The story kicks off with a mysterious clock being shipped to the Diehl residence. Without much pause, it’s thrown into the basement to rot away. Taylor (Easton Rocket Sweda), a mute boy who speaks through various AI voices on his iPad, fixes the clock and discovers he can turn back time just by changing the hour hand. At the same time, his parents (Greg Kinnear, “Phil” and Isla Fisher, “Blithe Spirit”) have warned the kids of an important meeting that will be happening later that night, everyone knows it’s a talk about a trial separation for the two of them. Taylor, alongside his two other siblings (Shay Rudolph, “I Wish You All the Best” and Mason Shea Joyce, “Hotel Artemis”), devises a plan to bring their family back together.

The familiar “Groundhog Day” trope is far from new, but it works best when it’s combined with new genres — movies like “Timecrimes,” or “Palm Springs” are great examples. The Present does a good job of combining comedy and romance into this looping day — we not only see the same day from many different angles, but also from many different perspectives in the family.

The problems with this film arise when the focus is placed on the adult relationships, specifically the core relationship with Greg Kinnear and Isla Fisher’s characters. Their emotions and motives are so volatile towards one another that it is amazing that the relationship has even lasted as long as it has. It feels like one slight misstep and the marriage is over, no matter the interjections. While there are some definite sweet moments between the couple, I can recall one where Kinnear’s character reluctantly gets a makeover and shows up to therapy looking as dashing as ever, it never breaks into the level of maturity we should expect from these role types. Despite commanding around the kids, the adults often act just as childlike as their younger counterparts, creating eye-rolls for much of the 86-minute runtime.

It’s a good thing then that a majority of the screen time is given to the kids in the family who abuse their time travel powers in many fun and exciting ways. Many scenes are shown multiple times from multiple angles giving the audiences that “Ah-ha!” moment time and time again as we watch the kids scheme up a master plan to bring their parents back together. There is an excellent montage sequence late in the film that I wish all time-shift movies had. The kids try everything under the sun to get the parents together whether it’s manipulating the stock market to one of them even faking their own death. Great stuff.

For a majority of The Present, the kids are tweaking and mastering this single grand plan until nothing could possibly go wrong, oddly though this plan is abandoned late in the third act and rather we get a generic and head-scratching ending to it all. Despite the lackluster conclusion, the movie features enough quaint jokes and silly time travel hi-jinks that it will definitely be fun for a whole family viewing.

In the opening of the film, The Power of the Dog, Peter Gordon (Kodi Smit-McPhee, “Dark Phoenix”), a Montana cattle rancher’s future nephew, whispers in a Malickian style voiceover, “What kind of man would I be if I didn’t help my mother?” The meaning of the statement, however, is not clear at the time. Directed by Jane Campion, the first female director to win the Palme D’Or in 1993 for “The Piano,” The Power of the Dog (the title borrowed from Psalm 22:20), is a provocative exploration of toxic masculinity and its effect on women and families, a theme that dominated the myth of the old West in American literature and films for half a century.

Based on Thomas Savage’s 1967 novel of the same name, the focus is on the relationship between two brothers, both wealthy ranchers, the overbearing Phil Burbank (Benedict Cumberbatch, “The Courier”) and his laid back brother George (Jesse Plemons, “Judas and the Black Messiah”), his civility a sharp contrast with his brother’s brazen and bullying demeanor. Brother George is the steady and subtle foil to Phil, but the dark and brooding score of Jonny Greenwood heightens the tension and suggests that all might not be well under the surface veneer of normality. There are no truly sympathetic characters in the film, however.

Though Cumberbatch is a recognized British cultural icon, named in 2014 as one most associated with UK culture, his performance as a turn of the century Montana rancher for me was less than convincing, a barrier that ultimately kept me at an emotional distance. The expressive cinematography of Ari Wegner camera beautifully captures the inscrutable loneliness of the Montana landscape (filmed in New Zealand), however, and the far off mountains and isolated miles of empty space hint of an emotional emptiness and failure to communicate.

