NEW THIS WEEK (12/12) IN THEATERS, VOD AND/OR ON HOME VIDEO
DUST BUNNY--At the heart of Bryan ("Hannibal," "Pushing Daisies") Fuller’s visually ambitious horror fantasy is the unlikely partnership of 8-year-old Aurora (Sophia Sloan), haunted by the belief that a monster killed her family, and the taciturn hitman neighbor (Mads Mikkelsen) she hires to slay what lurks beneath her bed. Mikkelsen's "Resident 5B" is cool, professional and haunted by guilt, yet gradually softens around the precocious tyke; Sloan makes Aurora's ferocious resolve both impressive and somewhat terrifying. Their chemistry is subtle but effective, a bond formed by mutual loneliness rather than maudlin sentimentality. Cluttered, ornate and suffused with a dreamlike decay, the New York apartment setting almost feels like a character itself. Cinematographer Nicole Hirsch Whitaker uses rich, saturated colors and bold compositions evoking both storybook whimsy and brooding psychological undercurrents. Wildly imaginative, stylistically bold and emotionally grounded in unexpected places, it's a rare film that dares to mix childhood fear, guilt and fairy tale violence, leaving a lingering sense of melancholy and wonder in its wake. (B PLUS.) https://youtu.be/lQqmOjPDlWg?si=eWump-CbhEItqPPy
ELLA MCCAY--Oscar-winning "Terms of Endearment"/"Broadcast News" writer/director James L. Brooks’ long-awaited return to the big screen displays many of the virtues which made his best films resonate so deeply: warmth, wit and deeply human stakes. The titular Ella (Emma Mackey) is an idealistic young lieutenant governor thrust into the top job when her mentor/boss is awarded a White House position. As she navigates political pressures, Ella must also contend with her complicated family history: an estranged father (Woody Harrelson), her busy body aunt (Jamie Lee Curtis) and a shared history that threatens to undermine her idealism. Brooks' stellar ensemble cast (including the great Albert Brooks in a key supporting role), combined with his trademark affection for flawed but earnest characters, creates a delicate balance between inside-the-beltway satire and intimate, character-driven drama. Visually and tonally the movie leans into Brooks’ signature style: conversational pacing, emotional gut punches and humor rooted in verisimilitude. Brooks isn’t just telling a story about governance, he’s exploring what it means to lead, love and carry intergenerational baggage. A subtly powerful study of modern governance, it's infused with the humanity that has defined Brooks' work and reaffirms his place in contemporary cinema. (B PLUS.) https://youtu.be/vRE6Iobir8k?si=XQueCTxPJgB1FkLn
I KNOW WHERE I'M GOING--Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s 1945 masterpiece occupies a singular position within their extraordinary oeuvre, a film seemingly modest in scale yet profound in emotional resonance. Nestled chronologically between the wartime grandeur of "A Canterbury Tale" and the operatic intensity of "Black Narcissus," it stands as a transitional work that shows the filmmaking duo at their most playful, humane and deceptively daring. What begins as a romantic fable becomes a meditation on fate, desire and the subtle magic of place. The Archers were always fascinated by the interplay between inner longing and external environment, and "I Know" distills that theme with exquisite clarity. Rather than the stylization they'd later embrace, Powell and Pressburger craft a narrative built on wind, sea, mist and the rugged rhythms of the Hebrides. Yet their stylistic signatures--unexpected moments of fantasy, symbolic visual motifs and wry humor--appear in fully formed miniature. Both grounded and enchanted, it confirms that their artistry derived from the acute sensitivity with which they observed human nature. At the center of this enchantment stands Wendy Hiller whose performance is essential to the magic of the film. Playing Joan Webster, a fiercely determined young woman convinced she knows exactly what she wants, Hiller brings not only fierce intelligence but an emotional transparency that allows us to see Joan’s inner shift long before she consciously senses it herself. Hiller’s radiant presence anchors the movie’s spiritual and romantic journey. Her Joan is not merely an archetype of modern ambition, she's a woman discovering that certainty can be a trap and that deeper forms of happiness require vulnerability, humility and an openness to forces beyond one’s control. Hiller’s chemistry with Roger Livesey helps enrich this transformation, but it's her gradual surrender to the allure of landscape and community that gives the film its beating heart. Powell’s camera regards Hiller with admiration, never objectifying her but instead capturing the quick flashes of doubt and wonder that mark Joan’s awakening. In the broader context of Powell and Pressburger’s collaborations, this is a crucial work precisely because of its hushed intimacy. It demonstrates their ability to craft movies as emotionally expansive as their more visually lavish efforts while encapsulating the thematic concerns (romantic destiny, cultural collision, the mystical property of locations) that would echo throughout their latter pairings. Effortlessly charming yet deeply affecting, this remains one of The Archers’ most enduring achievements, a testament to their storytelling brilliance and to Wendy Hiller’s unforgettable luminosity. The Criterion Collection set features both 4K UHD and Blu-Ray copies as well as myriad extras including a demonstration of the painstaking restoration process by Powell enthusiast Martin Scorsese; an audio commentary featuring historian Ian Christie; Mark ("The History of Film") Cousins' 1994 documentary, "'I Know Where I'm Going' Revisited;" behind the scenes stills narrated by Powell's widow, editor Thelma Schoonmaker; Nancy Franklin's photo essay exploring locations used in the film; home movies from one of Powell's Scottish expeditions; and an essay by author/critic Imogen Sara Smith. (A PLUS.)
