The New Movies You Can Watch at Australian Cinemas From February 10

Head to the flicks to see Japan's phenomenal first-ever Best Picture Oscar nominee, a wild erotic religious biopic, the return of Hercule Poirot and an Aussie zombie sequel.
Sarah Ward
Published on February 10, 2022

Something delightful has been happening in cinemas in some parts of the country. After numerous periods spent empty during the pandemic, with projectors silent, theatres bare and the smell of popcorn fading, picture palaces in many Australian regions are back in business — including both big chains and smaller independent sites in Sydney, Melbourne and Brisbane.

During COVID-19 lockdowns, no one was short on things to watch, of course. In fact, you probably feel like you've streamed every movie ever made, including new releasesStudio Ghibli's animated fare and Nicolas Cage-starring flicks. But, even if you've spent all your time of late glued to your small screen, we're betting you just can't wait to sit in a darkened room and soak up the splendour of the bigger version. Thankfully, plenty of new films are hitting cinemas so that you can do just that — and we've rounded up, watched and reviewed everything on offer this week.



More than four decades have passed since Haruki Murakami's debut novel reached shelves, and since the first film adaptation of his work followed, too; however, the two best page-to-screen versions of the author's prose have arrived in the past four years. It's easy to think about South Korean drama Burning while watching Drive My Car, because the two features — one Oscar-shortlisted, the other now the first Japanese movie to be nominated for Best Picture — spin the writer's words into astonishing, intricately observed portraits of human relationships. Both films are also exceptional. In the pair, Murakami's text is only a starting point, with his tales hitting the screen filtered through each picture's respective director. For Drive My Car, Japanese filmmaker Ryûsuke Hamaguchi does the honours, taking audiences riding through another of the Happy Hour, Asako I & II and with Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy helmer's layered, thoughtful and probing reflections on connection.

Using Murakami's short story from 2014 collection Men Without Women as its basis, Drive My Car's setup is simple. Yes, the film's title is descriptive. Two years after a personal tragedy, actor/director Yūsuke Kafuku (Hidetoshi Nishijima, Silent Tokyo) agrees to bring Chekhov's Uncle Vanya to the stage in Hiroshima, and the company behind it insists on giving him a chauffeur for his stay. He declines— he'd asked to stay an hour away from the theatre so he could listen to recorded tapes of the play on his drive — yet his new employers contend that it's mandatory for insurance and liability reasons. Enter 23-year-old Misaki Watari (Tôko Miura, Spaghetti Code Love), who becomes a regular part of Yūsuke's working stint in the city.

Drive My Car doesn't hurry to its narrative destination, clocking in at a minute shy of three hours. It doesn't rush to get to its basic premise, either. Before the film's opening credits arrive 40 minutes in, it steps through Yūsuke's existence back when he was appearing in a version of Uncle Vanya himself, married to television scriptwriter Oto (Reika Kirishima, Japanese TV's Sherlock) and grappling with an earlier heartbreak. His wife is also sleeping with younger actor Takatsuki (Masaki Okada, Arc), which Yūsuke discovers, says nothing about but works towards discussing until fate intervenes. Then, when he sits in his red 1987 Saab 900 Turbo just as the movie's titles finally display, he's a man still wracked by grief. It's also swiftly clear that he's using his two-month Hiroshima residency as a distraction, even while knowing that this exact play — and Oto's voice on the tapes he keeps listening to — will always be deeply tied to his life-shattering loss.

This prologue does more than set the scene; there's a reason that Hamaguchi, who co-wrote the screenplay with Takamasa Oe (The Naked Director), directs so much time its way. Where tales of tragedy and mourning often plunge into happy lives suddenly unsettled by something catastrophic or the process of picking up the pieces in the aftermath — typically making a concerted choice between one or the other — Drive My Car sees the two as the forever-linked halves of a complicated journey, as they are. The film isn't interested in the events that've forever altered the plot of Yūsuke's life, but in who he is, how he copes, and what ripples that inescapable hurt causes. It's just as fascinated with another fact: that so many of us have these stories. Just as losing someone and soldiering on afterwards are unshakeably connected, so are we all by sharing these cruel constants of life.

Read our full review.