Stopping at the Red Mill restaurant, the brothers meet Rose Gordon (Kirsten Dunst, “Hidden Figures”), a widow who runs the restaurant together with her lanky teenage son, Peter. Protective and kind, George and Rose begin a relationship that leads to marriage, a union that also brings Peter to live with them on the ranch. Setting his sights on becoming a doctor like his father, (deceased under suspicious circumstances), the ultra-sensitive boy is home from boarding school, his looks and body language a strange fit for a frontier outpost in the 1920s, yet validated by the outstanding performance of the Australian actor McPhee.

Subject to taunts from Phil who calls him “Miss Nancy” and whistles from Phil’s rowdy cowhands, Peter reacts stoically but we are not sure if he is a willing victim or a shrewd manipulator who is biding his time. Honored by a shrine posted on his stable wall, Phil has tender memories of the long dead Bronco Henry, the man he refers to as his mentor who taught him the ins and outs of being a man. Jealous or pretending to be, Phil makes life miserable for both Rose and her son, mocking her attempts to practice the piano by whistling the song she is trying to play and labeling her as a “cheap schemer.” Unable or unwilling to defend Rose, sadly George watches as she falls into binge drinking and her deterioration is difficult to watch.

Even more noxious then before, Phil protects himself by telling dinner guests after he refused to wash before dinner that “I stink and I like it” and, in case anyone is put off by that, tells them that he is a classical scholar who studied at Yale University, a revelation that comes as a shock to the diners, not to mention the viewer. The banjo-playing loner who does not seem to have any friends, close or otherwise, has a private sanctuary near a lake in the woods where he strips, immerses himself in mud, takes a swim, and then lies half naked in the sun. Things suddenly seem to shift in his relationship with Peter, however, after the boy discovers Phil’s private place and stumbles upon the erotic male magazine “Physical Culture.”

They are drawn even closer after the rancher learns that Peter spots the image of a dog barking in the mountains, a talent of which Phil thought he was the sole possessor. Telling him not to let his mom “make a sissy out of you,” Phil takes on the role of Bronco Henry, training Peter in the subtle art of what he thinks will turn him into a man, showing him how to ride a horse, teaching him how to tie a rope, and sharing stories about his mentor, Bronco Henry. Unwittingly, however, he tells him that “obstacles need to be removed,” words Peter takes to heart.

These are words that foreshadow a twist ending in The Power of the Dog that is deeply unsettling.

Starring the always talented James McAvoy (“It: Chapter Two”) and Sharon Horgan (“Game Night”), the duo play an unnamed pair (credited as “He” and “She”) who evoke the picturesque millennial couple. Their house is quirky but refined, their fashion choices are professional but casual, and their kitchen is one part HGTV, another a tornado — all of which is perfectly brought to life by production designer Karen Wakefield and the rest of the talented art department. Yet like most relationships brought to life on the silver screen, not everything is as perfect as it appears between the leads — for though they try to keep things going for their son, Artie (Samuel Logan), this pandemic will be the ultimate test of their will to see this marriage through.

Shot in only ten days, Together feels equally as scrappy as it is skillfully made. And that sort of Gorilla-style production adds a specific kind of charm to it, from its first frame onward. Yet as the camera enters the home of our nameless couple, cinematographer Iain Struthers beautiful weaves viewers through the various conversations, fights, rooms, and mushroom-specific monologues, like the greatest of Broadway choreographers. In fact, much of Together feels like a play brought to life — in both the excellent rhythm of the acting at hand, along with the way in which Daldry and Martin cinematically orchestrate their cast.

From extreme amounts of fourth wall breaking to incredibly calculated sequences that seem like they are accomplished in one take, Daldry and Martin both seem like masters of their craft when it comes to making the must mundane and predictable elements of life an exciting aspect to watch. They similarly have just as fantastic of an understanding of the talent in front of their camera — for both McAvoy and Horgan are equally prolific in their performances here. Coming across like two tennis players attempting the greatest acting match of their careers.

