Owen Gleiberman: Celebs Rumors

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic Carl Nargle (Owen Wilson), the amusingly ironic hero of “Paint” (ironic because, as we discover, he’s about as far from heroic as you can get), hosts a one-man instructional painting show that gets broadcast live out of the PBS station in Burlington, Vermont. Each afternoon, Carl appears on camera for one hour, puffing on his pipe, holding his brushes and palette as he dashes off an oil painting of a local wilderness setting (snowy mountains, twilight vistas, trees), explaining all the while, in the unruffled monotone of a stoned hypnotist, how you too can get to a “special place” just by painting what’s in your heart. Carl himself seems nearly as much of an art object as his canvases of Mt. Mansfield, the Vermont peak he has begun to paint with OCD frequency. He wears the same denim Western shirts, fuzzy beard and ash-blond Afro that he’s been sporting since 1979. He’s a relic: the landscape painter as Fred Rogers for adults, a kind of soft-rock guru from the age when men were Mellow. The biggest TV celebrity in Burlington, he thinks he’s on top of the world, but he’s about to come tumbling down.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic In “Spinning Gold,” a sketchy but adoring if not outright devotional biopic about Neil Bogart, the upstart ’70s music-industry mogul who founded Casablanca Records, there’s a pivotal moment that spins around the story of how Bogart, at a party he was throwing, played the 3-minute-and-20-second single version of Donna Summer’s “Love to Love You Baby.” He played it over and over again because his guests kept asking for it. That’s when the lightbulb went on. Bogart realized that the song needed to be longer, much longer — long enough to have sex to. (It ended up being 16 minutes and 50 seconds.) This is a rather famous anecdote (in the new documentary “Love to Love You, Donna Summer,” which just premiered at SXSW, there’s a clip of Bogart telling it on a talk show). So we assume that we’re going to see Bogart meet with Giorgio Moroder, the song’s composer and producer, and change music history.

J. Kim Murphy Hark! “Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves” looks to reach the top of box office charts in its opening weekend, besting the sophomore outing of “John Wick: Chapter 4.” “Honor Among Thieves” scored $15.3 million in its opening day, a figure that includes $5.6 million from Thursday screenings and specialty previews. Playing in 3,855 venues, the fantasy comedy is projecting a finish around $40 million, which would come in at the higher end of estimates heading into the weekend. That’s a solid figure for “Honor Among Thieves,” which Paramount has thrown support behind with a sweeping press tour and a premiere at the SXSW Film Festival. Along with the studio, Entertainment One (eOne) covered a good fraction of the production budget for the film, which totals about $150 million between the two banners. eOne is a subsidiary of Hasbro, which controls the “Dungeons & Dragons” intellectual property.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic “Murder Mystery,” a cheeky pasteboard detective thriller-meets-middle-aged-romance that became a huge hit for Netflix four years ago, had the inspiration to team Adam Sandler and Jennifer Aniston as Nick and Audrey Spitz, a dweeby-sweet New York couple — he was a cop trying, and failing, to get promoted to detective; she was a hairdresser — whose marriage-on-auto-pilot needed a dose of shock therapy. They got it when they went on the European getaway that Nick, a compulsive cheapskate, had been promising Audrey for 15 years. The two wound up on a yacht, at a geezer aristocrat’s party, which turned out to be his death sentence as the moment he cut everyone there out of his will.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic Imagine an on-the-road concert documentary shot in the anything-goes days of 1970 — a hurly-burly vérité jamboree like “Mad Dogs & Englishmen” or “Elvis on Tour.” It’s about the biggest rock band in the world. It encompasses 11 shows in 26 days, with headlines and controversies and a film crew out to capture it all. We see the band members backstage, on planes, in their nightly lodgings, and onstage. The crowds are rapturous. “What the Hell Happened to Blood, Sweat & Tears?” is, in a way, that movie. The band that’s on tour, the mighty but fraught Blood, Sweat & Tears, was full of great musicians who most people didn’t know by name. Yet as fronted by the intoxicating huskiness of lead singer David Clayton-Thomas, they emerged from the embers of the counterculture to become one of the first true supergroups. By the time their 1970 tour arrived, Blood, Sweat & Tears were the most popular rock band in America, with a number-one album and a trio of hit singles that remain iconic: “And When I Die,” “You’ve Made Me So Very Happy,” and the joyfully bombastic and lurchy ear worm that was “Spinning Wheel.”

