Marty Supreme – 3

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Unwatchable. From the opening frantic sex scene to the discordantly beatific ending, the movie charges ahead with a frenzy and high volume that is unrelieved and wearing. The plot toggles between absurd and ridiculous. The repetitive table tennis scenes are fakey and the music is unusually bad. Timothee Chalamet succeeds in creating the most unpleasant character of the year, but who wants to watch that? I can’t think of a single moment I enjoyed, aside from Pico Iyer’s astonishing performance.

Nouvelle Vague – 7.8

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A brilliantly conceived and faithfully executed homage to Jean-Luc Godard’s directorial debut, Breathless, in which he broke all the rules and pioneered independent cinema. Viewing Breathless beforehand, as we did, only made the recreation more telling, and amusing; the star here is Godard himself, although the radiant Zoey Deutch, as Jean Seberg, fills the screen wonderfully. In its rigor, a fitting companion to Richard Linklater’s simultaneously released Blue Moon.

Train Dreams – 6

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Sort of a Nomadland for loggers, this story of man’s life is simple, maybe too simple, and he’s simple too, but a nice guy who never hurt anyone. The movie goes off the rails, so to speak, toward the end, which makes you realize it’s based on a novella, not a screenplay. Meant to be moving, it moved me not.

Sirat – 7.8

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Spain’s submission to the Oscars is a trip, in many senses. Like many trips it doesn’t come with a meaning, but it’s an unforgettable experience. The booming sound of a rave in the desert, a wild drive to where across emptiness, the shock of death–this is the setting for getting to know a small group of what some would call “freaks,” who come to embody a community of friendship that seems better than the world they are escaping.

If I Had Legs I’d Kick You – 7.8

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A spectacular Rose Byrne falls deeper and deeper down a rabbit hole of personal calamity until there’s no way out and director Mary Bronstein turns the ending over to deus ex machina so we won’t go home totally depressed. As an intensely focused one-person drama, although Conan O’Brien and ASAP Rocky are good in supporting roles, this is a worthy companion film to Blue Moon.

Jay Kelly – 7.9

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A smart and entertaining romp with something fun every two minutes, smartly employing a cast of 80. Writer-director Noah Baumbach is a star. George Clooney is the meta lead, playing a handsome movie star (Jay Kelly even sounds like George Clooney), which meant I always saw him as George Clooney, acting, which made me less concerned by his personal troubles. (Interestingly, the clips of his Jay Kelly movies made him appear to be a terrible actor, emphasizing his role as “movie star,” not a person.) Adam Sandler was another figure recognizable only to Hollywood. Billy Crudup, by contrast, grabbed me as a person, not an actor. Key plot points fell apart upon examination, but I loved the ride.

Hamnet – 6.5

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Two hours of Jessie Buckley is a treat–what an actress!–but the movie is a bit of an unmodulated slog, careening from dramatic incident to dramatic incident. None of it would matter, of course, if it wasn’t William Shakespeare we were watching (and if you hadn’t read the book you might not realize who “Will” is until 90 minutes in). The point of it all shows up in the final ten minutes, at which time the film dispenses with its realism for a bit of “manipulation” (to quote director Chloe Zhao) that feels overdue and welcome.

Bruce Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere – 7

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I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t feel sorry for Bruce, which seemed to be the point of this film. Six years after appearing on the cover of Time and Newsweek, after three Top-5 albums, including the anthemic Born to Run and record-setting concert tours, we’re supposed to think of him as a struggling loner, getting little or no respect from his record label, finding a girlfriend on the sidewalk after a gig, walking the streets like you or me, living by himself in a small house in the country. Maybe this was true–the movie is based on a book and met with the Boss’s approval–but when the truth is stranger than fiction it’s hard to accept. Jeremy Allen White and Jeremy Strong are exceptional, the other three leads excellent, and everyone else not so much; it’s the story that is wanting. I mean, we all knew he was going to get Nebraska released just as he wanted, and it wasn’t that great an album anyway.

PS: After seeing director Scott Cooper’s interview I am sorry I wasn’t more sympathetic to Bruce’s apparently very real depression. Still, I don’t think it worked as a movie.

Americana. – 8

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What distinguishes America, according to a character in this movie, is “imagination,” which might be another word for greed. Director Tony Tost gives us an array of mid- to low-lifes, the kind you might find at a remote Badlands diner, in a smart, funny take on American dreams, in the language of Quentin Tarantino, which probably accounts for the title’s punctuation. Sydney Sweeney in the Shelly Duvall role and Halsey as Joan Jett are superb. This was my kind of Tuesday afternoon movie.

Sorry, Baby – 7

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Very indie. Writer/director/star Eva Victor is charmingly quirky (or quirkily charming?) as an English professor (really?), her inexplicable bff (Naomie Ackie) not so much. The random chapters reminded me of a collection of ’60s-era New Yorker short stories. Once I got over the seeming aimlessness and screechy sound I settled in and felt proud to be enjoying myself.