For McAvoy, audiences have come to love him for some of his work, including of course his turn as Professor X in the “X-Men” prequel films, along with other projects like “Trance,” “Split,” and “The Last King of Scotland.” Yet in Together, audiences get to see an interesting side to McAvoy. One in which he plays a character that is a hilarious jerk, who speaks his mind in ways that are just as frustrating as they are for “She.” This particularly becomes apparent during a length story, in which McAvoy’s “He” describes an early pandemic trip to the grocery store. Maybe it is the hindsight of someone who has been experiencing a post-COVID-19 world, but moments like this (no matter how cute McAvoy may be) will likely make you want to pull your hair out by the end.

When it comes Horgan, her take on “She” is just as fascinating. From tender bits of warmth, to genuinely laugh-out-loud bits of insanity, Horgan perfectly portrays what so many women feel like in these kind of relationships. They examine over every detail of how they got to this point, question what they loved about that person, while also dreaming up ways to get revenge all at the same time. And Horgan brings to life every single one of those beats of her character like a true pro.

Though the true acting magic on display is when these two dynamite performers are together — allowing their characters to put their guard down for both the audience and for each other. And while its best not to dive too deep into their emotional evolution on screen, since its better to keep it a surprise, the end result is one that feels ultimately earned through-out the roller-coaster that is this cinematic marriage. Which is all due in large part to the chemistry of these two utterly believable performances.

But the true star of the entire film is the masterful screenplay from Dennis Kelly (“Black Sea”). From some of the most memorable spats in recent years (including one in which “She” compares her husband to “a pint glass of diarrhea”) to exchanges that feel so lifted from even my own life, it’s damn near hard not to appreciate both the creativity and believability within Kelly’s work. Yet it is the moments where Kelly allows for his pair to take a breath and examine the vulnerable nature at the core of their relationship that is something to be treasured — making the film go to places that other romantic dramas often dance around.

Sure, this is a movie that will always have its roots in one of the worst moments in human history. Yet despite such a sad fact, Together is one of the few COVID-centric films that works from almost beginning to end. It’s sharp wit, quirky sensibilities, and annoyingly real elements make for a memorable cinematic journey. One that is a stirring study of how relationships thrive during the hardest of times, especially when they’re already a mess to begin with. And while that might not be the movie most are looking for during these dark days, down the line, it might be one to revisit to see how far we (hopefully) come in our own personal, metaphorical, bubbles.

Emma (Fox, “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows”) is the neglected — perhaps abused — wife of high-powered defense attorney Mark (Eoin Macken, “The Forest”). On the eve of their eleventh wedding anniversary, Emma breaks off an affair with one of her husband’s subordinates at the law firm. “I can’t do this anymore,” she tells him in a speech given by many a married woman in many a movie. “Let me at least see you tomorrow,” her paramour entreats her. “I can’t . . . tomorrow is my anniversary,” she replies.

Right away the viewer wonders if Emma is a bad girl or a victim. We haven’t yet met her husband; maybe he’s a sweet guy and she’s doing him wrong. But then the next evening, after she meets him at the office wearing the wrong-color dress (how controlling), the two go out to dinner to celebrate their anniversary. Emma and Mark seem distant from one another, each seeking meaning in their long-term relationship. At a nearby table, a young woman accepts a marriage proposal from a definitely way-older man, and later Emma advises her in the ladies’ room: “Nothing’s set in stone, you know.”

So the dynamic of an unhappy marriage is firmly set in place. The two solemnly exchange gifts (from him, a necklace that doubles as a plot point; from her, Super Bowl tickets he disdains because his Steelers are terrible) and depart. Ah, but he has one more surprise, in the form of a blindfold in her pocket. The night’s not over! They’re going to take a ride . . . somewhere. Why the blindfold? Well, don’t want to spoil the surprise. Although perhaps blindfolding a woman who has a literal backstabbing in her past (don’t worry, she got the attacker’s eye) is perhaps not the best way to engender trust. And clearly, these two don’t trust each other much.

