This opening sequence of Matt Reeves’ The Batman creates a creeping sense of dread and disquiet. This steady pace continues throughout the film, deliberate but always appropriate, even down to the multiple sequences of slo-mo action where boots tread ominously across floors, figures emerge from shadow and Greig Fraser’s sublime cinematography catches the passage of shafts of light breaking through cloud, windows and grilles, while Michael Giacchino’s score delivers portent without being ponderous. It would be easy to criticize the length and pace of The Batman, but it is deeply satisfying to see a mainstream blockbuster taking its time to bring the viewer into its world. This envelopment is one of the strongest things any film can do, and with superhero films the envelopment is often a matter of allowing the viewer to share in the experience of superpowers. Famously of course, Batman has no powers, so what do we experience?

The best Batman films utilize the dark aspect of the Dark Knight effectively, bringing the viewer into a close relationship with a protagonist who is, let’s face it, seriously messed up. There is an argument that Batman is often the least interesting character in the films he appears in: from the charismatic Jokers of Jack Nicholson and Heath Ledger to the slinky Catwomen of Michelle Pfeiffer and Anne Hathaway, from Cillian Murphy’s creepy Scarecrow to Danny DeVito’s grotesque Penguin, Batman sometimes comes across as, ironically, exactly what he sets out to be — a symbol rather than a man. Reeves creates and develops an intimacy between viewer and cowled figure, perhaps more effectively than any other. Reeves and his collaborators do this through the deliberate pace and ominous tone, at times almost oppressing the viewer as much as the eponymous hero with the weight of the cowl. Obvious comparisons can be made with Christopher Nolan’s “Dark Knight Trilogy,” which did a fine job of psychologizing Batman within a context that was fantastical yet grounded. Reeves and his co-writer Peter Craig lean further into this conceit, creating an even more grounded version of Batman. Fancy gadgets are minimized; the Batsuit and Batmobile are roughly made; combat is an ugly, brutal affair rather than a dance of martial arts choreography and editing; villains are drawn from the street rather than secret societies.

In fact, “street” may be the best way to summarize The Batman. The film is influenced by many genres, including film noir, action, detective, serial killer, horror, superhero and disaster movie, but the strongest impression the film leaves is that of a street level film like “Taxi Driver,” “Thief” or “Drive.” Alleyways and subterranean nightclubs, underpasses and sewers, all of them steeped in shadow and drenched in rain, create a sense of street level crime, gutter politics and filth fighting with filth. If “The Dark Knight” was like “Heat” with costumes, this is more akin to “Seven” or “Blade Runner,” not least due to the rain. Barely a scene occurs without torrential downpour, and the sun only appears at dawn and dusk. The few scenes that take place during the day are always overcast, making the similarly rare appearances of Bruce Wayne, identified as a recluse rather than a playboy, seem like an aberration from his more common appearance in his bulky carapace as “Vengeance.”

While this Batman is not as physically imposing as that of Christian Bale or Ben Affleck, his presentation is always looming, once again drawing the viewer into the brooding face that is the mask. Robert Pattinson (“The Lighthouse”) keeps his character guarded, but the tight clench of his jaw, hooded eyes and largely soft voice leave us in no doubt that this is a deeply wounded soul, while his eruptions of violence are genuinely frightening. The voiceover is possibly overstated, but its connections to Bruce writing in a journal with a neat yet ornate hand (echoing Frank Miller’s “Batman: Year One”) serve to present Bruce’s memoir as a connection to a world that he has left behind.

A connection to that world is understandable, as the world of Gotham is one where vengeance seems the only appropriate response to corruption and violence. Paul Dano (“Okja”) is easily the most frightening cinematic version of the Riddler, a character who is often presented as camp and silly. Like Pattinson, Dano largely underplays the role, his soft quavering voice (at one point used for some truly freaky singing) and babyface indicating something brittle that, if smashed, will damage everyone in the vicinity. His riddles and traps are deadly yet improvised, recalling “Saw” more than “Batman Forever,” and this makes the Riddler’s crimes and perhaps more importantly his ideology chillingly plausible. Just as Ra’s Al Ghul and the Joker expressed noughties’ anxiety of terrorism, so does this Riddler resonate with the specter of incel culture and toxic masculinity.

