Top 5 This Week — May 26, 2026

Sam Nivola white-knuckles the steering wheel of a stolen sedan, looking more terrified of a parallel park than a police chase. It sets the pace for Bobby Farrelly’s Driver’s Ed, a film that refuses to reinvent the wheel. Farrelly polishes the rims of a 2003-era teen comedy and hopes you still have a taste for R-rated angst and predictable pit stops.

The director delivers a boilerplate throwback. It lacks the subversive bite of his earlier work, trading edge for an incredible sweetness and genuine affection for its characters. It’s an easy watch that stays squarely in the middle of the road. While some find it a comedy without any personality, the young cast keeps the engine humming through every heavy-handed metaphor about life’s literal forks in the road. It’s kindhearted and well-intentioned, offering a safe, nostalgic trip that never asks you to work for the punchline.

Watch this if you miss the low-stakes raunch of American Pie. Skip it if you want your coming-of-age stories to actually say something new.

Korben Dallas’s apartment is a claustrophobic, automated coffin that sets the stage for Luc Besson’s loud, neon-soaked fever dream. It’s a mess of 23rd-century grit and Jean-Paul Gaultier high fashion. Forget logic. Besson doesn't feel "bound by the confines of Hollywood," opting instead for a "comic book movie" aesthetic that prioritizes style over sense.

The script asks, "What's the use of saving life when you see what you do with it?" then answers with a blue alien opera singer and Gary Oldman in a plastic head-shield. It’s garish. It’s exhausting. Bruce Willis plays the cynical anchor to a supporting cast that dialed their performances to eleven and then broke the knob. While the movie lacks psychological depth, its relentless energy keeps the engine running. It’s a "maximalist" spectacle that rewards viewers who can stomach rapid tonal shifts and Chris Tucker’s high-pitched screaming.

Watch it if: You want a loud, visually wild carnival ride that looks like nothing else.

Skip it if: You need your sci-fi grounded, naturalistic, or even remotely serious.

A tiny chestnut figurine with matchstick limbs sits next to a mutilated body. It’s a cold, ugly image that sets the tone for a series that refuses to blink. The Chestnut Man doesn't bother with subverting expectations. It leans hard into the gloom, delivering a story that is "serviceably grim" and relentlessly paced. Søren Sveistrup, who gave us The Killing, returns to familiar territory: dark family secrets, rain-slicked streets, and detectives who can’t find their way home. Danica Curcic plays the work-obsessed lead with a heaviness that makes the procedural beats feel earned, even when the plot relies on every Nordic Noir trope in the book. While the show "raises the bar" for mood, the finale feels "dramatically conventional," trading its early tension for standard horror beats. It works because it’s polished, not because it’s new.

Watch this if: You want a dark, moody binge that reminds you why Scandinavians do crime better than anyone else.

Skip it if: You're tired of the tortured detective cliché or need an ending that takes actual risks.

Rahul Khanna’s "COOL" necklace tells you everything about Karan Johar’s debut. It’s loud, desperate to look Western, and entirely obsessed with its own brand. This isn't a story; it’s a three-hour marketing campaign for Gap hoodies. Johar pivots from a frantic, neon-soaked college comedy to a weeping melodrama with the grace of a car crash.

While critics label it a significant cultural touchstone, the script relies on cornball dialogue and a plot that functions like a hostage situation involving a dead mother’s letters. The film survives solely on the cast's wattage. Shah Rukh Khan sells the happy go-getter archetype with enough sweat to power a small city, making you almost overlook the so-so music and the regressive idea that a woman is only lovable once she grows her hair out. It feels like a Hindi romance version of Batman and Robin—neon, campy, and loud.

For: People who crave 90s nostalgia and the high-gloss comfort of a star-driven melodrama.

Skip it: If you want realistic dialogue or a plot that doesn't treat friendship like a brand deal.

Sissy Spacek stares through a curtain of pig’s blood, her eyes wide with a terrifying, blank intensity. Brian De Palma doesn't just film a massacre; he uses split-screens and slow-motion to trap the viewer in a baroque sensibility that prioritizes style over sanity. He employs a sophisticated, absurdist intelligence to turn a high school gym into an arena of fire.

The film works because it refuses to play nice. De Palma’s fantastic technique serves an emotional core that feels raw even decades later. He frames Carrie’s torment not as a melodrama, but as a cry on why bullying can't be solved. The camera stalks her through the locker room and the prom, making the audience complicit in her isolation. It lacks a clean emotional release, choosing instead to leave you with the power of its sad ending. This isn't about healing; it’s about the explosion that happens when a person finally snaps.

For: People who want their horror drenched in 70s style and mean-spirited irony. Skip: Anyone looking for a happy resolution or a movie that treats its protagonist with actual kindness.