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic The headline of this column is doubtlessly unfair. I’m judging a movie before I’ve seen it, before it has even been made. Given the vast volume of junky indifferent product that now slides through the megaplex, and the streaming ocean, on a weekly basis, why not settle in for an ambitious remake of “Vertigo,” Alfred Hitchcock’s romantically kinky and voluptuous dream thriller of 1958? At least it’s not “Texas Chainsaw XVIII” or another “Minions” movie. At least it will be interesting (right?). Robert Downey Jr., who is in talks to produce and possibly star in a remake of “Vertigo” at Paramount (home of the original film), is a great actor. But once he became a box-office superstar, 15 years ago, with “Iron Man,” he got sucked into the escapist vortex of Marvel and “Sherlock Holmes” and duds like “Dolittle.” Downey, who is about to turn 58, needs to rediscover himself as an actor. Couldn’t he accomplish that by taking on the role of the obsessive detective that James Stewart, who was 49 when he starred in “Vertigo” (but looked 10 years older than Downey), fashioned into one of his own greatest performances?

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic The drama of addiction and recovery, as it takes place in the movies, tends to come at us like a series of rituals. There’s the rule-by-rule, day-by-day protocol of 12-step programs (the meetings, the showing up, the sharing, the calls to sponsors); a lot of us may feel we know it well from movies, even if we’ve never personally undergone the experience. There are the deeply engraved patterns of addiction itself: the highs, the lows, the cravings, the exploitation of friends and family members, the descent to the bottom, the grasping for the drink or the pill or the fix (or the one that isn’t there) and, in some cases, the criminal behavior. The reaching out to save oneself is also a kind of ritual — one that some addicts would say God built into us.

Naman Ramachandran New York-based film and TV studio and streaming network FilmRise has acquired North American distribution rights to true-crime documentary feature film “The Thief Collector.” Directed by Emmy winner Allison Otto (“The Love Bugs”), the film follows one of the most audacious and puzzling art thefts of a generation. In 1985, Willem de Kooning’s seminal work, “Woman-Ochre,” was sliced from its frame and stolen off the walls of the University of Arizona Museum of Art, disappearing into the desert. Over 30 years later, in a remote town in New Mexico, the $160 million dollar painting was rediscovered in the unlikeliest of places – the home of an eccentric married couple, both schoolteachers, with a keen eye for great works but a very unconventional method of collecting them. The film features Glenn Howerton co-creator, director, writer and star of “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.”