REBUILDING--In the wake of a devastating wildfire that destroyed his family ranch, Dusty Fraser (Josh O’Connor) finds himself stripped of not only his home, but his identity. Now displaced to a FEMA trailer park, he must navigate grief, loss and uncertainty while trying to rebuild not just the roof over his head, but a life worth
living. What makes director-writer Max Walker-Silverman's indie drama so affecting is how it trusts small moments over grand gestures. As a man haunted by loss, O’Connor brings a touching gravitas to the role through subtle physicality and emotional authenticity. Dusty doesn’t shout or lash out; he hesitates, slouches and registers pain in a glance or grimace. Walker-Silverman depicts a makeshift community born from shared tragedy, and a father slowly finding his way back to his young daughter, ex-wife and sense of home. The supporting cast (including Lily LaTorre, Amy Madigan and Meghann Fahey) all contribute to a world that feels lived-in, tinged with sorrow and glimmers of hope. Quietly powerful and deeply humane, it's a lyrically observed ode to the beauty of resilience, memory and second chances. (A MINUS.) https://youtu.be/oj-xRlkyxas?si=gc7NEfAdCHfM1f2W
SILENT NIGHT, DEADLY NIGHT--This reboot of the notorious, same-named 1984 Yuletide slasher flick is more sleazy than scary. Directed by Mike P. Nelson, it rarely transcends the mechanical beats of contemporary franchise reinventions. As a traumatized young man whose childhood encounter with a murderous Santa resurfaces in a spree of holiday carnage, Rohan Campbell brings conviction and a grounded unease to an underwritten role. The performance has flashes of emotional depth, but the rote screenplay gives him precious little to work with. Nelson's greatest misstep lies in his reluctance to commit to either full-throttle exploitation thrills or a sharper, psychologically-driven approach. Instead, it occupies an awkward middle ground: the kills are elaborate but oddly weightless, and the narrative leans heavily on exposition without supplying genuine tension. The production values are decent enough, yet it lacks the gritty, transgressive energy that defined the no-frills original. There are moments, especially in the snowbound finale, when Nelson’s skill at staging action setpieces briefly snaps the movie to life. But they fail to compensate for a script that confuses escalation with repetition. By the end, it feels like a branding exercise that fails to justify its existence. (D PLUS.)