A more flamboyant performance comes from an unrecognizable Colin Farrell (“The Killing of a Sacred Deer”) as the Penguin, grunting and flapping and at one point waddling to great effect. Zoë Kravitz (“Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald”) is strong as Selina Kyle, bringing perhaps the most sympathetic and soulful character into the mix. The cast is rounded out with the somewhat underused Andy Serkis (“Long Shot”) as Alfred Pennyworth, John Turturro (“The Jesus Rolls”) as crime boss Carmine Falcone, and the wonderful Jeffrey Wright (“Only Lovers Left Alive”) as Lieutenant James Gordon. The interplay between Batman and Gordon gives the film a further dimension as a mismatched buddy movie, Gordon constantly frustrated by Batman’s recalcitrance but supporting him even when the rest of the Gotham Police Department resent the vigilante. Batman’s interactions with Gordon as a detective, as well as Bruce’s home relationship with Alfred, keep him human, albeit an insular and troubled human.

All this grim brooding, plus the length and slow pace, could suggest that The Batman is something of a dirge. This is far from the case, as the stylistic intimacy is precise, while the mystery plot as well as some exhilarating action sequences (including a stellar car chase), are handled with verve and panache. With its deft handling of generic tropes, close-quarters engagement with characters and careful attention to building an inhabited world of crime, corruption, vengeance and yet touches of hope, The Batman is an intense thriller that combines its various elements to gripping, visceral and enthralling effect.

Winner of the award for best film, screenplay, and production design at the Fajr Film Festival in Iran, Sun Children is performed by non-professional actors whose real lives on Tehran’s streets mirror those of the characters. While the quality of the acting does not always rise above the level of adequate, the performances do not distract from the authenticity of the screenplay or from our understanding of the festering social problems. Scored by Ramin Kousha’s, the film is seen through the eyes of children led by Ali (Roohollah Zamani), a determined boy of about 12 who sleeps in the back of a tire factory, Mamad (Mahdi Mousavi), Reza (Mani Ghafouri), and Abolfazl (Abolfazl Shirzad) an Afghan refugee who, like other Afghans in Iran, is only authorized to be hired for specific jobs within his area of residence, mostly manual labor.

The film opens when Ali leads his young friends in an escape from an underground parking lot after being caught stealing hubcaps and tires from parked cars. After another chase that features jumping over rooftops, Ali is caught and brought to Heshem (Ali Nasirian, “A Hairy Tale”), the local crime boss cast in the image of Fagin, Dickens’ stereotyped bogeyman in “Oliver Twist.” Though expecting punishment, he is asked instead to hunt for buried treasure in the basement of the Sun School, a poor, charitable educational institution run by volunteers to help vulnerable street kids reach high school or join a local sports team.

Because of the state of the school’s finances, the boys have to plead for their enrollment but find a friend in the sympathetic Vice-Principal, Mr. Rafie (Javad Ezati, “Drown”), a low-keyed fighter for underdogs who asks the administrator to make an exception on the boys’ behalf. Impressed by Ali’s determination for an education, Rafie is unaware of the boys’ scheme to find treasure at the behest of the crime kingpin. He shows his compassion when he takes Ali and Abolfazi to bail out Abolfazi’s sister Zahra (Shamila Shurzad) after her arrest for selling trinkets in the subway. On leaving, an irate Rafie breaks the jailer’s nose, an action that will later lead to his arrest. Meanwhile, the school has problems of its own.

The Principal, Mr. Amani (Ali Ghabeshi), is concerned about paying the rent and rails against the increase in the prices of the food suppliers. Motivated by his desire to bring home his mother (Tannaz Tabatagaei, “Russian”) from confinement in a psychiatric institution, Ali is convinced by Heshem that there is treasure hidden in water tunnels under the cemetery next door to the school and is determined to find it. Sneaking down to the basement between classes or conjuring up a stomach ache in the middle of a class, Ali brings a pick axe to tunnel through the rocks, undaunted and refusing to give up even when his friends desert him.