Jordan Moreau The “Fury of the Gods” may not be all that furious. Warner Bros. and DC’s “Shazam” sequel is taking flight with $3.4 million at the domestic box office in Thursday previews, behind the original movie’s preview haul in 2019. The sequel to Zachary Levi’s superhero movie will land with a smaller opening than its predecessor. The first “Shazam” movie had $5.9 million in Thursday previews before opening with $53.5 million in April 2019. It went on to gross $140 million domestically and $366 million globally. However, “Shazam: Fury of the Gods” is only expected to bring in $35 million to $40 million. Each of the “Shazam” movies cost $100 million to produce, but that’s a significant drop from the original.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic “You Can Call Me Bill” is the latest documentary from director Alexandre O. Philippe, who specializes in plucking tasty subjects out of the pop cosmos and doing deep-dive meditations on them. Philippe often leans into horror (“Memory: The Origins of Alien,” “Doc of the Dead,” and his greatest film, “78/52: Hitchcock’s Shower Scene”), but even with other subjects (“The People vs. George Lucas,” “Lynch/Oz”), what he’s always looking for is the heady ineffable curveball insight. So if you go into his new movie, which is all about William Shatner, presuming that it’s going to be something other than a conventional portrait of William Shatner, you’d be quite correct. The movie is built around an interview with the legendary 91-year-old actor, still vigorous and voluble, with a seize-the-day cornball glow to him. In “You Can Call Me Bill,” Shatner sits under the hot lights, with the camera close to his face, talking, talking, and talking — about life, death, acting, fame, love, desolation, and trees.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic Why did they give Zachary Levi a haircut for “Shazam! Fury of the Gods”? Four years ago, in the first “Shazam,” Levi played a kid in a superhero’s body, and the movie was smart and witty enough to be a caped version of “Big.” Levi’s look was a major part of it. Shazam, with that cheesy lightning bolt and gold belt and white Italian-restaurant tablecloth of a cape, didn’t resemble other recent comic-book-film heroes; he was more like something out of the ’40s. And Levi sealed the deal was his big popping eyes and ingenuous gee-whiz grin (he was, after all, playing a 14-year-old inside), as well as the hair that topped off his boyish spirit. It was dark and shiny and stood up an inch-and-a-half from his head — a ‘do as superhero stylized, in its way, as the old Superman’s.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic Sometimes, when a documentary has a great subject, it can explore that subject with an intimacy that’s arresting, only to treat other aspects of the story with a kind of cavalier casualness. “Love to Love You Donna Summer” is that kind of documentary. Co-directed by Roger Ross Williams and Brooklyn Sudano (who is Summer’s daughter), it’s full of home movies and photographs and archival footage of Donna Summer, and it creates an eye-opening portrait of the ambitious yet deeply disconsolate woman she was. We see her when she was growing up in Boston, where she sang gospel in church and felt a gift passing through her, knowing that she was going to be famous, or when she moved to Munich in 1968, at 19, to be in the German production of “Hair” (there’s a startling clip of her onstage, in long dark pigtails, singing “Aquarius” in German), or later on, after she’d become a pop star, at home with her daughters, lost in the empty mirror of fame.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic In “John Wick: Chapter 4,” the epic culmination of the flamboyantly brutal death-wish-meets-video-game-meets-the-zen-of-Keanu-Reeves action series, our hero finds himself in a Berlin nightclub that resembles a pulsating Bauhaus Eurodisco by way of “Fellini Satyricon.” The place is like a concrete cathedral, with giant mosh pits of dancers throwing their arms up to the heavens as waterfalls cascade down the side walls (it almost looks like it’s raining). But Reeves’ John Wick, as he makes his way through the neon wetness, isn’t dancing. He’s getting ready to start shooting — which, for him, is more or less the same thing. As he skulks forward, oily hair hanging down the sides of his face, the camera glides just ahead of him, framing him like the renegade action demigod he is. We might be in the middle of the world’s most cutting-edge cologne commercial.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic Just as the Coca-Cola company, after smudging a perfect product in 1985 with the New Coke, brought that product back and called it Coca-Cola Classic, the 95th Academy Awards telecast made a game attempt to rectify the mishaps of the past few years — the ratings slippage, the pared-down-like-a-skeleton-in-a-train-station 2021 edition, the debacle of The Slap — by bringing back something that we might call Oscar Classic. It was safe, it was familiar, it was tasteful, it was reassuring. It didn’t rock the boat, it didn’t overstay its welcome (actually, that marks sort of a break from Oscar Classic), and it left you feeling that the world’s preeminent awards show, all doom-saying punditry to the contrary, is still, on balance, a very good thing.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic In “Bottoms,” a high-school comedy that is brazenly gonzo, scaldingly and at times even dementedly over-the-top, and actually about something, PJ (Rachel Sennott) and Josie (Ayo Edebiri) have been best friends since the first grade, but in their senior year at Rock Ridge High they’re at the end of their tether. They’re losers, they’re lonely, they’re lesbians — and in their eyes, that puts them beneath the bottom of the food chain. So they do what anyone in their position might do. They decide to start a fight club! It’s modeled (sort of) on the one in “Fight Club,” though the movie isn’t particularly interested in that film, where the characters staged bare-knuckle brawls out of a kind of self-serious macho romantic doomsday nihilism. In “Bottoms,” PJ and Josie, in the time-honored tradition of teen-movie protagonists out to lose their virginity, are just looking for a way to sleep with the cheerleaders they have crushes on. They build the club around a scurrilous and rather ridiculous lie: that they’ve both spent time in “juvie.” Sitting around in the gym, with a handful of the “normal” girls they’ve roped into joining the club, all of them share stories about the men they’ve had to fend off (stalkers, pervy stepfathers, you name it). And when they get to the fight-club part, letting out their aggression, the jabs are shockingly violent. We laugh, but we also think: What’s going on here?