What do two nuns in the throes of sexual ecstasy gasp? "My god" and "sweet Jesus", of course. No other filmmaker could've made those divine orgasmic exclamations work quite like Paul Verhoeven does in Benedetta, with the Dutch filmmaker adding another lusty, steamy, go-for-broke picture to his resume three decades after Basic Instinct and more than a quarter-century since Showgirls. His latest erotic romp has something that his 90s dives into plentiful on-screen sex didn't, however: a true tale, courtesy of the life of the movie's 17th-century namesake, whose story the writer/director and his co-scribe David Birke (Slender Man) adapt from Judith Brown's 1986 non-fiction book Immodest Acts: The Life of a Lesbian Nun in Renaissance Italy. For anyone that's ever wondered how a religious biopic and nunsploitation might combine, this is the answer you've been praying for.

Frequently a playful filmmaker — the theories that Showgirls is in on its own joke keep bubbling for a reason — Verhoeven starts his first film since 2016's Elle with that feature's more serious tone. The screen is back, the words "inspired by real events" appear and the score is gloomy. When Benedetta's titular figure appears as a girl (played by Elena Plonka, Don't Worry About the Kids), she's the picture of youth and innocence, and she's also so devoted to her faith that she's overjoyed about joining a convent in the Tuscan village of Pescia. But then villains interrupt her trip, and this pious child demonstrates her favour with the almighty by seemingly getting a bird to shit in a man's eye. It isn't quite as marvellous as turning water into wine, but it's its own kind of miracle. As an adult (Virginie Efira, Bye Bye Morons), she'll talk to strapping hallucinations of Jesus (Jonathan Couzinié, Heroes Don't Die), too, and use her beloved childhood statuette of the Virgin Mary as a dildo.

There is no line between the sacred and the profane in Benedetta: things can be both here, and frequently are. Case in point: on her first night at the convent, after a bartering session between her father (David Clavel, French Dolls) and the abbess (Charlotte Rampling, Dune) over the girl's dowry for becoming a bride of christ, a statue of the Virgin Mary collapses upon Benedetta, and she shows her sanctity by licking the sculpture's exposed breast. So, 18 years later, when she's both seeing Jesus and attracted to abused newcomer Sister Bartolomea (Daphné Patakia, Versailles), they're the most natural things that could happen. To Benedetta, they're gifts from god, too. She does try to deny her chemistry with the convent's fresh novice at first, but the lord wants what he wants for her. Unsurprisingly, not everyone in the convent — the abbess' daughter Sister Christina (Louise Chevillotte, Synonyms) chief among them — agrees, approves or in believes in her visions.

Verhoeven puts his own faith in crafting a witty, sexy, no-holds-barred satire. That said, he doesn't ever play Benedetta as a one-note, over-the-top joke that's outrageous for the sake of it. His protagonist believes, he just-as-devoutly believes in her — whether she's a prophet, a heretic or both, he doesn't especially care — and he also trusts her faith in her primal desires. His allegiance is always with Benedetta, but that doesn't mean that he can't find ample humour in the film or firm targets to skewer. The hypocrisy of religion — "a convent is not a place of charity, child; you must pay to come here," the abbess advises — gets his full comic attention. Having the always-great Rampling on-hand to personify the Catholic Church at its most judgemental and least benevolent (at its money-hungry worst, too) helps considerably. Indeed, what the veteran English actor can do with a withering glare and snarky delivery is a movie miracle.

Read our full review.



Some folks just know how to rock a moustache. When Kenneth Branagh (Tenet) stepped into super-sleuth Hercule Poirot's shoes in 2017's Murder on the Orient Express, he clearly considered himself to be one of them. The actor and filmmaker didn't simply play Agatha Christie's famously moustachioed Belgian detective, but also directed the movie — and he didn't miss a chance to showcase his own performance, as well as that hair adorning his top lip. You don't need to be a world-renowned investigator to deduce that Branagh was always going to repeat the same tricks with sequel Death on the Nile, or to pick that stressing the character's distinctive look and accompanying bundle of personality quirks would again take centre stage. But giving Poirot's 'stache its own black-and-white origin story to start the new movie truly is the height of indulgence.

