DARKEST HOUR

PG-13, 125 minutes. Mystic Luxury Cinemas, Waterford; 7:30 tonight at the Garde. Until this year, perhaps the greatest piece of moviemaking about Dunkirk was only part of a movie: It was a breathtaking sequence of the massive World War II evacuation, filmed in one astonishing five-minute take that dramatically punctuated the movie “Atonement,” directed by Joe Wright. Now Wright returns with a fully fledged Dunkirk film: “Darkest Hour” is already receiving awards chatter for Gary Oldman’s deliciously crafty portrayal of the film’s main subject, a newly minted British prime minister named Winston Churchill. Wright brings his signature good taste, including sumptuous, jewel-box sets and elegantly staged set pieces, to an enterprise in which Oldman’s hugely enjoyable star turn is equaled by similarly well-judged performances from Kristin Scott Thomas and Ben Mendelsohn. — Ann Hornaday, The Washington Post

DUNKIRK

PG-13, 135 minutes. Through today only at Westbrook. Still playing at Stonington, Lisbon. The character is named A, has no gender or even a fixed human body and is played by — if my count is correct — more than a dozen actors. A is the highly unusual romantic lead in “Every Day,” director Michael Sucsy’s adaptation of David Levithan’s young adult novel. It’s a movie that pushes the boundaries of believability and runs the risk of sounding like a PSA for alternative sexualities, but thanks to its charming cast and nonpreachy tone, “Every Day” ends up feeling like something special. It’s a compelling, possibly groundbreaking movie about young love in a new era of options and definitions. Our heroine is actually Rhiannon, a friendly and unassuming high schooler played by a peppy but never precious Angourie Rice (a 17-year-old Australian who appeared briefly in “Spider-Man: Homecoming”). When her normally neglectful boyfriend, Justin (Justice Smith), suddenly whisks her away for a romantic day of hooky at the beach, Rhiannon’s heart soars. It turns out, though, Justin was only temporarily occupied by the spirit of A, who wakes up in the body of someone new every day. A is in love with this girl but, as you might imagine, their relationship will take some work. As a story, “Every Day” is more believable than you might think, though as a movie it has its flaws. The many actors who briefly embody A can be tough for us to attach to, and they range from quite good (notably Owen Teague and Jacob Batlan, also from “Spider-Man”) to fairly stiff. Still, the cast is so variegated — black, white, blind, nerdy, sexually ambiguous — that we tend to dwell on Rhiannon’s bemused reactions rather than the occasional stilted performance. — Rafer Guzmán

FIFTY SHADES FREED

the trilogy, just might be the most competently made yet — which is a shame for those expecting the high camp factor of “Fifty Shades Darker.” The “Darker” writing and directing team is back for “Freed,” with Niall Leonard, E.L. James’s husband, adapting his wife’s erotic novel for the screen, and James Foley taking on directing duties. In “Freed,” Seattle book editor and weekend sexual submissive Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson) has managed to pin down her dom daddy Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan) — in holy matrimony. Their relationship has always more of a power struggle than a partnership. The plot, which drifts from scene to scene, casually inserting kidnappings and car chases among the lavish vacations and sexy romps, involves Anastasia’s former boss, Jack Hyde (Eric Johnson), seeking revenge on the recently married couple. He was fired after attempting to sexually assault Ana, but it turns out he’s got a much longer history with the Grey family than they thought. When Jack isn’t abducting members of their family, Christian and Ana struggle to decide when or if they’ll have children, which is definitely a question one should have thought to bring up before the fairy-tale wedding and European honeymoon. Christian, who has all the charm of a textbook narcissistic psychopath, wants to keep Ana to himself, wants her life to “begin and end” with him and pouts that babies ruin sex. When she declares, “you’re my whole life,” it’s presented as a romantic declaration, not a giant red flag of an emotionally abusive relationship. — Katie Walsh, Tribune Content Agency

GAME NIGHT

1/2 R, 100 minutes. Niantic, Waterford, Stonington, Westbrook, Lisbon. There’s no question the undisputed winner in the new comedy “Game Night” is the generally dependable Rachel McAdams. The infectious, energetic and unfiltered exuberance she brings to the role of the super competitive Annie — one of a group of best friends who get together on a regular basis to play parlor and board games — turns what was little more than an extended episode of a television comedy series into more of a winning effort. Annie and her husband, Max (Jason Bateman), have had a monopoly on the weekly game night battles that range from charades to Scrabble. The other regulars include Ryan (Billy Magnussen), the single member of the group who picks his game partners based on the ease he thinks he can bed them and not their knowledge of Stratego. That changes when he’s joined by the very smart and savvy Sarah (Sharon