NOW AVAILABLE IN THEATERS, ON HOME VIDEO AND/OR STREAMING CHANNELS:
THE BREAKFAST CLUB--With 1985's "The Breakfast Club," John Hughes wasn’t merely chronicling the woes of high school detention; he was defining the emotional terrain of adolescence for an entire generation. Nearly four decades later, the film endures not just as an artifact of Reagan-era teen culture, but as a strikingly perceptive human study: funny, tender and unflinchingly honest about the fragile boundaries between identity and stereotype. Set almost entirely within the sterile walls of a suburban high school library, the story follows five students sentenced to spend a Saturday in detention. Each represents a familiar high school archetype: the brain (Anthony Michael Hall’s Brian), the athlete (Emilio Estevez’s Andrew), the princess (Molly Ringwald’s Claire), the criminal (Judd Nelson’s Bender), and the basket case (Ally Sheedy’s Allison). Under the watchful but indifferent eye of assistant principal Richard Vernon (Paul Gleason), these kids are expected to sit silently and “think about what they’ve done.” Instead, they slowly dismantle the labels that confine them and, in doing so, discover unexpected truths about themselves and one another. The movie’s genius lies in its simplicity. Hughes confines his characters to a single location, allowing the drama to unfold through talk rather than action. The setup, deceptively straightforward, becomes a pressure cooker in which defenses erode and emotions rise. The dialogue feels spontaneous and raw, yet it is meticulously crafted to reveal layers of fear, insecurity and longing beneath the surface bravado. Hughes captures the rhythms of adolescent speech without resorting to caricature, and his actors respond with performances that feel lived-in. Nelson, with Bender's swaggering defiance and glimpses of wounded pride, anchors the emotional center while Ringwald’s Claire brings poise and vulnerability to a role that could have been one-note. Hall delivers a quietly devastating portrait of intellectual anxiety and Sheedy’s Allison, initially mute and inscrutable, blossoms into the film’s biggest surprise. Estevez gives token jock Andrew an earnestness that makes his own reckoning with expectation and masculinity particularly affecting. Their chemistry feels organic as a group of disparate souls learn how listen to each other over the course of one long afternoon. Hughes’s direction is invisible in the best sense. He lets the camera linger, observes his characters in moments of awkward silence and trusts the audience to engage with their vulnerabilities. The soundtrack, anchored by Simple Minds’ now-iconic “Don’t You (Forget About Me),” captures the movie’s spirit of yearning and defiance. The music isn’t just background, it’s a statement of connection between viewer and character; a plea not to let adolescence, in all its confusion and hope, fade into irrelevance. A master class in empathy, its power comes from Hughes' refusal to trivialize teenage pain or to offer neat resolutions. When the characters leave the library, they do so changed, though perhaps only slightly, and that modest transformation feels utterly real. Hughes reminds us that the struggle to be understood, to escape the boxes others build around us, never truly ends. The film’s enduring resonance lies in that recognition: that every adult, however far removed from high school, carries within them the echo of that long Saturday spent trying to figure out who they are. The new Criterion Collection release includes both 4K and Blu-Ray copies of the movie as well as myriad bonus features. There's an audio commentary track with Nelson and Hall; standalone interviews featuring cast/crew members including Ringwald and Sheedy; a video essay featuring Hughes' production notes read by Nelson; fifty minutes of deleted and extended scenes; promotional/archival interviews; excerpts from a 1985 American Film Institute seminar with Hughes; Ringwald's audio interview from an episode of "This American Life;" a Hughes radio interview; and author/critic David Kamp's essay, "Smells Like Teen Realness." (A.)
ETERNITY--From its opening scenes, director David Freyne invites us into a whimsically stylized purgatory where souls have one week to choose where (and with whom) to spend their afterlives. A bewildered Joan (Elizabeth Olsen) arrives only to discover that not only is her long-time husband Larry (Miles Teller) waiting, but so is her first love Luke (Callum Turner). What ensues is a love triangle of spectral proportions: devotion versus possibility, the cherished past versus the life unlived. Freyne populates his afterworld with nostalgic textures--e.g., train stations that look like Eisenhower-era lobbies and neon-tinged leisure worlds (“Beach World”, “Studio 54 World”)---and gives his lead actors plenty of room to shine. Olsen grounds the emotional core with Joan's rueful reflectiveness, Teller radiates earnest loyalty and Turner brings a wistful swagger as the ghost of youthful promise. Regrettably, the movie never quite fulfills its ambitious premise. The set-up is rich in philosophical overtones (what choice means, how regret lingers), but the screenplay leans on familiar rom-com beats. The world-building remains skin-deep, and the myriad options for “eternity” are glimpsed rather than fully explored. When the story enters its third act, the emotional stakes flatten with resolutions that feel comfortable rather than surprising. The film's major strength lies in its generous heart, reminding us that even grand metaphysical questions can be served with charm and warmth. (B.)
FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S 2--Returning writer/director Emma Tammi builds on her 2023 predecessor with a darker, more ambitious follow-up that expands upon the source material's video game origins while heightening the scares. Set one year later, the story revisits Mike Schmidt (Josh Hutcherson) and his sister Abby (Piper Rubio) as they confront deeper, more terrifying secrets about Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. One of the strongest aspects of this bloodier, more intense sequel is its expanded animatronic roster which introduces more sophisticated “toy”-style robots courtesy of Jim Henson’s Creature Shop. These new additions help evoke the whimsy of the game while also being eerily realistic, a design choice that pays off in tension and visual flair. Rather than relying solely on jump scares, Tammi builds suspense through Abby’s reconnection with the animatronic creatures which triggers a chain of events both personal and unsettling. The film also leans into its foundational mythos--there are Easter eggs galore--that longtime fans will appreciate without alienating newbies. Hutcherson and Rubio's sibling rapport brings an emotional gravitas that keeps the supernatural horror from becoming too rote. While Tammi occasionally juggles too many subplots and character threads, this is a solid entry in a nascent horror franchise that's scarier and more emotionally resonant than the first outing. (B MINUS.)
ISLE OF DOGS--Both a culmination and playful reinvention within his singular body of work, Wes Anderson's stop-motion animated marvel takes the auteur’s long-standing fascination with meticulous design, ensemble storytelling and bittersweet humor into new cultural and narrative terrain. What emerges is a movie that feels quintessentially Anderson yet freshly expansive, a fable with political bite wrapped
in a tender tale of survival. The film is set in a near-future Japan where an outbreak of canine flu prompts the authoritarian Mayor Kobayashi (voiced by Kunichi Nomura) to banish all dogs to Trash Island. At the heart of the tale is Atari (Koyu Rankin), a boy determined to rescue his beloved guard dog Spots (Liev Schreiber). On the island, Atari is aided by a ragged band of exiled pups: Rex (Edward Norton), King (Bob Balaban), Boss (Bill Murray), Duke (Jeff Goldblum) and cynical stray Chief (Bryan Cranston). Their odyssey across mountains of garbage and decaying industry provides the adventure framework where Anderson gently explores the theme of the deep bond between humans and animals. Visually, this is one of Anderson’s most extraordinary achievements. The animation allows him to exert his trademark precision and every tuft of fur, speck of dust and even symmetrical frame bursts with detail. Yet there’s also a tactile grit absent from the gleaming dollhouses of 'The Grand Budapest Hotel" or The Fantastic Mr. Fox." Trash Island is a place of ruin and the textures underscore both the bleakness of exile and the resilience of companionship. Anderson’s oeuvre often circles around outsiders yearning for belonging (the precocious children of "Moonrise Kingdom;" Max Fischer in "Rushmore;" the eccentric family of "The Royal Tenenbaums"). Here that theme is literalized: dogs cast out of society form their own fragile community, their survival tied to trust and cooperation. The movie is also among his most overtly political works raising topical questions about scapegoating, propaganda and the ease with which fear can be weaponized. (Sound familiar?) Yet for all of its darker shadings, it still manages to retain Anderson’s warmth. The voice cast delivers a perfect balance of wit and melancholy with Cranston’s Chief providing the emotional ballast as a creature who has never known devotion until Atari’s quiet persistence breaks through his defenses. The final act, in which friendship and courage triumph over corruption, feels both satisfyingly Andersonian and unexpectedly moving. "Isle of Dogs" affirms Anderson as a director who can evolve while remaining true to his sensibility, melding deadpan humor, heartbreak and visual invention into a masterpiece that's both personal and universal. It may be the Anderson film that most fully marries form and feeling, crafting an ode to loyalty and love from the scraps of exile. The Criterion Collection release includes both 4K UHD and Blu-Ray copies with numerous bonus features. Among them are an audio commentary with Anderson and Goldblum; storyboard animatic; a making-of featurette with animators, puppet makers, modelers, sculptors, set dressers, illustrators and production designers; "Jupiter in the Studio" featuring costar F. Murray Abraham touring the magical set; a video essay by Tony Zhou and Taylor Ramos; animation tests, visual-effects breakdowns and behind-the-scenes and time-lapse footage; an essay by critic Moeko Fujii; and a framable poster by cover artist Katsuhiro Otomo. (A PLUS.)
