Brad Bird’s Ray Gunn has been over 30 years in the making. It’s a film he’s wanted to make since before 1999’s The Iron Giant. Audiences are likely to walk in with lofty expectations because of that. Clearly, Bird is very passionate about this story. However, the film itself ultimately doesn’t feel as special as that passion suggests. Ray Gunn is a solid animated adventure, but it lacks the feeling of personal investment you might expect from a project a filmmaker has spent decades trying to bring to the big screen. What makes Ray Gunn stand out from the myriad of animated films is that it’s essentially an animated film noir, which is a genre hybrid we seldom see. However, that combination also comes with some drawbacks, because anyone who’s seen at least one classic film noir from the 1940s will be able to recognize exactly where Ray Gunn is headed.

In 2005, Eleanor Coppola shot nearly 80 hours of footage on the set of her daughter Sofia Coppola’s film Marie Antoinette. According to her journal, Eleanor always intended to return to the material and assemble it into her own “look behind-the-scenes at the exquisite beauty created to realize the movie.” During lockdown in 2020, the mother-daughter duo began going through the footage together. Unfortunately, Eleanor passed away in 2024, but Sofia and her team continued working on the film and completed it in her memory. The result is more than a mere behind-the-scenes look at an extravagant film production. Seen through Eleanor’s eyes, the footage feels deeply personal. It documents not only how a movie was made, but also a mother proudly watching her daughter work and create. What emerges is an unexpectedly moving portrait of the relationship between mother and daughter, woven into the beauty and excess of Marie Antoinette itself.

In 1980, a group of environmental activists, scientists, policymakers, lawyers, and other professionals gathered in St. Petersburg, Florida, for a conference with a mandate from Congress to draft a statement on how to address the effects of carbon dioxide emissions on the climate. This conference is one microcosm of Nathaniel Rich’s 2019 non-fiction book, Losing Earth, but it’s the focus of Tom McCarthy’s new film, A Statement. Based on Rich’s book and the meeting transcripts, McCarthy penned the screenplay with Thomas Bidegain and Noé Debré. What’s ironic, however, is that although the film takes its title from the meeting’s objective, A Statement itself feels much more like a dialogue. Furthermore, its urgent subject matter is likely to spark conversations among moviegoers.

There are multiple ways to interpret the title Behemoth!, the latest film from Michael Clayton (2007) director Tony Gilroy. On the surface, it references something within the story itself, but I’ll refrain from elaborating in order to keep this as spoiler-free as possible. The word behemoth comes from the Bible’s Book of Job and typically describes something massive or powerful, whether it’s a creature, person, or organization. It feels like a fitting word to describe an orchestra coming together to play a piece of music. You have all these individuals from all different walks of life, each playing their own instrument, yet once the music begins, it's as though they merge into one enormous entity, something larger than the sum of their parts. During the press conference at the New York Film Festival, Gilroy explained that when you sit in on a scoring session, you’ve got a huge group of people who don’t dress or act alike, but when the light comes on, they become “this organism instantly right in front of you.” Behemoth! is a love letter to film scores and the people who come together to compose them, and from a musical and technical standpoint, this might be Gilroy’s most ambitious film to date.

With The Debut, Jesse Eisenberg proves he’s a filmmaker who’s only growing sharper, funnier, and more confident with each project. His third feature film might just be his best one yet. It’s a delightful, wildly hilarious, and irresistibly charming musical comedy bolstered by phenomenal performances from Julianne Moore and Paul Giamatti. It’s like a cross between a Woody Allen movie and Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan (2010). I’m aware that probably sounds preposterous, but somehow it works, and this is coming from someone who isn’t even a fan of Woody Allen movies. At its core, The Debut is a quirky character study about the desire to be seen and how artistic passion can spiral into self-destructive obsession.

While watching Pedro Almodóvar’s Bitter Christmas, I found myself thinking that it’s an enjoyable, sufficiently entertaining movie, but it definitely ranks lower than the vast majority of the auteur’s filmography. The funny thing is, Almodóvar himself seems to be cognizant of this and addresses it through the film’s self-reflexive humor. It’s a film that’s meta on multiple levels, almost to a fault. Almodóvar uses its layers of filmmaking-within-filmmaking to examine his own creative process and legacy, resulting in a film that is fascinating to think about, albeit forgettable. Bitter Christmas feels simultaneously deeply personal yet detached from the qualities that have often made Almodóvar’s films so distinctive and memorable.

William and David Greaves’s Once Upon a Time in Harlem feels like more than a documentary. It feels like traveling back in time and conversing with some of the greatest creative minds of a generation. This may be the quintessential Harlem Renaissance documentary—a rare opportunity to witness these artists and intellectuals reflecting on their lives and work. The film was shot in 1972 at a gathering attended by surviving members of the Harlem Renaissance, but it remained unfinished for half a century. Following his father’s death in 2014, David Greaves revisited the footage and finally brought the film to completion.

When it was announced that Takashi Yamazaki’s follow-up to Godzilla Minus One (2023) would have its world premiere at the New York Film Festival, it felt like a bold, unexpected choice. After watching the film, that choice feels even more audacious. Much like its predecessor, Godzilla Minus Zero is equal parts rip-roaring kaiju spectacle and heartfelt, intimate family drama, but this time the stakes are higher, the action is bigger, and the story is even more meaningful.

James Gray’s latest film, Paper Tiger, opened the 64th New York Film Festival. Like his previous film, 2022’s Armageddon Time, it’s another immensely personal story, drawing from fragments of the director’s own childhood. Set in New York City in 1986, the film feels particularly at home at NYFF, capturing the look, texture, and atmosphere of the city during that time period.