Horgan). Rounding out the group are the fun-loving Kevin (Lamorne Morris) and Michelle (Kylie Bunbury). The biggest challenge for Annie and Max is to keep the game night secret from their creepy cop neighbor, Gary (Jesse Plemons). He comes across as the kind of guy who would turn a simple game like Chutes and Ladders into Shoots and Ladders. Creating the biggest disruption is Max’s more successful, better-looking, richer, smarter and more popular brother, Brooks (Kyle Chandler). The pair have been competitive since they were young, with Brooks way ahead in the scoring. On a rare visit to town, Brooks takes advantage of the control he has over his brother to get game night shifted to his house, where he changes all the rules. Brooks has put in play a kidnapping mystery where the first one to find him will win a fabulous prize. There’s just one catch. Before the fake kidnapping can get started, Brooks is grabbed by real thugs, and the only way to save him is for the players to break multiple laws and risk their lives. And they have to do it all by midnight. — Rick Bentley, Minneapolis Star-Tribune

THE GREATEST SHOWMAN

1/2 PG, 105 minutes. Mystic Luxury Cinemas, Lisbon. First things first: Though it features a character named “P.T. Barnum,” “The Greatest Showman” is in no way a factual account of the life of the celebrated 19th-century circus founder and huckster. In fact, you’ll have to completely set aside any unsavory stories you may have heard about the real-life Barnum, because this one is played by the ever-charming Hugh Jackman. Resistance is futile. Directed by first-timer Michael Gracey, the musical never aspires to be anything more than a heaping helping of PG-rated holiday cheese, something that the whole family can partake of. For the most part, it meets that low bar, though you’ll have to suspend disbelief at every turn. — Stephanie Merry, The Washington Post

I, TONYA

R, 119 minutes. Madison Art Cinemas. Molly Craig Gillespie’s bitter, funny, wildly entertaining biography of disgraced Olympic skater Tonya Harding, “I, Tonya,” might be titled “Sympathy for the Devil.” In 1994, Harding became the public’s prime suspect in a physical attack that left a rival skater, Nancy Kerrigan, unable to compete in the national championship. Harding’s eventual punishment, a lifetime ban from Olympic skating, seemed like just deserts. That’s not quite the version of events we get in “I, Tonya,” which alerts us straight off that we are about to go through the proverbial looking glass. A title card warns us, with a wink, that the film is based on “irony-free, wildly contradictory, totally true interviews” with Harding and her ex-husband, Jeff Gillooly, who served time for his role in the attack. These are self-serving accounts, of course, but not without their moments of truth. And as they converge and diverge, we get a more sympathetic picture of Harding than many of us would have thought possible. In fact, “I, Tonya” casts Harding, played by a terrific Margot Robbie, as something approaching a working-class heroine, a kid from a hardscrabble family whose talent and determination elevated her to the most rarefied strata of professional athletics. The problem was, Harding didn’t have the “class” to compete there. In her too-blue eye shadow and pulled-back hair, Harding never seemed to belong on the same ice as American sweethearts like Kerrigan. As one judge tells her in a moment of confidence, “It’s not all about the skating, Tonya.” “I, Tonya” manages to get us almost completely on Harding’s side. For starters, there’s her bitter and joyless mother, LaVona (played by an unbelievably good Allison Janney), a tough-love type who forgot the love part. Harding’s husband, Gillooly (Sebastian Stan), was an abusive wimp who walloped her around the house and then melted into tears. And everyone will regret ever meeting Gillooly’s inept, delusional friend Shawn Eckhardt (an excellent Paul Walter Hauser). — Rafer Guzmán, Newsday

THE 15:17 TO PARIS

PG-13, 94 minutes. Stonington, Westbrook, Lisbon. In the summer of 2015, three young American men from Sacramento, Calif., boarded a train in Amsterdam, en route to Paris, while enjoying a time-honored rite of passage: a European backpacking trip. In Brussels, another young man boarded the train, with a backpack full of guns and 300 rounds of ammunition. After tussling with American teacher Mark Moogalian and shooting him in the neck, he found himself in a car with a trio of young Americans filled up with youthful bravado, military training and a desire to not die lying down. What other heady combination could inspire a person to tackle a shirtless man cocking an AK-47 in a confined space? When these events happen, especially when the heroes are as appealingly young and attractive as these are, there is the typical fanfare — the awards and decorations, the ticker tape parades,