They wind up at their lake cabin. The evening continues and ends in expected romantic fashion, as Emma is won over by her husband’s thoughtfulness. She awakens the next morning refreshed and satisfied. And handcuffed to her husband, who’s sitting on the side of the bed. Perhaps a residual from happy fun times the previous night? Probably not: Mark turns to look at his wife and then blows his brains out, splattering his bride with a crimson wave. Whoopsie!

So what began as a marital-strife movie about trust and control suddenly turns into something far more alarming . . . and interesting. Like the protagonist in the aforementioned “Gerald’s Game,” Emma is in a secluded building far beyond the possibility of external assistance. She’ll need to use her wits to overcome the elements, the handcuff, the . . . two men approaching the house with malice in their eyes. Yep, Emma is no longer alone, but it’s not likely that help has arrived.

A beautiful cats-and-mouse game is the centerpiece of the final half of Till Death, as considerable obstacles appear in Emma’s path. Just when you think she’s got it all figured out and can finally escape, she cannot. And sure, that’s the sort of thing we’ve seen in countless movies like this, but there’s no need to suspend your disbelief here. Fox lends a considerable amount of humanity to her character, making her more relatable and credible. This really helps elevate the story from the one-dimensional mediocrity that afflicts most woman-in-terror movies.

At several points during this movie, I wondered why Our Heroine didn’t “just” do this or that, only to have a reasonable explanation arrive soon thereafter (this probably says more about me than it does about this film). Screenwriter Jason Carvey’s script covers most of the logic-centric bases, which is again more than one usually gets from movies as these. The movie wisely plays to its strengths — action, suspense, and its leading lady — while sacrificing character development and pacing. On the latter, it felt as if the climactic parts — the cats-and-mouse game — was a long time in coming and probably could have begun much sooner. Personally, if we gave up some of the exposition with the husband — immediately presented as a classless, smarmy control freak — I wouldn’t shed a tear.

Ultimately, I had a great time watching Megan Fox in her first horror-thriller combo since “Jennifer’s Body,” although I do wonder how her hair and makeup stayed so perfect throughout, given all the fighting and sundry violence. And though Till Death isn’t quite the psychological thriller that “Gerald’s Game” was, it works fine as a straight action-revenge movie.

The film starts off simple enough, as married couple Catherine (Amanda Seyfried, “First Reformed”) and George Claire (James Norton, “Little Women”) move to Chosen, New York, as George has a new job as an art history teacher at Saginaw College. Everything seems to be fine until Catherine realizes that the new house they’re in is haunted by the spirit of the previous wife that lived there. After that specific moment, in which “apparitions” of the ghost are seen in the background, Things Heard & Seen progressively becomes more discombobulated, incapable of finding the one thing that makes any horror film great: A clear identity.

Identity makes any great film, but is particularly important to horror films: It has to know what it is at its core before trying to mix with 1001 different subgenres of horror. Unfortunately for Berman and Pulcini, Things Heard & Seen has no idea what it really wants to be. Should it focus on the couple’s rifting relationship? Or how about George’s charlatan past? Or the ghost! That’s right! We shoehorned in a ghost in the script! Wait . . . how should we use it?!?!? And there lies its biggest problem: The film deals with way too many themes that it has no idea what do with everything it’s dealing with. Whenever Catherine has some sort of spiritual connection with the ghost of the house, it feels terribly jarring and out of place since we’ve never seen a proper “connection” (or symbiotic relationship, if you will) with the two of them. The “ghost” was set up as being some sort of “scary” creature until Saginaw art history chair Floyd DeBeers (F. Murray Abraham, “Robin Hood”) tells Catherine that she means no harm . . . but another ghostly creature is in the house and must be “found.”