Claustrophobic images of Ali’s distress are juxtaposed with happy children playing outside in the courtyard, calling attention to the plight of those in life who are trapped and those who can run free. As Ali moves closer to his goal, the film reaches an emotional peak with the image of the tearful Ali, struggling in the dark, damp, and dangerous conditions, desperately attempting to reach the ever elusive treasure. Sun Children has its heart in the right place and the determination of the young protagonists will touch your own heart, yet unfortunately, the film skims the surface without probing into the characters’ feelings and thoughts with any depth. Unlike “Capernaum,” a powerful film about street children in Lebanon, Majidi does not deal with the underlying issues in a way that delivers a lasting impact.

What is always clear, however, is this director’s conviction that too many children in the world suffer from neglect and exploitation, and, in a country where censorship is an ever-present danger, has the courage to use childhood as a means of conveying the flaws that exist in his society, a familiar theme in world cinema but one that bears repeating.

Much like the director’s previous feature “I, Tonya,” Cruella tells the story of a familiar character but gives her some new twists. The young Cruella (Tipper Seifert-Cleveland, “Emily and the Magical Journey”), or Estella as she starts out, is given a tragic but not overly sentimental backstory. Raised by a loving and supportive mother Catherine (Emily Beecham, “Berlin, I Love You”), Estella is precocious without being annoying and mature without being creepy. Her early school career demonstrates her defiance and encounters with authority, and while she is not without love or compassion, a raw deal leads her to an opportunistic life of crime where dreams give way to pragmatism. As a young adult, Estella’s (Emma Stone, “The Favourite”) burgeoning ambition and ruthlessness are balanced with loyalty and devotion, and it helps that her adversary the Baroness (Emma Thompson, “Last Christmas”) proves to be far worse in the questionable character stakes. The battle of wits between Estella and the Baroness is hugely enjoyable, and develops the film’s interest in identity as Cruella emerges as a weapon for Estella and then steadily takes over the film, without losing the audience’s sympathy.

Emma Stone energizes Estella/Cruella with a magnificent relish, her genius, ambition and charisma crackling around her like an electromagnetic field that both draws and repels those she encounters. In this Battle of the Emmas, Thompson matches Stone for every arched eyebrow and haughty put-down, leaving no scenery unchewed as she withers those around her with supreme superciliousness. Jasper (Joel Fry, “In the Earth”) and Horace (Paul Walter Hauser, “BlacKkKlansman”) are expanded beyond their original roles as bumbling sidekicks, becoming the family that Estella/Cruella lacks. Mark Strong (“1917”) is on reliably solid form as the Baroness’ valet John, and there is great support from the likes of John McCrea (“The Sandman” TV series), Kayvan Novak (“Four Lions”) and Kirby Howell-Baptiste (“A Dog’s Purpose”). There’s also perhaps a surprisingly fond treatment of dogs, who feature as threats, companions and obstacles, with the digital rendering of these animals only briefly distracting.

The film does have its flaws. The story could have been more efficiently told which would have given the film a beneficially shorter running time, whereas at two hours fourteen minutes there are points where it drags. There is a late reveal that is so deus ex machina that it may induce groans of “Really?” from the viewer. Some nods to “101 Dalmatians” feel like nothing more than nods, and a mid-credits sequence might point to the familiar story but frankly another film focused on Cruella herself seems like more fun, due to the delicious designs and Machiavellian machinations on display here.

On the display front, Gillespie and director of photography Nicolas Karakatsanis deliver stunning visuals throughout. A tumble down a slope is intercut with charging dogs; a crane shot follows a trio of intrepid children in and out of an abandoned building; a montage of Estella trying to make suggestions to her boss is both funny and touching; a stellar prolonged single take through the various floors and corridors of a department store truly brings the viewer into Estella’s world.