Bucking Fastard is one of the most unique films of the year and marks Werner Herzog’s first fiction film in seven years. It’s also destined to be divisive, as it follows a pair of sisters who walk, talk, and act in unison, which may be grating for some viewers. Yet beneath its awkward, absurd humor lies a touching story about love and empathy. At one point, a character remarks, “Everything in this world confuses me,” and audiences may leave with the same reaction to the film itself. However, much of the film follows the sisters as they dig a tunnel in search of a place where they can finally feel like they belong, and if audiences are willing to dig below the surface of the film itself, there’s a deeper, rewarding meaning to uncover.

Good art should make you uncomfortable. It should push boundaries and make you question everything you thought you knew. If there’s one filmmaker whose work feels synonymous with the phrase “pushing boundaries,” it’s Ken Russell. His 1971 film, The Devils, is arguably the most boundary-pushing film of his entire career. It may have been one of the most popular films at the British box office in 1972, but it received negative reactions from critics. Roger Ebert gave it zero stars. Tony Mastroianni of the Cleveland Press said Ken Russell directs movies “with all the delicacy of Jack-the-Ripper and even less restraint,” going on to argue that The Devils has little substance and that “most of it is lurid for the sake of being lurid.” Beyond its poor critical reception, the film was also censored and banned in some countries. However, in recent years, the film has experienced a critical re-evaluation. With dozens of sold-out screenings of the 4K restoration of the director’s cut, it feels as though the film and Ken Russell are finally getting the respect that they deserve.

The title of Lee Chang-dong’s first film in almost a decade feels somewhat misleading. Possible Love suggests a simple love story, but in reality, it delves into something far more complex. The film draws inspiration from Krzysztof Kieślowski’s Dekalog (1989) and even opens with the commandment: “Thou shalt not covet.” Yet to call this a story about envy would also be far too reductive. Instead, Possible Love is a richly nuanced character study and an understated examination of class divisions, desire, and the subtle tensions that emerge between people from vastly different circumstances.

One of filmmaker Mike Leigh’s greatest talents is his ability to make his characters feel like real people, and his latest film—and possibly his last—Tender Loving Care is no exception. Due to his battle with myositis, Leigh has stated that this will likely be his final film, and that confrontation with aging and mortality feels reflected in the film itself. The result is a film that slowly sneaks up on you but is as poignant, powerful, and delightfully hilarious as anything he’s made before.

The Day She Returns, the latest film from Hong Sang-soo, fits perfectly into his oeuvre, delving into themes of repetition, memory, and the act of filmmaking itself. The film follows Bae Jeongsu (Song Seon-mi), a previously retired actress who has recently returned to work in an independent film. She participates in a series of press interviews to promote her upcoming project, with the film divided into separate chapters, the first three depicting three different interviews that take place at a German restaurant. Eventually, Bae Jeongsu is asked to recreate these interviews in an acting class, but she finds herself unable to remember exactly what was discussed.

Jordan Firstman’s Club Kid is one of the strongest feature film debuts in recent years. Firstman serves as the film’s writer, director, star, and executive producer. Yet the film feels more refined than some of the recent movies from far more seasoned filmmakers. I try to refrain from being hyperbolic in my reviews, and while I understand that no film can ever legitimately be described as perfect, Club Kid is about as close to a flawless film as I think you could get. Literally the only criticism I could come up with is that its multiple sequences featuring strobe lights may make the film inaccessible to people with photosensitive epilepsy. Beyond that, I honestly cannot think of a single thing I would change about this film.

Everything Else Is Noise is a fitting title for writer, director, and cinematographer Nicolás Pereda’s new film. Sound is what carries the film, whether it’s the blaring horns of a traffic jam or the incessant barking of a neighbor’s dog. Not only does the film essentially function as a chamber piece, with only a few characters largely confined to one location, but it’s also a work of docufiction, blending elements of documentary and narrative filmmaking. Despite its genre hybridization, it also feels like a riff on the French New Wave. It devotes nearly the first five full minutes of its succinct 71-minute runtime to an overhead shot of a traffic jam, calling to mind the infamous scene from Jean-Luc Godard’s Breathless (1960). These stylistic choices make Everything Else Is Noise a fascinating filmmaking exercise, even if they do not always make for an especially entertaining film.

Like many of Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s previous films, his latest feature, All of a Sudden, is a gentle, patient movie. It paints a fascinating portrait of the intersection of care and capitalism while simultaneously offering a thoughtful examination of work-life balance and how some people treat burnout like a badge of honor. Yet at its core, the film is a meditation on what it means to be alive and to truly connect with others.

Robert Pattinson’s vocal work is one of the most compelling aspects of his acting career. Whether adopting a different accent or leaning into a strange, deliberate cadence, he treats his voice as a key instrument for building distinct characters. In Lance Oppenheim’s Primetime, he uses that instrument with remarkable precision as Chris Hansen, the host of Dateline NBC’s To Catch a Predator.

Cristian Mungiu's Palme d'Or-winning Fjord is the type of movie that will likely inspire conversations that are ultimately more compelling than the film itself. That’s not to say it’s a bad film by any means. It’s a thoughtful, meticulously observed drama that raises difficult and thought-provoking questions about religion, parenting, and cultural differences. However, its measured, deliberately restrained approach often makes it feel emotionally distant and painstakingly slow.

Adapting a video game into a film isn’t easy, especially when the game in question has a dedicated fanbase hoping the film stays as faithful to the source material as possible. In fact, when word got out that Zach Cregger’s Resident Evil would include point-of-view shots, fans quickly pointed out that the first Resident Evil game isn’t played from a first-person perspective. Fans hoping for a flawless film version of the game should keep their expectations in check. Cregger’s film isn’t so much an adaptation as it is an entirely original story that happens to be set in the world of Raccoon City.