someone storming out of the room.

Damned if this fiercely funny, inventive, thoughtful, and affecting release doesn't feel like the first movie comedy designed specifically for the pandemic era: a spiky yet empathetic commentary on modern life and modern romance in which “modern,” for once, genuinely means “this exact moment right now.”

As a record of filmed theatre – especially considering Lin-Manuel Miranda's achievement is probably the greatest musical-theatre offering of the last 20 years – this Hamilton might have exactly zero peers.

Spike Lee's latest is woke but also thunderously awake – so alive with ideas and homages and both presentational and emotional grandeur that it's nearly overwhelming.

It's been a few days since I saw it, and I still can't decide whether I consider the brutal, sometimes brutally funny Blumhouse thriller The Hunt a strangely great terrible movie or a strangely terrible great movie. Either way, I generally had a ball.

Pixar's new adventure comedy Onward is about fathers and sons, about big and little brothers, about facing fears and taking risks and finding gratitude in the face of loss. It's also about as much fun as I've had at the movies in months.

You may not know precisely where the woman's tormentor is at any given time, but damned if you're not convinced that you can see him anyway, and in a movie suffused with genre pleasures, Leigh Whannell's and Elisabeth Moss' combined ability to make invisible terrors visible has to stand as its biggest one.

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