MISERICORDIA--Set in the sun-dappled countryside of southern France, this unsettling, oddly tender examination of guilt and the uneasy bonds within small communities unfolds with cult director Alain ("Stranger by the Lake") Guiraudie’s signature blend of mystery, dark comedy and sensual unease. The story follows Jérémie (Félix Kysyl), a young man who returns to his hometown for the funeral of his former employer. Planning only a brief stay, Jérémie impulsively accepts the hospitality of the widow Martine (Catherine Frot) whose quiet warmth both comforts and unsettles him. Her son Vincent (Jean-Baptiste Durand), bristling with suspicion, resents Jérémie’s presence. Their fraught dynamic escalates to a shocking confrontation in the woods where Vincent is killed. In the aftermath, Jérémie finds an unlikely protector in Father Pierre (Jacques Develay), the parish priest, who offers him an alibi in exchange for sexual favors. This morally ambiguous bargain entangles Jérémie further in the town’s web of secrets where desire and suspicion uneasily coexist. The performances help ground the strangeness in emotional truth. Kysyl brings a restless, opaque quality to Jérémie; Frot conveys Martine’s grief and resilience with understated power; Durand makes Vincent’s jealousy both pitiable and threatening; and Develay invests the priest wit anh unsettling gentleness. Cinematographer Claire Mathon frames the village and its surrounding woods with a lyrical menace, turning the pastoral into something charged with hidden danger. Guiraudie uses silence, sudden bursts of violence and sly humor to keep viewers off balance. A richly atmospheric, thought-provoking film, it thrives on ambiguity, asking what mercy means in a world where love, violence and survival are inextricably bound. The Criterion Premieres Blu-Ray features an interview with Guiraudie, the theatrical trailer and notes by critic Imogen Sara Smith. (A.)
NOW YOU SEE ME, NOW YOU DON'T--After nearly a decade-long hiatus, director Ruben ("Zombieland") Fleischer reunites the original “Four Horsemen”--Jesse Eisenberg, Woody Harrelson, Dave Franco and Isla Fisher--for another
stylishly inventive heist flick. As the film opens, the Horsemen have all moved on and gone their separate ways. But when Atlas (Eisenberg) recruits a trio of young illusionists--Dominic Sessa, Justice Smith and Ariana Greenblatt--the old pros are pulled back into the field for one last adventure. Their target: the priceless “Heart Diamond” stolen by Veronika Vanderberg (Rosamund Pike), ruthless leader of a nefarious global crime syndicate. The Horsemen's mission becomes as much about legacy and reinvention as it is about theft. Fleischer leans into the series' signature blend of legerdemain and heist movie tropes: sleek transitions, globe-trotting setpieces and the underlying "Is this a magic trick or an actual robbery?" tension. At times the movie seems more enamored with its own cleverness, though, and the twist-heavy climax feels overly programmed with emotional resonance taking a back seat to the mechanics of misdirection. While not reaching the heights of its predecessors, it's a roguishly entertaining lark with just enough sleight of hand to keep the magic-heist franchise alive and kicking. (B.)
TWIN PEAKS: FIRE WALK WITH ME--When "Fire Walk With Me" hit theaters in 1992, audiences expecting a return to the quirky rhythms of the cult television series were instead met with a descent into anguish and darkness. David Lynch’s prequel to the short-lived ABC show defied all conventional expectations of narrative closure or nostalgia. More than three decades later, it stands as one of Lynch’s most audacious and emotionally harrowing achievements. A cryptic prologue follows FBI agents investigating the death of Teresa Banks in the small town of Deer Meadow (a grim mirror image of Twin Peaks itself). These scenes, surreal and jagged, prepare us for the central narrative: the final seven days in the life of Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee), the homecoming queen whose death haunted the town that idolized her. Lynch strips away the folksy eccentricities that characterized the series, leaving only dread, sorrow and flickering hope. In Laura’s world, high school dances and cozy diners are overshadowed by demonic visitations and domestic horror. Sheryl Lee delivers an extraordinary performance, one that feels both raw and transcendent. Her portrayal of Laura as victim, survivor and self-destructive martyr remains one of the greatest thesping turns in Lynch’s canon. Ray Wise, as Laura's father, matches her with a performance of unbearable tension, shifting between manic affection and terrifying violence. Cinematographer Ron Garcia bathes the movie in saturated reds and bruised shadows while Angelo Badalamenti’s score alternates between dreamy jazz and dirge-like lamentations. Together they summon