the talk show appearances and even “Dancing With The Stars,” for Alek Skarlatos (he came in third). Perhaps a book, and maybe even a movie made about you, such as “The 15:17 to Paris,” directed by Clint Eastwood, adapted for the screen by Dorothy Blyskal. Eastwood decided to take a leap and go further in his biographical depiction, casting the major players as themselves in this blend of documentary and narrative filmmaking. It’s a risk that doesn’t quite pay off. While the three friends do have their charms on “Ellen” or a late night talk show, their performances in the feature film are essentially an argument for hiring professional actors. However, the amateur performances aren’t the biggest problem with “The 15:17 to Paris.” After a while, the awkward line readings fade away, and their natural charisma shines. But for an incident that took about a minute or two, expanding the story to feature length is a stretch, and Blyskal’s script doesn’t know where to focus, and features eye-roll inducing, plainly on-the-nose dialogue. — Katie Walsh, Tribune Content Agency

JUMANJI: WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE

PG-13, 118 minutes. Waterford, Stonington, Westbrook, Lisbon. Twenty-two years later — and many leaps forward in video game and movie technology — comes a sequel to “Jumanji.” “Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle,” a souped-up follow-up to the 1995 film starring Robin Williams, also shares as its source the surreal 1981 picture book by writer and illustrator Chris Van Allsburg, about siblings who open a board game that brings jungle animals careering through their house. The new film, directed by Jake Kasdan, is a genuine hoot and doesn’t take itself too seriously. It is smarter and more humorous than the first movie, and its digital effects — which include stampeding albino rhinos and mountain-scraping aerobatics — are far snazzier, as one would expect. It also delivers a message, geared to teens, about overcoming their insecurities to participate fully in life, without pounding the lesson into the ground. The film’s stars — Dwayne Johnson, Jack Black, Kevin Hart and Karen Gillan — are darn near impossible to dislike, in roles that require them to play teenagers trapped in adult bodies. Some explanation is necessary. In a prologue set in 1996, an abandoned copy of the Jumanji game from the first film is found on a beach. A teen rejects the old carved box, preferring his video game. But he hears the sound of drums coming from the box, opens it, and cut to a present-day high school where four kids have landed in detention: neurotic nerd Spencer (Alex Wolff); hunky football jock Fridge (Ser’Darius Blain); shy brainiac Martha (Morgan Turner); and Instagram selfie queen Bethany (Madison Iseman). Left to tidy up a storage room as part of their punishment, the four discover the Jumanji box, inside which is an antique video game. The original board game, it seems, has evolved. The teens select avatars and accidentally, in a molecule-scrambling instant, beam themselves into the game’s jungle — not as themselves, but as their digital alter egos. — Jane Horwitz, The Washington Post

LADY BIRD

R, 115 minutes. Mystic Luxury Cinemas, Waterford. American movies today are generally aimed at four different audiences: kids, adults, females and males. The coming-of-age screwball comedy “Lady Bird” crosses all those mutually exclusive boundaries to take us down novel, delightful paths. While it’s focused on a high school senior looking forward with a touch of angst and confusion, this effervescently witty story about the life and times of Christine “Lady Bird” McPherson goes against most teen-movie conventions. It rejects Hollywood’s custom of painting each character in a single color. A rare delight of honesty and humor, like “Rushmore” and “Juno,” it covers the highs and lows and magic of teenage life and resonates in all directions. The film is a dazzling collaboration between two of the most impressive arthouse actresses of the past decade. Saoirse Ronan plays the awkward but brilliant title character, a small-town girl aiming for something better. Greta Gerwig moves behind the camera in her debut as solo writer/director, smoothly and effectively guiding the progress of fun, nostalgia, heartaches and optimism from start to finish. Neither has ever been better. I can’t recall many who have. Lady Bird invented her own nickname (she considers it her given name because “I gave it to myself”). It suits her because she wants to fly away from California’s state capital, a stable, respectable community where she feels incurable claustrophobia. A lovable brat, she shares the viewpoint of the Joan Didion quote that fills the opening screen: “Anyone who talks about California hedonism has never spent a Christmas in Sacramento.” Lady Bird’s own snark comes in moaning critiques like “The only thing exciting about 2002 is that it’s a palindrome,” the sort of pessimistic punchline that Ronan delivers with dead-on accuracy. — Colin Covert, Minneapolis Star-Tribune

MOLLY’S GAME

R, 140 minutes. Madison Arts Cinemas. Molly Bloom’s 2014 memoir “Molly’s Game” was more of a tell-some than a tell-all. In the book, the former freestyle skiing Olympic hopeful discussed the accident that derailed her athletic career. Mainly, she wrote about her improbable career running a pricey, underground poker game in Los Angeles and, later, in New York City, where she ran afoul of mobsters, drugs and the feds, who arrested Bloom as part of a mafia investigation.