All of that construct could be a great set-up, where the house’s two spirits psychologically control Catherine and George, damaging their relationship further, with the “evil” spirit controlling George to make more erratic decisions and corrupting his psyche. In contrast, the “good” spirit makes Catherine see the light on George’s abusive tendencies. This would’ve made a more compelling drama if the film solely focused on that.

Thankfully, the psychological horror aspect of the film — which seems to take massive inspiration from Stephen King (and Stanley Kubrick)’s “The Shining” — through its themes and aesthetics delivers. There’s one moment where the film shifts entirely and starts to become quite interesting. It’s where George meets his thesis director (Lewis Payton Jr., “The Extra Man”) who is curious to see George in New York being a “professor,” and where we then learn that George forged his letter of recommendation and his work amounts to nothing but plagiarism. Because of this, the ghost can control George into becoming increasingly psychotic, which prompts three successively cathartic (and scary) sequences involving Floyd, Catherine’s friend Justine (Rhea Seehorn, “I Hate Kids”) and Catherine herself. The atmosphere of George’s descent into madness is top-notch, with James Norton commanding every scene he is in through an unpredictable, and at times, increasingly violent force. Look at his eyes, and you’ll see firsthand how his behavior becomes progressively corrupted.

The same can be said for Amanda Seyfried, whose descent into loneliness and isolation forces her to seek out help from spirits. The sequence in which she assists in a séance with Floyd to communicate with the spirit is very well done and represents how Catherine feels towards speaking with the afterlife. However, it’s her relationship with Floyd and a welcomed extended cameo from veteran actress Karen Allen (“Raiders of the Lost Ark”) as Mare Laughton that makes Catherine a tad more effective than when she is alone or when she interacts with the sons of the last couple that lived in their house, Eddie (Alex Neustaedter, “American Woman”) and Cole (Jack Gore, “Wonder Wheel”).

The film’s ending takes a rather spiritual turn, borrowing a visual cue that seems to be taken straight out of Ron Howard’s “Angels and Demons” during the climactic parachute sequence. In this case, George is sailing and sees George Inness’ The Valley of the Shadow of Death. It’s an interesting way to end your film. Still, since spiritual imagery (and Inness’s art) take a backseat for a more conventional horror flick without any sense of identity, it’s hard for the audience to care one bit about what happens when Inness’ painting magically appears at the end — as if it signifies something. If the film spent a tad more time on the significance of the painting, the ghosts, and how George and Catherine’s connection with them made their relationship more toxic than it was, Things Heard & Seen would’ve been something truly memorable. It’s not terrible: The acting is mostly great and the cinematography is highly dynamic and inventive. There are also some genuinely effective scares (anything where Catherine walks in the house and the ghost appears for a brief second is maddening) peppered in what is an otherwise conflicted movie. But most of all, it’s an improvement over “You Should Have Left,” Seyfried’s most recent go in the realm of horror. Now that was just bad.

Like the Noël Coward play and 1945 film that came before it, Blithe Spirit tells the story of Charles Condomine (Stevens, “The Rental”), a writer looking to create his next big hit. In the case of this particular version, Charles is actually trying to write a screenplay, where in most he’s focusing on a new book. In the hopes of being inspired, he calls upon the supernatural talents of Madame Arcati (Dench, “Victoria and Abdul”), a medium known for her theatrics more than her legitimacy. Yet while she is performing a séance, Arcati accidentally summons the spirit of Charles’ first wife, Elvira (Mann, “Blockers”), back from the other side. Now Charles finds himself stuck between not only his past, but his present in the form of his second wife, Ruth (Fisher, “Nocturnal Animals”) — making this the wackiest (and deadliest) of love triangles.