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic Introducing “Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves,” the lavish hyperkinetic popcorn fairy tale that kicked off SXSW this evening, the film’s co-directors, John Francis Daley and Jonathan Goldstein, told the audience that they had designed the movie to appeal to hardcore D&D players — and also to those who know absolutely nothing about the game. This came as a relief to me, since what I know about Dungeons & Dragons you could put on the head of a…well, I know so little that I can’t even come up with a proper D&D reference with which to spin that cliché. The filmmakers were being honest. “Honor Among Thieves” is built on the edifice of D&D lore, packed with totems and characters and Easter eggs that fans of the legendary role-playing game will drink in with a connoisseur’s delight. But for those, like me, who have spent their lives avoiding anything to do with Dungeons & Dragons, the film is eminently comprehensible and, in its you’ve-seen-it-before-but-not-quite-this-way fashion, a lot of fun.

Rebecca Rubin Film and Media Reporter After better-than-expected starts at the domestic and international box office, “Creed III” has already surpassed the $100 million mark globally. Directed by Michael B. Jordan in his feature filmmaking debut, the latest “Creed” movie has collected $58.7 million in North America and $41.8 million overseas to land the biggest opening worldwide in the trilogy. The $75 million-budgeted “Creed III” is the most expensive film in the trilogy (its predecessors cost $35 million and $50 million, respectively), but it already appears to be well-positioned in its theatrical run.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic More often than not, an internationally known freedom fighter will have a personality and temperament as heroic as the actions that made him famous. Just look at Nelson Mandela, Alexei Navalny, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, or — as controversial a figure as he remains — Edward Snowden, who for 10 years has conducted himself as a profile in courage. But there are times when the personal and the political don’t sit so easily in the same person. Julian Assange is one of those people. From the moment he launched WikiLeaks, the renegade website that provided an anonymous home for journalists and whistleblowers to spill the secrets and dump the documents of global power, there was an air of absolutism about him, a bombs-away belief in the rightness of his actions that teetered, at times, into anarchistic recklessness. Assange, like Snowden, exposed important revelations about how governments, in particular the government of the United States, operate: the corruptions and cover-ups and collateral damage. Unlike Snowdown, he served up his exposés in an aggressive, indiscriminate way that seemed designed to place himself at the center of the conversation.

Zack Sharf Digital News Director Michael B. Jordan’s “Creed III” is now playing in theaters, which means a lot of moviegoers may find themselves asking the same question: Where the hell is Sylvester Stallone’s Rocky Balboa? Stallone starred opposite Jordan in “Creed” and “Creed II,” even earning an Oscar nomination for supporting actor thanks to his role in the 2015 first installment. But Stallone is entirely absent from “Creed III.” While Rocky’s name gets name-dropped a couple times in the script, his whereabouts are never explained. Stallone’s absence in “Creed III” marks the first time in nine films and 47 years that a movie in the “Rocky” film franchise does not feature Rocky Balboa. The reason behind Stallone’s departure is twofold: He wasn’t the biggest fan of “Creed III’s” creative direction, and his clash against longtime franchise producer Irwin Winkler remains ongoing.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic For 25 years, I have never been much of a Guy Ritchie fan. I found the in-your-face-and-over-the-top crime dramas that made his reputation — “Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels,” “Snatch,” “Revolver,” and “RocknRolla” — to be empty-flashy exercises in the too-muchness of genre kinetics, overly infatuated with their post-Tarantino cutthroat cool. It was clear that Ritchie had talent, but the way just about every shot in his movies was designed to remind you of that turned the films into layer cakes that were more frosting than cake. After a while, he dropped the badass glitz and settled into a more conventional career, and some of those movies were okay. I confess that I enjoyed his remake of “Swept Away” (yes, the one with Madonna), and he had fun applying what was left of his high-froth ADD style to the Robert Downey Jr. “Sherlock Holmes” franchise. Yet I could never escape the feeling that Guy Ritchie had trapped himself on a hamster wheel of trying too hard. I’ve liked a few of his films. But I’ve never loved one.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic Like a virus that keeps coming back but growing weaker each time, “Children of the Corn” is now a horror movie that lacks the strength to infect you with even a speck of fear. The original strain of the virus was Stephen King’s short story — published in 1977, at the heart of his shivery heyday. The tale of a group of Nebraska farm-town children who worship a demon that lives in the local cornfields, it was like a slasher version of “Lord of the Flies,” with a touch of the creepiness of “The Wicker Man.” The kids killed the adults around them, but the scariest thing about them is that they’d become a cult. The cornfield demon, known as He Who Walks Behind the Rows, was less a monster than a force, one that spoke to gathering forces in our society — impulses of religious zealotry and intolerance that were starting to take shape by the late ’70s.

