PITCH PERFECT 3

style, his brown fur complemented by his navy duffel coat, floppy red hat and ubiquitous suitcase. While “Paddington” followed his adventure meeting his new (human) family in London, The Browns, “Paddington 2” focuses on his relationship with his Aunt Lucy (Imelda Staunton), the bear who fished him out of a river in Peru as a cub. Paddington wants nothing more than to give her a thoughtful birthday present, but his hapless hijinks in attempting to do so lead him far away from his home with the Browns. It all starts so innocently enough — Paddington hopes to save up enough money to buy his aunt a pop-up book of London, so he resorts to various odd jobs and washing windows around his neighborhood. But the book proves to be far more valuable than he expects, and when a thief makes off with it in the night, Paddington is unfairly framed for the crime. He lands in jail even though all signs point to washed-up actor Phoenix Buchanan (Hugh Grant), a master of disguise who seems a bit too interested in the whereabouts of the book. Prison is a bit dark and edgy for a children’s movie, but it’s a chance for Paddington to truly show off the power of his charm. Soon enough, he’s got the prisoners bedecked in pink stripes, happily munching marmalade sandwiches in a sort of childlike fairy tale existence. He even wins over the gruff prison cook Knuckles McGinty, played by Brendan Gleeson, in one of the film’s most delightful supporting performances. Gleeson and Grant might steal the show, but Sally Hawkins, Hugh Bonneville, Jim Broadbent and a wonderfully diverse array of actors populate Paddington’s London, a place that’s cozy and cheery largely because he is. — Katie Walsh, Tribune Content Agency

PHANTOM THREAD

R, 130 minutes. Starts Friday at Lisbon. Still playing at Niantic, Madison Art Cinemas, Mystic Luxury Art Cinemas. Paul Thomas Anderson’s enigmatic romance “Phantom Thread” is a mystery. Not of the murder kind, but of the heart, posing questions of love, power and submission. The mystery? Who’s in control? It’s a question that almost can’t ever be answered. The film is the kind of puzzle that’s both frustrating and joyful to put together — the full picture isn’t revealed until the very end, in a revelation that reveals the poignant truth to be found in vulnerability. Star Daniel Day-Lewis claims to be retiring after this (though that always remains to be seen). Working once again with Anderson, he gives a transformed performance as a genius dressmaker in 1950 London. “Dressmaker” is too pedestrian a term for what Reynolds Woodcock does, who crafts hand-sewn couture creations for the rich and the royal. He lives and works among women, shepherding a flock of seamstresses in his home. His business partner and closest confidant is his sister, Cyril, a steely, perfectly coiffed and simply perfect Lesley Manville. We come to suspect that despite appearances, she wears the pants in this duo. No one tells Reynolds to shut up as chicly as she does. We find him searching for a new companion, his next live-in model and muse. He finds her in an unrefined waitress in a seaside resort restaurant. Alma (Vicky Krieps) is a naive, coltish girl, but like a sheath of fine silk, Reynolds sees potential in what he might shape her into, snipping, cutting and sewing her into the perfect woman. He just never suspected that underneath that seemingly pliant surface, there might be more strength to her than meets the eye. Simply describing the facts of the story flattens it, and doesn’t come close to communicating what a heady, mysterious and sensual spell Anderson casts with “Phantom Thread.” Like Reynolds, the film holds you at arm’s length, keeps you remote, unsure and unsettled. But soon Alma’s force is too strong, and we happily submit to her will. If you go in expecting a Daniel Day-Lewis movie, you’ll walk away with a Vicky Krieps movie, and we’re all the better for it. The Luxembourgian actress will sweep you off your feet. This is a tale of narcissism and ego, both artistic and romantic, and how to conquer it. — Katie Walsh, Tribune Content Agency

1/2 PG-13, 93 minutes. Through today only at Lisbon. Still playing at Westbrook. When the a cappella-themed comedy “Pitch Perfect” debuted in 2012, its success proved audiences were hungry for the style of raucous yet decidedly feminine humor it served up. The inventive musical numbers didn’t hurt either, and suddenly, the niche singing style most often seen on college campuses went mainstream. With “Pitch Perfect 2,” the franchise went bigger and broader, to mixed results. In the final farewell of the trilogy, “Pitch Perfect 3” jettisons the body humor for action-adventure, and leans so far into the weird that it’s very, very strange, yet sometimes amusing. At least the music’s fun. The film, written by Kay Cannon and Mike White, directed by “Step Up All In” director Trish Sie, follows the Bellas (formerly of Barden University) as they struggle with life after college. No longer able to perform regularly with their best friends, they’re creatively stymied and nostalgic for their collegiate prime. For one last hurrah, they decide to hop on a USO tour, which bizarrely takes place in Spain, Greece and the South of France — not Fallujah. There’s a streak of self-reflection throughout “Pitch Perfect 3,” pointing out the formulaic tics of the franchise. “Is there a competition? There always has to be a competition,” a manic Chloe (Brittany Snow) breathlessly asks. Of course there is. On the tour, which is somehow sponsored by DJ Khaled (playing himself), four groups will compete to open for him on the last night. The Bellas are feeling insecure when they check out their competition, who all play instruments. They find their rivals in the all-girl rock group Evermoist, headed up by a perfectly smarmy Calamity (Ruby Rose). And yet, a competition just isn’t enough. Adding to the drama are some serious daddy issues. Fat Amy’s (Rebel Wilson) long-lost father (John Lithgow) turns up for reconciliation, but he’s got more nefarious ulterior motives, and the girls have to put their special aca-skills to work to thwart him. — Katie Walsh, Tribune Content Agency