Branagh has previously covered a superhero's beginnings in the initial Thor flick, and also stepped into his own childhood in Belfast, so explaining why Poirot sports his elaborately styled mo — how it came to be, and what it means to him emotionally, too — is just another example of the director doing something he obviously loves. That early hirsute focus sets the tone for Death on the Nile, though, and not as Branagh and returning screenwriter Michael Green (Jungle Cruise) must've intended. Viewers are supposed to get a glimpse at what lies beneath Poirot's smarts and deductive savvy by literally peering beneath his brush-like under-nostril bristles, but all that emerges is routine and formulaic filler. That's the film from its hairy opening to its entire trip through Egypt. At least the moustache looks more convincing than the sets and CGI that are passed off as the pyramids, Abu Simbel and cruising the titular waterway.

It's 1937, three years after the events of Murder on the Orient Express, and Poirot is holidaying in Egypt. While drinking tea with a vantage out over the country's unconvincingly computer-generated towering wonders, he chances across his old pal Bouc (Tom Bateman, Behind Her Eyes) and his mother Euphemia (Annette Bening, Hope Gap), who invite him to join their own trip — which doubles as a honeymoon for just-married heiress Linnet Ridgeway (Gal Gadot, Red Notice) and her new husband Simon Doyle (Armie Hammer, Crisis). Poirot obliges, but he's also surprised by the happy couple. Six weeks earlier, he saw them get introduced by Linnet's now-former friend and Simon's now ex-fiancée Jacqueline de Bellefort (Emma Mackey, Sex Education). That awkward history isn't easily forgotten by the central duo, either, given that Jackie has followed them with a view to winning Simon back.

Boating down the Nile is initially an escape plan, whisking the newlyweds away from their obsessive stalker. But even as the group — which includes jazz singer Salome Otterbourne (Sophie Okonedo, Wild Rose), her niece and Linnet's school friend Rosalie (Letitia Wright, Black Panther), the bride's own ex-fiancé Linus Windlesham (Russell Brand, Four Kids and It), her lawyer Andrew Katchadourian (Ali Fazal, Victoria and Abdul), her assistant Louise Bourget (Rose Leslie, Game of Thrones), her godmother Marie Van Schuyler (Jennifer Saunders, Absolutely Fabulous: The Movie) and the latter's nurse Mrs Bowers (Dawn French, The Vicar of Dibley) — adjust to the change of schedule, two things were always going to happen. The pouty Jacqueline can't be thwarted that easily, of course. Also, the fact that there'll soon be a murder for Poirot to solve is right there in the movie's moniker.

Read our full review.



Romantic comedies are all about timing. Whoever pairs up in whichever film, they share moments: meeting-cute at just the right time, going on life-changing dates, coming to big realisations in tandem and such. Marry Me lives for those kinds of incidents, but the film's timing itself is also unfortunate. Based on Bobby Crosby's webcomic and subsequent graphic novel of the same name — with the former dating back to 2006 — it arrives on the big screen at a time when Starstruck has already delightfully riffed on Notting Hill's tale about an everyday person falling for someone super famous, and when reality TV's Married at First Sight has been making people who've just met get hitched since 2013 (and in versions made in multiple countries), too. If Marry Me managed to transcend its Starstruck/Notting Hill-meets-MAFS premise, it could reach cinemas whenever and it wouldn't matter; however, even Jennifer Lopez and Owen Wilson's charms can't make that happen.

Releasing a rom-com starring Lopez and Wilson in 2022 does toy with time a little, though. Its source material doesn't date back 25 years, to when its stars were both in Anaconda, but its broad strokes could've still fuelled a late-90s addition to the romantic-comedy genre. That's how creaky it feels; of course, that timing would've meant spinning a story without livestreamed concerts — and livestreamed lives, outside of films such as The Truman Show and EdTV — but it also would've rid the movie of one of its biggest crutches. Marry Me finds it too easy to blame too many character choices on the always-online, always-performing, always-oversharing mentality that's now the status quo. It too lazily uses the divide between constantly broadcasting one's every move via social media and happily living life offline to fuel its opposites-attract setup as well. It's no wonder that the movie always feels shallow, even for an obvious fairytale, and even as the script attempts to layer in knowing nods to how women like its central popstar are treated by the world whether or not they record and share every moment they're awake.