Zack Sharf Michael B. Jordan came face to face with one of his high school bullies during a recent “Creed III” premiere event. “The Morning Hustle” radio show host Lore’l revealed on a recent episode of her “Undressing Room” podcast that she attended high school with Jordan and was one of many students who teased the then-aspiring actor for his name. “You know what’s so crazy? I went to school with Michael B. Jordan at a point in life,” Lore’l said on the podcast (via NME). “And to be honest with you, we teased him all the damn time because his name was Michael Jordan. Let’s start there, and he was no Michael Jordan.” “He also would come to school with a headshot,” she added. “We lived in Newark, that’s the hood. We would make fun of him like, ‘What you gonna do with your stupid headshot!?’ And now look at him!”

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic Adonis Creed, like Rocky Balboa before him, is a fighter who faces down his demons and finds his triumph-of-the-human-spirit mojo, all leading up to his inevitable delivery of that knockout punch (well, okay, Rocky actually lost the fight in “Rocky”). The first two “Creed” films, like the six “Rocky” films, were rah-rah crowd-pleasers, with the hero taking on an adversary who represents the forces of darkness. The boxing foes in these movies are a little like comic-book supervillains: Clubber Lang, Ivan Drago, Drago’s vengeful son, and so on. They’ve been catchy and, at times, memorable characters, but it’s part of their appeal that they’re two-dimensional raging-bull enemies you would hardly rank as layered human beings.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic The last time a movie was marketed with a this-sounds-so-wretchedly-over-the-top-not-to-mention-insane-it-could-almost-be-fun low/high concept, the results, to put it kindly, were mixed. “Snakes on a Plane,” which sounded like a title that Don Simpson scrawled in white powder on a table at 4:00 a.m., was a movie that wore its brain-deadness on both lapels. But 17 years ago, that title inspired mountains of online chatter, to the point that the filmmakers incorporated bits and pieces of the obsessive fan gabble into the movie, most famously the Samuel L. Jackson line, “I have had it with these mothefuckin’ snakes on this motherfuckin‘ plane!” The result was that “Snakes on a Plane” felt like the first piece of brazen Hollywood schlock that was crowdsourced. The audience went in thinking: It may be trash, but it’s our trash.   

Rebecca Rubin Film and Media Reporter “A Man Called Otto,” a heartfelt drama starring Tom Hanks as a cranky widower, has notched an important box office milestone, crossing $100 million globally. The film’s tally stands at $100.4 million, including $61.2 million in North America and $39.2 million internationally. Overseas, the top-selling markets are the United Kingdom ($6.28 million), Australia ($5.17 million), Mexico ($5.06 million), Spain ($2.6 million) and Germany ($2.5 million). In pandemic times, the $100 million benchmark is notable because only a few movies aimed at older audiences, such as Baz Luhrmann’s kaleidoscopic biopic “Elvis,” Tom Cruise’s sequel “Top Gun: Maverick,” Brad Pitt’s action-comedy “Bullet Train,” have managed to connect the box office since COVID.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic In “Golda,” Helen Mirren, acting with deft skill and control beneath one of those startling transformative prosthetic makeup jobs, portrays Golda Meir during the three-week cataclysm of the Yom Kippur War, which shook Israel to its bones in the fall of 1973. As the actor stands (or, more often, stoops) before us, we can believe our eyes that this is the Iron Lady of Israel. For here is that frown, those beetle brows, that coarse wavy hair tied into a bun like challah bread, that pugnacious nose, that stare of implacability designed to bore a hole in its beholder. Here, as well, is the woman who lit a thousand cigarettes, chain-smoking her way through the war-room anxiety and through the secret medical treatments she was undergoing at the time for lymphoma.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic Quick, what do the following movies have in common? The cheesy middle-aged rom-com “Ticket to Paradise,” the curmudgeon-finds-his-heart-of-gold drama “A Man Called Otto,” and “80 for Brady,” a road comedy about four octogenarians girl-tripping their way to the 2017 Super Bowl. All three are built around those once larger-than-life entities known as movie stars (Julia Roberts and George Clooney in “Paradise”; Tom Hanks in “Otto”; Jane Fonda, Sally Field, Lily Tomlin and Rita Moreno in “Brady”). All three are solid mid-level hits at the domestic box office (“Ticket to Paradise” made $68 million, “A Man Called Otto” has grossed $60 million and “80 for Brady” is chugging its way to the $50 million yard line). That’s a fact that many have taken note of at a time when the most savory offerings of the awards season (“Tár,” “The Fablemans,” “The Banshees of Inisherin”) starkly underperformed at the box office.