Getting into this world is important, because appreciating her position helps align the viewer with her schemes and ambition. In this regard, Cruella is an important feminist film because it takes the position that girls don’t have to be sugar and spice and all things nice. The Baroness is a tough adversary, but Cruella is no Cinderella, with little interest in having courage or being kind. Ambition and revenge, and to a lesser extent fame and fortune, are her driving forces. In the context of a crime caper, which interweaves fashion designs with heists and confidence tricks, this is quite standard for male protagonists but still relatively rare for women. Cruella has no romantic interest, and her various associates are drawn into her orbit largely by force of will. As a result, the audience are also drawn in, and particular moments (especially one involving a vault and a delivery from South America) might have the viewer giggling with glee because of the triumph of our antiheroine. Cruella is a thoroughly female protagonist (rather than a woman filling a man’s role), literally decides who she is and what she is going to do. As well as the stylistic flourishes noted earlier, Gillespie wisely reins it in at times: A long take on Cruella’s face as she delivers a monologue expresses a clear and unapologetic acceptance of her lot in life as well as a declaration of identity and her role in the world. Would that all characters of any gender were permitted such authority.

Furthermore, the film continues Disney’s surprisingly progressive identity politics. The supporting cast includes various people of color, who get to be people rather than tokens. More intriguingly, Cruella delivers an inclusive approach to gender fluidity. Estella/Cruella herself indicates that identity is influenced by choice, and McCrea’s character Art is explicitly non-binary. The relationship between Art and Cruella makes Art far more than a cypher, and it makes a sequel (already in preproduction) all the more enticing. The inclusivity of Cruella demonstrates the potential for established intellectual property like this — the audience come for the familiarity, and then we leave with something more.

Nemesis, an independent British film by director James Crow and writers Adam Stephen Kelly and Jonathan Sothcott, includes many standard tropes of the genre.

Ageing patriarch, John Morgan (Billy Murray, “Vengeance”) — check. Glamorous moll/wife, Sadie (Jeanine Nerissa Sothcott, “The Exorcism of Karen Walker”) — check. John’s loyal lieutenant, Eddie (Danny Bear) — check. John is a loving family man — check. The family is largely innocent, especially Daddy’s little girl Kate (Ambra Moore, “Vengeance”), who is not as little as she seems — check. A frayed relationship between John and his business partners — check. Complicated sibling relationship between John and his brother Richard (Frank Harper, “Screwed”) — check. An obsessive, washing-up cop, Frank Conway (Nick Moran, “Don’t Knock Twice”) with a score to settle — check. London a shining metropolis that holds all form of scum and villainy (Mos Eisley has nothing on cockney geezers) — check. Ruthless violence — in theory. Coherent narrative that uses the annals of organized crime to explore human nature — not so much. Searing insight into humanity’s inhumanity — got lost a while ago. Enveloping visuals that create an immersive sense of place — hardly. Entertainment value — dead on arrival.

It is perversely fascinating that the interesting potential of Nemesis is so utterly squandered. John Morgan is a London kingpin in organized crime, complete with glamorous wife Sadie and 20-something daughter Kate. A brief visit to London leads to an ugly encounter with obsessed alcoholic copper Frank Conway and a threatening one with bigger gangland boss Damien Osborne (Bruce Payne, “London Unplugged”). There’s a tense, but productive, meeting with brother Richard, and a nasty bit of business to take care of that involves some torture and immolation. All this leads up to a family dinner, which is actually the point of the film. The family dinner and its aftermath make much of the first and second acts redundant, as the wider context adds little to the narrative thrust. Thrust is a generous term, as despite running to only 88 minutes, Nemesis is painfully slow and groan-inducingly incompetent. A pre-title monochrome sequence of a young girl running along a beach gives way to the titles against an animated backdrop of thorny vines, indicating that one can become enmeshed in dangerous strands. Okay, there’s potential. Yet Sothcott, Kelly and Crow complicate this set-up with various elements that go nowhere except dead ends and contradictions. Kate is obsessed with Instagram, because reasons. She also has a girlfriend, Zoe (Lucy Aarden, “South of the River”), because the film wants to appear progressive, or possibly to give the filmmakers an excuse to have two naked women kiss. Suggestions of being woke are further undermined with some gratuitous shots of Sadie walking around with her breasts exposed. Frank gets rebuked by his superior and finds a conveniently empty pub where bartender Billy (Ricky Grover, “SuperBob”) offers sage advice, indeed so sage that the viewer is left wondering where the fuck this guy came from. John considers retirement, again because reasons, but the third act of the film makes this consideration, indeed most of what preceded the third act, irrelevant.