Her book named names, up to a point. Leonardo DiCaprio, Ben Affleck and Tobey Maguire were among her A-list regulars, blowing through cash like Kleenex. But her memoir left a lot out, and that’s where writer-director Aaron Sorkin’s movie “Molly’s Game,” taking place before and after the publication of her book, comes in. It’s a good, brash biopic. For the first hour it’s very nearly terrific. Jessica Chastain plays Molly, driven hard by her taskmaster father (Kevin Costner), growing up in a fiercely competitive family. Years later in LA, Molly gets a job working for an industry bottom-feeder (Jeremy Strong) who hosts a weekly poker game. Molly’s duties include recruiting high-rollers who might want to pal around with movie stars over huge, steaming piles of chips. — Michael Phillips, Chicago

PETER RABBIT

Tribune

1/2 PG, 93 minutes. Through today only at Lisbon. Still playing at Niantic, Lisbon, Stonington, Westbrook. Hollywood studios have recently been pillaging the literary canon of beloved children’s literature, digging up fodder for animated feature films. The best of these, like the “Paddington” movies, successfully meld nostalgia with modern and exciting filmmaking, while the more questionable ones, like the recent “Ferdinand” adaptation, manage to muddle the source material with too many pop songs and dirty jokes. The new “Peter Rabbit” adaptation manages to land right in the middle — the animation technology is top-notch, but the gentle spirit of Beatrix Potter’s books is subsumed into a chaotic, violent mayhem, manically soundtracked to the day’s hits. Will Gluck directs and co-wrote with Rob Lieber this adaptation of “The Tale of Peter Rabbit,” the story of naughty rabbit Peter (James Corden), who can’t help but snack from Mr. McGregor’s garden. This version ups the ante significantly in the Garden Wars, especially when Mr. McGregor (Sam Neill) dies, and his fastidious nephew Thomas (Domhnall Gleeson) comes to Windermere. Thomas, hoping to sell off his uncle’s property to fund his own toy shop, finds the “vermin” have moved in. And in fact, the anthropomorphized, clothes-wearing wildlife of this country village have hosted quite the produce-fueled rager in the McGregor home. The photorealistic animation by Animal Logic is truly breathtaking, especially in the first few moments of the film. But those whiz-bang tracking shots are all put in service of a shockingly savage and brutal war between Peter and his crew (Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-Tail, Benjamin Bunny) and the fussy Thomas. — Katie Walsh, Tribune Content Agency

THE POST

PG-13, 115 minutes. Waterford, Westbrook. “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, Los Angeles Times

THE SHAPE OF WATER

1/2 R, 123 minutes. Mystic Luxury Cinemas, Waterford. “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 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. — Michael Phillips, Chicago Tribune

THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI

R, 115 minutes. Niantic, Madison Art Cinemas, Mystic Luxury Cinemas, Waterford, Westbrook. “Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri” is the 21st century answer to “Fargo.” “Billboards” director/writer Martin McDonagh uses the same kind of cinematic formula as the Coen brothers did in their Oscar-winning film of combining a compelling story with boldly stereotypical characters and seasoning it all with dramatic heat and dark comedy to make his movie. The only slight difference is Frances McDormand won an Oscar for her work in “Fargo,” and at this point her performance in “Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri” is only Oscar-worthy. McDonagh’s film focuses on the efforts by a grieving mother, Mildred Hayes (McDormand), to get the local police to work harder on solving the gruesome death of her daughter. After months of no movement, Mildred decides to rent three rundown billboards that she can see from her front yard. The message she has plastered on the signs is a question to the local chief of police, William Willoughby (Woody Harrelson), of why there has been no progress made in the case. Instead of immediately being sparked to return to the investigation, the public chastising of the police upsets Willoughby. His second-in-command, Officer Dixon (Sam Rockwell), is sent into a rage by the billboards and repeatedly gives into his darker side as a way of getting the signs removed. None of this shakes Hayes because she’s been through one of the greatest ordeals a person can face with the murder of her daughter. Just as “Fargo” embraced the region when it came to culture and history, McDonagh does the same thing with his players. But even when he makes a character like Dixon start out looking to be little more than a stereotypical Southern police officer, there are twists revealed that show there is a lot more depth to the character. — Rick Bentley, Tribune Content Agency