*Dunkirk [IMAX 70mm film] (Christopher Nolan, 2017): 3.5/5
Solemn spectacle.  106 minutes of stiff upper lips overwhelmed by cinematic technique, on a screen the size of an apartment building.  I admired the experience of it, but I can't say I much enjoyed it.  And I found myself not thinking about it much afterward; perhaps that's the consequence of its lack of narrative cohesion?

Get Out (Jordan Peele, 2017): 4/5
Says more about being black in America than a dozen well-intentioned Oscar-bait films.  Love its understated horror/comedy.  Bunuel, Polanski... Peele?  

Okja (Bong Joon-ho, 2017): 2/5
So cartoonish you'd think it was for kids, but then they keep dropping the F-bombs...

Feud: Bette and Joan (Ryan Murphy, 2017): 5/5
Transcends camp into real feeling.  Mamacita = best Teutonic servant since Max von Mayerling.

Whatever Happened to Baby Jane, rw (Robert Aldrich, 1962): 3.5/5
Much improved by knowing its intimate production history.

The Last Tycoon, season 1 (Billy Ray, 2017): 2/5
Embalmed.  What's worse, portrays Monroe Stahr as more pretty boy than boy genius.

Ozark, season 1 (Bill Dubuque, 2017): 3/5
Breaking Bad lite, but entertaining.

Friends From College, season 1 (Nicholas Stoller & Francesca Delbanco, 2017): 3.5/5
Too often ridiculous and over the top, with a carefully selected soundtrack of 90s indie nostalgia... so why was I laughing so much?  A: good comedic actors in a classic screwball love triangle.

Demon, rw (Marcin Wrona, 2016): 4/5
Another European family party film in the grand guignol tradition of The Celebration and Melancholia.  A wedding is held in a Polish country village where Jews disappeared during the war.  The groom is an outsider.  What could go wrong?

American Anarchist (Charlie Siskel, 2016): 3/5
Profile of the surprisingly sympathetic yet confounding author of The Anarchist's Cookbook (a book that testifies to the efficacy of good research--the author never made a bomb in his life; he just looked it up at the library).

I Called Him Morgan (Kasper Collin, 2014): 4/5
I didn't much know or care about trumpeter Lee Morgan, but Collin's expressive use of 16mm film pulled me in.  The five minutes detailing Morgan's death (shot by his wife in a club during a NYC blizzard) are sublime.