That singing celebrity is Kat Valdez, aka Lopez playing a part that could've easily been originally penned with her in mind. Kat is a global superstar who, to her dismay, is known as much for her hits as for her personal life. That said, she also willingly combines the two in the track 'Marry Me', a duet with her fiancé Bastian (Colombian singer Maluma) that the pair plan to get married to during a show livestreamed to 20 million people. But moments before Kat ascends to the on-stage altar, news that Bastian has been unfaithful spreads across the internet. Sick of being unlucky in love — and just as fed up with being publicly ridiculed for her romantic misfortunes — she picks out Owen's middle-school maths teacher Charlie Gilbert from the crowd and weds him instead. He's just holding a banner with the movie's title on it for his pal and fellow educator Parker Debbs (Sarah Silverman, Don't Look Up), and he's accompanied by his daughter Lou (Claudia Coleman, Gunpowder Milkshake), but he still says yes.

Director Kat Coiro (A Case of You) knows the kind of glossy, crowd-pleasing, comfort-viewing fare she's making and has a feel for that exact niche, but no one is served well by John Rogers (The Librarians), Tami Sagher (Inside Amy Schumer) and Harper Dill's (The Mick) paper-thin script. Worlds away from their last respective big-screen roles in Hustlers and The French Dispatch, Lopez and Wilson do what they can with the fluffy, frothy material, but make viewers wish they had something better to work with. Charismatic casting can keep formulaic rom-coms afloat, and this pairing frequently does, but it can't hide Marry Me's surface-level skimming of anything that could've given it depth. What's expected of women, especially in the public eye; the struggle to keep believing in love when past relationships have silenced your hope; the chasm between the dream of fame and the reality: fleshed out, they all could've helped make Marry Me sing something more than the same old romantic-comedy tune.



To watch Laetitia Dosch in Simple Passion is to watch a woman flipped and flung about by the forces of love and lust, sometimes literally, while proving steadfastly willing to flail and even flounder in the pursuit of her desires. After appearing in films such as 4 Days in France, Gaspard at the Wedding and Of Love and Lies, the French Swiss actor plays Hélène Auguste, a Parisian university lecturer caught in the throes of her most profound sexual relationship yet. Alas, Russian diplomat Aleksandr Svitsin (ballet star Sergei Polunin, The White Crow), the man she can't get enough, has a wife and another life in a different country. He also alternates between showing up unannounced for marathon lovemaking sessions, ghosting her texts and standing Hélène up on hotel rendezvous, a dynamic that leaves her as tussled and tumbled as their rumbles between the sheets. Passion is the perfect word for what she feels, as the movie's moniker proclaims — but the other term in its title couldn't be more loaded.

Hélène's attraction to and obsession with Aleksandr is simple in its most primal form. Whenever the couple are in bed — or on whatever other surface fits the task in her sunny home, as writer/director Danielle Arbid (Parisienne) eagerly depicts — everything just clicks. But when more than flesh against flesh is involved, it isn't merely complicated; the infatuated Hélène may as well be an errant rose petal caught in a gusty breeze on a glorious day. The passion that she holds so dear, that makes her feel like something other than a single mother with a straightforward life, and that seems so perfect when coloured by post-coital bliss, is also a whirlwind that can thrust her in any direction at any time without notice. She wants to bask in the glow that her affair with Aleksandr ignites, not just internally and emotionally but in the way it makes everything about her existence seem brighter, and yet that happiness is always at his mercy.

Arbid adapts Annie Ernaux's novel of the same name with a key, calm and clear-eyed aim: steeping her film deep within Hélène's mindset so that every frame reflects her longing and desire, and her passion at its most simple and complex alike. As its lengthy sex scenes linger on Polunin's body, the feature firmly sports a female gaze — the yearning that Hélène feels for Aleksandr filters through every image, whether the couple is getting physical, she's peering at the stoic face that so infrequently betrays what he's thinking, or she's taking her time cataloguing his tattooed torso. Simple Passion is explicit, and often, including with Hélène's ecstatic moans as its soundtrack. It's sensual, soulful and emotional, though, traits that equally apply in the dead space between the dates that its protagonist anticipates breathlessly. Indeed, Arbid and cinematographer Pascale Granel (The Wild Boys) capture the way that she stares around her house as she keenly awaits any sign from Aleksandr with the same intimacy and delicacy. That's a pivotal touch; stylistically, Hélène is never defined by Aleksandr, but by her own feelings.

