Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny: a feeble last crack of the whip
The Harrison Ford franchise that began with spectacle and wit has ended with a dull, predictable, CGI-laden dud.
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Ryan Gilbey
Ryan Gilbey is the New Statesman's film critic. He is also the author of It Don't Worry Me (Faber), about 1970s US cinema, and a study of Groundhog Day in the “Modern Classics" series (BFI Publishing).
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Kristoffer Borgli’s Sick of Myself: the worst people in the world?
The wretchedly self-absorbed lead and her artist boyfriend are truly, absurdly awful. To what end?
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Rye Lane is a bright, euphoric south London romcom
Raine Allen-Miller’s visually dynamic debut turns a boy-meets-girl story into a joyous fantasy.
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A Winnie-the-Pooh horror film? Welcome to the public domain
From Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey to The Gay Gatsby, the expiry of copyright on popular literature has…
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Spielberg’s The Fabelmans is a major and personal work
The director’s 34th feature – and the first to turn the camera on himself – ranks as one of…
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How Joyland was deemed an “un-Islamic” love story
Sadim Sadiq’s film about a married man and a trans woman was censored in Pakistan – but has won…
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Moonage Daydream is a lavish and loving profile of David Bowie
In Brett Morgen’s new unconventional documentary, there are no facts, no dates, and a lot of the Starman himself.
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Tár is a crafty, cryptic take on art and morality in the online age
Cate Blanchett stars as a master composer caught in a #MeToo scandal in Todd Field’s genre-bending film.
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Why Baz Luhrmann’s biopic fails to capture the real Elvis Presley
This conventional, sanitised version of the singer’s life is an endless highlight reel, with no room for the unsavoury…
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