an atmosphere that feels simultaneously supernatural and achingly human. Every frame seems alive with unease: the flicker of a ceiling fan, the hum of electricity, the whisper of wind in the trees. Lynch’s fascination with the boundary between dream and nightmare has rarely felt so intimate or devastating. What distinguishes the film from other horror-inflected dramas is its empathy. Beneath the shrieking surrealism lies a profound compassion for Laura, a recognition of her suffering, her isolation and her desperate attempts to reclaim control of her body and soul. The final moments, widely misunderstood at the time of its release, now read as an act of transcendence, the transformation of tragedy into something luminous and deeply spiritual. Viewed today, it feels less like a franchise extension than a cinematic exorcism. It's Lynch’s most personal and painful work, a masterpiece of emotional exposure disguised as a genre flick. By bringing Laura Palmer to life in all her torment and resilience, Lynch restores dignity to a figure once defined by her death. The result is not merely a prequel, but a requiem: blazing, haunted and unforgettable. The Criterion Collection release includes both a 4K UHD disc as well as a Blu-Ray copy of the film. Extras include "The Missing Pieces," ninety minutes of deleted scenes and alternate takes personally supervised by Lynch; interviews with Lee and composer Angelo Badalamenti; Lynch interviewing Lee, Wise and Grace Zabriskie (Laura Palmer's excitable mom); and excerpts from "Lynch on Lynch," a 1997 book edited by filmmaker/writer Chris Rodley. (A PLUS.)
WICKED FOR GOOD--Jon M. Chu brings the second half of his ambitious screen adaptation of the beloved Broadway musical to an emotionally rich, visually resplendent conclusion. While the first movie set the stage for the friendship--and eventual rupture--between Elphaba and Glinda, this chapter dives deeper into the moral consequences of power, prejudice and redemption while delivering the same show-stopping spectacle and heartfelt performances. Cynthia Erivo once again commands the screen as Elphaba, the misunderstood “Wicked Witch” whose integrity and pain fuel the dramatic core. Her performance, full of both fury and fragility, grounds the fantasy in raw human emotion. As Glinda, Ariana Grande evolves beautifully from wide-eyed ingénue to a figure of compassion and regret. Their chemistry gives the film its pulse, turning what could have been a simple tale of good vs. evil into something far more complex and affecting. Chu directs with a confident, theatrical flair, balancing sweeping musical sequences with quiet, character-driven moments. The production design continues to dazzle: Emerald City shimmers in shades of decadence and decay while the darker corners of Oz evoke a Gothic melancholy that suits Elphaba’s inner turmoil. Supporting turns from Michelle Yeoh, Jeff Goldblum and Jonathan Banks add texture, but it’s the visual and emotional duet between Erivo and Grande that truly defines the franchise. By the time the story reaches its poignant resolution, "Wicked for Good" has more than earned its emotional crescendo. (A MINUS.)
ZOOTOPIA 2--Nearly a decade after the original Disney blockbuster, "Zootopia 2" arrives with ambition, heart and a brand new mystery that lives up to its predecessor's legacy. Directors Jared Bush and Byron Howard--who also helmed the first movie--reunite the iconic duo of Judy Hopps (Ginnifer Goodwin) and Nick Wilde (Jason Bateman) for a layered, emotionally resonant sequel that delivers both laughs and substance. The story revolves around a new character (sly, enigmatic snake Gary voiced by Ke Huy Quan) whose arrival in Zootopia disrupts the status quo, sending Judy and Nick in uncharted parts of the city. This set-up allows Bush and Howard to explore new terrain, literally and thematically, introducing reptilian districts that expand the world-building of the 2016 incarnation. Along the way, the movie challenges its protagonists’ relationship and forces them to confront not only external danger but internal doubts. The humor is playful and fast-paced, leaning into clever wordplay and animal puns while never undercutting the gravity of its deeper themes. Yet Bush and Howard don’t shy away from social commentary either, offering reflections on inclusion, prejudice and community in a way that feels organic without being preachy. Vibrant, richly detailed animation helps immerse us in the sprawling metropolis of Zootopia as well as some exotic new settings. The emotional payoff satisfies by tying together character growth and thematic arcs in a way that reaffirms the values of partnership, trust and acceptance. Entertaining, thoughtful and bold in its expansion of a beloved franchise, it stands as a worthy sequel that should have no trouble appealing to fans and novitiates alike. (B PLUS.)
---Milan Paurich