The third act makes up the second half of the film, and revolves around a home invasion. This sequence echoes more impressive works such as “You’re Next,” “Feedback” and “Kill List,” as well as the recent “By Night’s End,” and suggests that the film might have worked better if the home invasion had been the entire plot. A few people, trapped together in a confined space, confronting mortal peril as well as personal recriminations has almost in-built tension. Unfortunately, tension and interest have long departed by the time we get to this section, because Nemesis is so drawn out, the dialogue so expository, the performances so flat and the visual style so stilted, that you might well be checking the time display to see how much of this drivel is left. Unbalanced framing, jarring edits as well as a lack of coherent choreography during what are technically action sequences betray the cheapness of the film, as does the most boring Mexican standoff you are likely to see. Themes around family and past sins are lumped into the dialogue rather than being actually explored, as the film commits the cardinal sin of telling rather than showing. Despite some blood, the violence is unconvincing, to such an extent that it’s impressive one “dead” performer doesn’t blink once his character has been killed. Meanwhile, references to wider criminal activities are skipped over in favor of long speeches and hopeless negotiations that are quite literally filling time that could be more productively filled with killing people. What is this all about? When will it finish? Will we care? The answers are not much, not soon enough and no. Nemesis could have been a fun, nasty gangster flick. Instead, it’s an intensely stupid and annoying collection of clichéd characters, creakingly shoehorned themes and disparate narrative threads that blunder together into a groan-inducing mess that lacks tension, coherence or the ability to hold the viewer’s engagement. Avoid.

Writer/director Tony Dean Smith introduces us to Jimmy (Adrian Glynn McMorran, “Warcraft”), a small-time criminal blessed with supernatural clairvoyance. Jimmy foresees fragments of his future as a series of acid flashbacks — isolated sequences flood his consciousness at moments of emotional intensity. Jimmy uses his gift dishonorably, gathering ill-gotten gains by betting on boxing matches and running small-time hustles for local gangsters.

One of his associates, Ray (John Cassini, “A Dog’s Way Home”), is in possession of a bag of hard-to-shift Zimbabwean blood diamonds. “I need you to do that thing you do in that head of yours. I need you to find safe passage for these.” He hires Jimmy and his prophetic condition to find a buyer, but when two goons in Ray’s employ try to double-cross the deal, a sequence of seemingly inevitable dominoes start to tumble that cause Jimmy to see an undesirable fate — namely, his own death. With the assistance of new lover Angela (Magda Apanowicz, “The Green Inferno”) along with estranged foster father and “fruit loop scientist” Elliot (Bill Marchant, “Chappie”), Jimmy discovers the origin of his abilities and must use them to change his fate.

Unfortunately, fresh takes on time-travel are rare events. 2014’s “Predestination” fixed the grandfather-paradox at its center, whilst Alex Garland’s recent miniseries “Devs” looked to unpack the phenomenon with Big Data. Volition seems acutely aware its genre’s history. There are echoes of the metaphysical determinism in “12 Monkeys,” the mob-fusion of “Looper,” and an attempt at the DIY engineering of “Primer.” However, the narrative trickery of temporal displacement has been done ad nauseam, even being deployed — and with greater execution — in “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.” Much like Jimmy, we’ve seen all these tropes play out before. More problematically, the time-travel mechanism in Volition is just as blasé as Domhnall Gleeson’s eye-squinting in “About Time,” with such shaky science feeling more at home in the Richard Curtis rom-com.

Credit can be given to the grungy real-world environment that smacks like a calloused backhand, with all actors lending strong performances to create an atmosphere of economic depression. Jimmy serves as a competent and likable hero, staggering onwards through all his tribulations with a bottle of whiskey and an admirable alignment towards chaotic-good.

But while Volition looks great for a low-budget science-fiction thriller, skewed visual sequences are overused — the cinematic tricks becoming tiresome after too many repetitions. In much the same way, the re-treading of old story paths become similarly boring, precisely because we’ve already seen the events play out. Watching a stale sequence multiple times from different angles does not make us lean in for more, but instead lean back.