On paper, a remake of Blithe Spirit makes perfect sense. It’s a story that has some interesting things to say about gender roles, magic, and of course contains a sizable amount of comedic antics to keep audiences chuckling. Plus, considering the ever changing society we live in, the complicated relationship between the story’s three leads deserves to be reexamined with a more modern mindset. But what Hall creates in aesthetic, eye catching splendor, he unfortunately lacks in every other aspect of this adaptation. From the awkward balance of Jim Carrey-inspired zaniness to the almost grotesque visual gags, Hall manages to make his take on Coward play’s as uneven as humanly possible.

But the biggest problem within this Blithe Spirit comes from what is on the page. Screenwriters Nick Moorcroft, Meg Leonard, and Piers Ashworth have somehow managed to morph this classic story into something much more complicated than it needed to be. From additional subplots that bounce in every direction, to jokes that come across as dated as they are uncomfortable, it almost seems like this incarnation of the ghostly tale might have been written in the early 80’s and dug up from an abandoned crypt on a studio lot. And though there’s nothing wrong with a old fashionable madcap comedy being re-imagined for modern audiences, it seems this screenwriting trio had no clue who this movie was made for.

This particularly comes to mind in the way Elvira is portrayed. There’s no denying that this iconic character has been known for her wild antics, but Mann’s take on the role often conflicts with the details the screenplay gives about her. For we as the audience are given fact upon fact to try and sympathize with the ghostly leading lady. But when those sprinkles of information are sandwiched next to some pretty despicable sequences, its hard to show Elvira any bit of compassion. One moment, in which Elvira attempts to seduce Charles while Ruth is sleeping next to him, evokes the kind of stomach turning cringe that not even the worst episode of a TLC reality show could induce. Overall, it leads to this writer asking, why was that necessary? Perhaps I, nor many, will ever know.

Thankfully, Blithe Spirit does offer a cast of true acting greats from top to bottom. Sure, they don’t save this movie from its faults, but they make what otherwise could be a truly painful experience a bit more charming to endure. Obviously, Dan Stevens is always a pleasure to see on screen. He’s one of those actors that has a kind of magical quality that allows him to take the most questionable of material and make it a thrill to watch. The same can be said of course of the great Dame Judi Dench, who proved that even in 2019’s “Cats,” she can somehow do no wrong.

Yet when it comes to the film’s two female rivals for Charles’ affections, they seem to be a tad unevenly matched. Both Fisher and Mann are comedy pros, who have proven time and time again that they can master their funny bone just as well as their dramatic chops. But Fisher seems almost miscast as Ruth, simply because even in her most serious of moments, she has a wide-eyed aesthetic that doesn’t match this typically grounded character. Some could even argue she would have been just as good in the role of Elvira, but that’s a performance we can only dream about.

Mann on the other hand does as much as she can with Elvira, despite the awkward moments she’s asked to perform. She’s perfectly grand in her extremely catty moments, and even better when she’s dropping some excellent truth bombs at her former husband. But when push comes to shove, its sad to think when knowing Mann’s skills at comedy, that she’s required to do half-baked slapstick. Audiences know she’s so much better than the material given to her, and at times, you can tell she knows it too.

The same compliment can be given to the film’s other pro: Its excellent aesthetic appeal. Art directors John McHugh and Keith Slote, along with set decorator Caroline Smith managed to make the world of this Blithe Spirit as pretty as a vintage postcard. Pastel colored walls, bold furniture, and masterful cinematography by Ed Wild make this movie a joy to look at from an almost Instagram-worthy point of view. And with the equally exciting costumes by Charlotte Walter, this ghostly tale ends up looking quite more alive than dead, even in its “spookiest” of sequences. Think a drag queen’s take on “Clue,” over the top feather headpieces and all.

Overall, though Blithe Spirit might have its sprinkles of joy from time to time, Hall’s remake comes off as misguided. It tries to say some interesting things about a multitude of topics, but ultimately doesn’t result in anything new. And when you have an classic film adaptation that does a much better (and memorable) job at conveying this quirky tale to the big screen, why even bother trying to bring it back from the grave?