Anna Tingley If you purchase an independently reviewed product or service through a link on our website, Variety may receive an affiliate commission. The beautifully creepy android doll from “M3GAN” is shimmying her way into your home. The unrated cut of the satirical sci-fi horror film will begin streaming exclusively on Peacock starting Feb. 24. Directed by Gerard Johnstone and produced by Jason Blum (“Get Out,” “BlacKkKlansman”) and James Wan (“Saw,” “Insidious,” “The Conjuring”), the film stars Alison Williams as Gemma, a brilliant toy company roboticist who creates a lifelike doll programmed with artificial intelligence to be a child’s greatest companion. But things take a tragic turn when Gemma becomes the unprepared caretaker of her newly orphaned niece and brings home the humanoid doll to keep her company.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic No genre of the last few decades can get on my nerves like the indie quirkfest. You know: those movies that keep poking you in the ribs to giggle at their cutely addled characters with their adorable eccentricities — I’m talking woe-is-us hipster comedies like “Pieces of April,” “Lars and the Real Girl” and the pop-crossover “Citizen Kane” of the genre, “Little Miss Sunshine.” The trouble with these movies is that even as they pretend to be lifesize, they’re too conscious about packaging their prefab weirdness; they’re edgy sitcoms minus the laugh tracks. But Rebecca Miller’s “She Came to Me,” which opened the Berlin Film Festival today, demonstrates how the indie quirkfest can be resonant and real, with characters who have soul instead of a chewy center.

Rebecca Rubin Film and Media Reporter “Magazine Dreams,” a buzzy drama starring Jonathan Majors, landed at Searchlight Pictures following its premiere at this year’s Sundance Film Festival. Elijah Bynum wrote and directed the movie, about an aspiring bodybuilder named Killian Maddox, who abuses steroids in his quest to become a sports icon. “Magazine Dreams” premiered on Jan. 20 at the Eccles Theater in Park City. The festival wrapped last month, but the film later sparked a bidding war between Neon, Sony Pictures Classics and HBO, according to Deadline, which broke the news of the sale. “We are very proud to bring Elijah’s powerful film to the world,” said Searchlight presidents Matthew Greenfield and David Greenbaum. “Jonathan’s tour-de-force performance, both physically and emotionally, affected us in profound ways.”

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic “Ant-Man,” released eight years ago, was a comic-book movie that almost inadvertently used its hyper-miniaturized cowboy-on-ant-back superhero as a metaphor for what a tiny place the film itself occupied in the MCU. “Ant-Man and the Wasp” (2018) was a bit less small. The director, Peyton Reed, who had a background in human comedy (“Down with Love,” “Bring It On”), expanded the sequel into a puckish fantasy of scale, with characters and objects popping back and forth in size, though the result was still more amusing than momentous. Paul Rudd’s nice-guy divorced dad turned badass metallic bug Scott Lang may have been an official Avenger, but that still didn’t give him more than a flyweight significance.