THE POST

PG-13, 115 minutes. Niantic, Madison Art Cinemas, Mystic Luxury Cinemas, Waterford, Stonington, Westbrook, Lisbon. “The Post” goes against the contemporary Hollywood grain. Propulsive major studio cinema made with a real-world purpose in mind, it’s a risky venture that succeeds across the board. Prodded into existence by Steven Spielberg, one of the few filmmakers capable of making the studio system do his bidding and of persuading major players such as Meryl Streep and Tom Hanks to go along with him, “The Post” takes on a particularly counterintuitive subject. That would be The Washington Post’s 1971 role in publishing what came to be known as the Pentagon Papers, a top-secret 47-volume, 7,000-page Department of Defense study of the war in Vietnam that exposed all manner of official prevarications and outright lies extending over the terms of four presidents. For one thing, as the gripping Liz Hannah and Josh Singer script makes clear, the breaking of this story was initially owned lock, stock and barrel by the paper’s rival The New York Times, which may be why Post editor Ben Bradlee gave it only 14 pages in his autobiography compared with 60 pages for Watergate. For another, there has already been an excellent Washington Post movie in “All the President’s Men.” Also, given that the Oscar-winning pro-journalism drama “Spotlight” came out just two years ago, the market wasn’t necessarily desperate for another one. And that’s just the point. “The Post” is the rare Hollywood movie made not to fulfill marketing imperatives but because the filmmakers felt the subject matter had real and immediate relevance to the crisis both society and print journalism find themselves in right now. Aiming to combine what the director calls “a chase film with journalists” with an essential civics lesson, “The Post” showcases the value of newspapers hanging together and holding government accountable for deception even in the face of possibly crippling financial pressures. “The Post,” made with the pacing of a thriller, has an appealing sense of urgency about it. — Kenneth Turan, L.A. Times

PROUD MARY

R, 89 minutes. Through today only at Westbrook, Lisbon. Mary (Taraji P. Henson) is a hitwoman working for an organized crime family in Boston. She meets a young boy after a professional hit goes awry.

THE SHAPE OF WATER

1/2 R, 123 minutes. Starts Friday at Waterford, Stonington. “The Shape of Water” is a sexy, violent, preposterous, beautiful fantasy, co-writer and director Guillermo del Toro’s most vivid and fully formed achievement since “Pan’s Labyrinth” 11 years ago. Set in 1962, the story del Toro fleshed out with co-writer Vanessa Taylor marries “Creature from the Black Lagoon” to “Beauty and the Beast,” referencing all sorts of other movies. Yet this one is its own being. It’s exquisitely detailed and period-accurate when it wants to be, and a gorgeous fabrication when the emotions and the underwater Cloud Cuckoo-Land romance, nutty but sincere, require another side of del Toro’s imagination. We’ll talk about the casting (in the neighborhood of perfect) in a moment. First, the premise. Sally Hawkins is Elisa, the mute janitor who, we’re told, was rescued from a river as a foundling. She bears two deep scars on her neck, the ones rendering her speechless. Elisa works the midnight-to-morning shift at a government research center somewhere in Baltimore. A new “asset” has been brought in for examination: He, or It, comes from the Amazon, has gills for breathing, legs for walking, and wide, sideways-blinking eyes. These last two items are a fantastic touch, a reminder that digital effects needn’t look like every other digital effect on the market. Initially unobserved by the scientists and the brutal government agent who discovered the creature,

Elisa reaches across species, language and all known human/amphibian interaction to make a connection to this bluish-charcoal-tinged wonder. She introduces him to hard-boiled eggs and sentimental 33s borrowed from the record collection of her next-door neighbor. But the central courtship is fraught: The Russians know about this asset, and there are plans afoot to extract it from American clutches. — Michael Phillips, Chicago Tribune

STAR WARS: THE LAST JEDI