Dosch is remarkable as Hélène, turning in a rich and subtle performance that's both physically expressive and deeply internalised, and usually at the same time. Her body speaks its own language when she's with Aleksandr, while her face coveys everything that bubbles inside — sometimes hope and joy, sometimes despair and listlessness — whether she's revelling in his presence or rueing his absence. In fact, she so sensational that she helps the film patch over easy choices that, in hands less meticulous and careful than Arbid's, would threaten to put Simple Passion in the 50 Shades of Grey and After franchises' company. Of course Hélène is a literature professor, because female-focused features about thorny affairs that spring from the page to the screen love the field. Of course the movie's pop-music cues are heavy-handed. Of course Polunin operates in one register, even if his off-screen infamy lends more texture to his character. Nonetheless, when Simple Passion rises to its seductive and astute peaks, it showers the screen in sparks.



Add The Castle to the list of influences flavouring Australian zombie franchise Wyrmwood: here, as in the beloved homegrown comedy, it's the vibe of the thing. Starting with 2014's low-budget labour of love Wyrmwood: Road of the Dead and now continuing with Wyrmwood: Apocalypse, this bushland-set saga has atmosphere to spare. Free-flowing gore, a crash-and-bash urgency and a can-do attitude splatter across the screen in abundance, too. They're key factors in all movies about a dystopian future ravaged by the undead, but filmmaking siblings Kiah and Tristan Roache-Turner ask that mood and tone to do much of their series' heavy lifting. The Wyrmwood films blast away with affection for all of the zombie flicks that've preceded them, and all of the outback thrillers, Ozploitation fare and mad scientist-fuelled tales as well — and they couldn't be more blatant about it — but, even with that teeming passion and prominent energy, they still prove less than the sum of their evident sources of inspiration.

As its predecessor did, Wyrmwood: Apocalypse nonetheless makes a smart move or two within its sea of well-worn concepts and overt nods. The strongest and savviest here: casting Shantae Barnes-Cowan and Tasia Zalar, and pointing the camera at them at every chance possible. The former takes on the shuffling, brain-munching masses fresh from battling vampires in the outback in Aussie TV series Firebite, and turns in another fierce and formidable performance. The latter arrives with The Straits, Mystery Road and Streamline on her resume and, while playing a character who needs rescuing — a half-human, half-zombie at that — she could never be described as a damsel in distress. Indeed, Barnes-Cowan and Zalar help set this sequel's ferocious tone as much as the gritty, go-for-broke aesthetics that the Roache-Turner brothers and their returning cinematographer Tim Nagle gleefully and eagerly covet. 

Writer/director/editor Kiah and writer/producer Tristan still stick with the most obvious protagonist, however: Rhys (Luke McKenzie, Wentworth), a special forces soldier who also happens to be the twin of a crucial figure from the prior film. He weathers dystopian life by holing up in a fenced-in compound where he uses a pen full of zombies to his advantage — aided by various contraptions, plenty of chains and shackles, plus blood-dripping carcasses as incentives — and by driving a Mad Max-style vehicle to round up undead test subjects for The Surgeon (Nicholas Boshier, The Moth Effect). In fact, after crossing paths with Zalar's Grace, he delivers her for military-approved experiments, but Barnes-Cowan's Maxi soon demands that he help set her free. Rhys has been operating under the assumption that The Surgeon and his armed pals had humanity's best interests in mind, despite all glaring appearances otherwise, a misguided belief that Maxi quickly vanquishes.

Wyrmwood: Apocalypse also weaves in ex-mechanic Barry (Jay Gallagher, Nekrotronic) and his sister Brooke (Bianca Bradey, The Pet Killer), survivors of the first film, and toys with zombies controlled by virtual reality, too. Just like its heaving pile of influences, Wyrmwood: Apocalypse doesn't lack in moving parts — although that isn't the same as telling an engaging story, which the sequel doesn't ever muster up. Wyrmwood: Road of the Dead already echoed too loudly with been-there, done-that touches; this follow-up positively screams, especially for fans of both horror and science fiction who've seen all the same movies that the Roache-Turners clearly have. Unsurprisingly, while Bosher steals scenes by pure force in his attempt to one-up even the craziest of past on-screen mad scientists, everything around Barnes-Cowan and Zalar — McKenzie's supremely standard leading role included — frequently feels like filler in an familiar wasteland.



In most movies, Liam Neeson's Blacklight character wouldn't be the protagonist. Secret FBI fixer Travis Block likely wouldn't even be given a name. Instead, he'd merely be a brief presence who popped up to help other on-screen figures — the federal agents he gets out of tricky situations, for instance — as they went about their business and connected the script's necessary plot points. Turning someone who'd usually be seen as disposable into its lead is this action-thriller's one good idea, but the flattened henchman scene in Austin Powers gave the notion more thought than the entirety of Blacklight demonstrates. There's a difference between thrusting a character to the fore and fleshing them out, especially when a film is happy to define them solely by the actor in their shoes. Here, Travis Block is another prosaic entry on Neeson's action resume first and foremost.