J. Kim Murphy “Halloween Ends” may be the last we see of Laurie Strode and Michael Myers, but the horror series still kills at the box office. Universal’s slasher finale is off to a strong start, projecting a $43.4 million opening from 3,901 theaters. Even with “Halloween Ends” receiving a simultaneous streaming debut on Peacock, the film has managed to draw an impressive figure. It will earn more than enough to top weekend charts, sparking some life into what has largely been a muted season for moviegoing. “Ends” is tracking below last year’s franchise entry, “Halloween Kills,” which earned a $49 million domestic opening with its own day-and-date release. 2018’s “Halloween,” the first entry in this new sequel trilogy to John Carpenter’s landmark 1978 original, released exclusively to theaters, at a time before Peacock was anything more than a developing project at NBCUniversal. The film garnered a staggering $76 million — still the third-highest domestic debut ever for a horror film, after the two “It” entries.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic If, like me, you consider “All the President’s Men” to be one of the most exciting movies ever made, it’s remarkable to consider that it came out in 1976, just four years after the Watergate break-in. The saga of Richard Nixon’s corruption and downfall had saturated the culture, yet every moment in “All the President’s Men” tingled with discovery. That’s why it’s a film you can watch again and again. When a big-screen journalistic drama gets built around a news story that epic, it needs to give you a version of that feeling. “Spotlight,” the Oscar-winning 2015 drama about The Boston Globe’s unraveling of the child sex abuse scandals within the Catholic Church, wasn’t as great as “All the President’s Men,” yet it, too, was laced with a sense of discovery. It’s there in how the film anatomized not just the horrific behavior of abusive priests but the omertà of the Church.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic The “Halloween” series, which comes to an end this weekend (and if you believe that, I have a set of very rusty kitchen knives I’d like to sell you), has always been the least pretentious of horror franchises. A towering killer in a rubber mask pops out of the shadows to slash one victim after the next. Horror doesn’t get much more basic than that. But, of course, the “Halloween” series has always had a pretentious side too — the side that began with Donald Pleasance droning on about eee-vil, and the side that has extended, over the latest trilogy, to the top-heavy handwringing of Laurie Strode’s self-actualized guilt and despair. As for Michael Myers, who started out as a small-town killer, he has been turned, more and more explicitly, into A Force Larger Than Himself. And in “Halloween Ends,” that trend now culminates in a movie where Michael, in a certain way, is barely in the movie; he’s the film’s totem, its mascot, its looming emblem of evil. “Halloween Ends” doesn’t finish off the franchise by being the most scary or fun entry in the series. (It should have been both, but it’s neither.) Instead, it’s the most joylessly metaphorical and convoluted entry.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic In “Nuclear,” his intensely compelling, must-see documentary, Oliver Stone makes the vital and historical case that nuclear power has been the victim of a perception/reality conundrum, one that is now in the process of being overturned. The perception is that nuclear power is dangerous: too dangerous to be an essential component of providing our energy needs. The reality, argues Stone, is that nuclear power is clean, abundant, and safe. “Nuclear” says that the ominous reality of our energy crisis — the looming catastrophe of climate change, the hopeful yet stubbornly incremental growth of renewables like wind and solar — is too urgent for nuclear power not to be an essential component of providing our energy needs.

Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic In “Is That Black Enough for You?!?,” Elvis Mitchell’s highly pleasurable and eye-opening movie-love documentary about the American Black cinema revolution of the late ’60s and ’70s, Billy Dee Williams, now 85 but still spry, tells a funny story about what it was like to play Louis McKay, the dapper love object and would-be savior of Billie Holiday in “Lady Sings the Blues.” The year was 1972, and African-American audiences had rarely (if ever) been given the chance to gawk at a movie star of color who was not just this sexy but this showcased for his sexiness. Louis was like Clark Gable with a dash of Marvin Gaye; when he was on that promenade stairway, Williams says that he just about fell in love with himself. That’s how unprecedented the whole thing was. The actor recalls how the lighting was fussed over (we see a shot in which Louis appears bathed in an old-movie glow), and how unreal that was to him on the set. At the time, Black actors didn’t get lighting like that. But Black audiences drank it in with a better-late-than-never swoon, even as they knew that this was a representation they’d been denied for more than half a century.