Although the story doesn’t quite hold together, our circular trip through Jimmy’s life does enough to keep us in our seats. At 91 minutes, the shuttling pace of Volition is ultimately worth the ride, but only the once. Unlike its hero, looping reruns aren’t in its destiny.

Comedic actors trying out dramatic roles is nothing new, and sometimes it doesn’t work, like Bill Murray in “The Razor’s Edge.” Sometimes it does work, like Robin Williams in “One Hour Photo.” In Becky, James’ Dominick is a skinhead who’s escaped from a prison transfer with three of his buds just so he can get to this one particular secluded house to find the film’s MacGuffin, a key. Dominick is part Hulk, part Brainiac, muscular and intelligent and also completely nuts. Well, anyone who spouts off about the master race and uniting a Brotherhood is not going to be looked upon as a sane fellow.

It all starts when dad Jeff (Joel McHale, “Ted”) picks up his teenage daughter Becky (Lulu Wilson, “Annabelle: Creation”) from school in the middle of the day. His plan is to take her to their lake house for the weekend. You see, Becky’s mom passed away a little while back from a long illness, and the poor girl has been sullen and temperamental ever since. You know, like a teen. Anyway, when she learns she and Dad are heading to the house, she assumes he’s finally sold the property, as he’s been trying to do for some time. Naturally, Becky doesn’t approve of this, as the house is a reminder of her beloved mom, a memory she wants to hang on to. But her worries are for naught, as Jeff announces that he’s decided to keep the place. No sooner does Becky get to celebrate this good news, though, than Jeff’s fiance Kayla (Amanda Brugel, “Room”) and her young son Ty (Isaiah Rockcliffe, “Random Acts of Violence”) show up — oops, Becky was so sullen her dad didn’t get a chance to tell her ahead of time! Resentment is thence the soup of the day in Chez Becky. Rough start to a no-doubt fun-filled weekend!

It’s going to get worse, and quickly. Dominick and his Merrie Men show up, looking for their mysteriously important key. And henceforth, Becky plays out like a higher-octane mashup of “Die Hard” and “Home Alone,” minus the alone part. Because while they look for the key and hold Jeff, Kayla, and Ty at gunpoint, the fourth member of their ersatz family is at large — specifically, in the woods surrounding the house. And thus begins the cat and mouse game, because Becky has the key and Dominick has the family.

I know, you’re probably thinking, can this weekend get any worse? And of course it can, because our directors — Jonathan Milott and Cary Murnion — have decided that pretty much nothing is off limits when it comes to unrelenting, vicious maiming. I’m talking bloody like Nicolas Cage in “Mandy,” but instead of Nic Cage it’s a 15-year-old girl and some pencils. (John Wick reference? Maybe.) This is one cat and mouse game that’s probably not going to end well for either species. It’s a revenge pic that takes no pity on any character. People who have it coming to them get theirs. People who are innocent get theirs as well. But it’s not all for shock and awe effect, no sir. The characters behave with more logic than I’d expect from a home invasion movie without skimping on the brutality. I liked that.

For a guy who’s long relied on his comedic chops, James holds his own here. In fact, if it weren’t for his voice I might not have realized it was indeed Kevin James. Perhaps he’s no threat to De Niro, but it’s nice to see someone step out of his comfort zone and do pretty well. But if you thought this movie (and this review) was all about Big Star Kevin James, you’re so, so wrong. Take a good look at Lulu Wilson, the vengeful teen with a chip on her shoulder, along with any home-brew weapon she’s managed to find. Wilson is staggeringly good at the savagery bit, but still imbues her character with a certain vulnerability. You can’t help but root for her even as she starts down a dark, lonely path. I hope we see more of her.

There are plenty of “OMG WHAT” moments in Becky, in terms of shocking violence, but now that I’m sort-of warning you about them you might not be shocked at all. Well, try to forget I mentioned it. I confess to watching some of the grislier scenes between my fingers, and I typically like this sort of carnage. Anyway, I liked the movie and think you probably will too.