When Blacklight begins, Block has spent his career doing whatever FBI Director Gabriel Robinson (Aidan Quinn, Elementary) has asked. Typically, that's assisting on-the-books operatives struggling with off-the-books missions — and Block is great at his job. But when he's tasked with aiding the suddenly erratic Dusty Crane (Taylor John Smith, Shadow in the Cloud), he begins to see more in the rogue agent's story than his old Vietnam War pal Robinson wants to share. Crane has quite the wild tale to tell, tied to the assassination of Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez-style politician Sofia Flores (Mel Jarnson, Mortal Kombat) and filled with dark government secrets, and he's eager to share it with scoop-chasing reporter Mira Jones (Emmy Raver-Lampman, The Umbrella Academy). That's exactly what Block is supposed to stop, with his new crisis of conscience putting his daughter Amanda (Claire van der Bloom, Palm Beach) and granddaughter Natalie (debutant Gabriella Sengos) in peril.

Spotting similarities between Blacklight and Neeson's other recent work isn't just a sign of spending too much time watching the Irish actor's features of late. His latest release shares a filmmaker with Honest Thief, which reached cinemas less than 18 months ago — and writer/director Mark Williams doesn't stretch himself or his star in their second collaboration. Another flick that's solely about getting Neeson to deploy the no-longer-special set of action skills he's been trotting out since the Taken films became such hits, Blacklight is dispiritingly bland and by the numbers, even within the growing pile of movies that fit the same description (see also: The Marksman and The Ice Road in the past year). It isn't just that first-time co-scribe Nick May's formulaic script ticks every expected box, and that Williams' every directorial choice sticks to the easy and obvious as well. Flatter than the weary gaze emanating from Neeson at every turn, the film persistently suffers from a lack of life and energy.

Melbourne dubiously stands in for Washington DC, and the conspiracy-fuelled action that takes over its streets and buildings is even less convincing; whether tracking foot chases or crashing along roadways, the movie's set pieces are perfunctory at best. And while the subplot involving Travis' yearning to spend more time with Amanda and Natalie is meant to add depth amid the routine blows, it's as flimsy and implausible as everything else in the narrative (especially when Amanda can't fathom why her dad, whose personality is solely defined by his work, family and having OCD, has a paranoia problem). The twists surrounding Robinson prove just as laboured, and Neeson and Quinn's long-standing on-screen rapport — dating back to 1986's The Mission — can't bolster the dialogue or the dynamic between their. Indeed, when Neeson utters resigned lines about making poor career choices, it rings with truth for all of the wrong reasons.


If you're wondering what else is currently screening in Australian cinemas — or has been lately — check out our rundown of new films released in Australia on October 7, October 14, October 21 and October 28; November 4, November 11, November 18 and November 25; December 2, December 9December 16 and December 26; January 1, January 6, January 13, January 20 and January 27; and February 3.

You can also read our full reviews of a heap of recent movies, such as The Alpinist, A Fire Inside, Lamb, The Last Duel, Malignant, The Harder They Fall, Roadrunner: A Film About Anthony Bourdain, Halloween Kills, Passing, Eternals, The Many Saints of Newark, Julia, No Time to Die, The Power of the Dog, Tick, Tick... Boom!, Zola, Last Night in Soho, Blue Bayou, The Rescue, Titane, Venom: Let There Be Carnage, Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn, Dune, Encanto, The Card Counter, The Lost Leonardo, The French Dispatch, Don't Look Up, Dear Evan Hansen, Spider-Man: No Way Home, The Lost Daughter, The Scary of Sixty-First, West Side Story, Licorice Pizza, The Matrix Resurrections, The Tragedy of Macbeth, The Worst Person in the World, Ghostbusters: Afterlife, House of Gucci, The King's Man, Red Rocket, Scream, The 355, Gold, King Richard, Limbo, Spencer, Nightmare Alley, Belle, Parallel Mothers, The Eyes of Tammy Faye, Belfast, Here Out West and Jackass Forever.

Published on February 10, 2022 by Sarah Ward
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