Top 5 This Week — Jun 30, 2026

Robert Aramayo vibrates with an intelligent charm that makes every involuntary shout feel like a survival tactic. In the early scenes, young Scott Ellis Watson takes the strap from teachers who mistake a neurological storm for defiance. It’s ugly, but Kirk Jones avoids the usual schmaltz of the inspiration-porn biopic. The script drills into how society's tolerance usually ends exactly where predictability stops. While some might worry about the shifts in mood, Jones handles the comedy with humorous and heartrending aplomb, forcing us to figure out when to laugh with John rather than at him.

It’s a human-scale biopic that values internal friction over grand, sweeping statements. It works because it doesn't beg for your pity; it demands your recognition. This isn't just a clinical study; it’s an uplifting bit of business that doesn’t hide the scars. Aramayo anchors the film with a performance full of intelligence and charm that keeps the heavy themes from sinking into the predictable.

For: Fans of gritty British dramas and anyone tired of sanitized biopics.

Skip if: You want a fast-paced thriller or can't stomach raw depictions of schoolhouse bullying.

Nathan Lane tries to smear mustard on a piece of toast like a "real man" and fails spectacularly. It’s a small beat, but it highlights why The Birdcage works. Mike Nichols and Elaine May didn't just remake a French farce; they tightened the screws on the American family.

The film isn’t about plot. As Roger Ebert noted, the joy comes from the dialogue’s "sparkle." Robin Williams plays the straight man—ironically—letting Lane carry the manic weight of Albert’s insecurities. Gene Hackman and Dianne Wiest provide the perfect stifling, monochromatic foil to the neon chaos of South Beach. It’s a farce that rewards vulnerability. When Albert attempts to "play it straight" for his son, it’s a heroic act of love, even if he looks ridiculous.

Nichols keeps the energy high but allows for breathing room. The movie argues that family values belong to the people who actually show up. It’s loud, it’s colorful, and it remains the gold standard for the comedy of manners.

Watch this if you want a sharp script and high theatrical energy. Skip it if you hate farce or over-the-top performances.

Charlie Bucket’s animated face looks like a wax figure melting in real-time. It’s stiff, creepy, and utterly distracting. This isn’t a new story; it’s a shot-for-shot remake of the 1971 classic with a cat and mouse shoehorned into the frame. The film functions as a brainless exercise in corporate synergy, dragging the duo into a friends-helping-Charlie narrative that feels unearned and out of character.

The tonal shifts fail every time. The movie tries to pair the original's moral weight with thwack-and-chase sequences that have no business being there. Watching Tom get thwacked with the counter while a child sings about imagination isn't fun—it's an RPG-to-the-face of a viewing experience. The animation fails, turning iconic characters into stiff avatars. It drains the wonder out of the chocolate factory and replaces it with mechanical slapstick.

Who this is for: Toddlers who need 70 minutes of loud, colorful distractions. Who should skip: Purists of the Gene Wilder original and anyone who values coherent animation.

Jemaine Clement spends half his screen time looking genuinely embarrassed. You can't blame him. In Alice and Steve, he plays a man dating his best friend’s 26-year-old daughter, a woman he’s known since she was a child. It’s a "wrong-com" that leans so hard into the "wrong" that the comedy frequently evaporates. Nicola Walker brings her usual grit, but even she can't mask a script that settles for a "shrugging ‘What’s a fella to do?!’ vibe" instead of confronting the actual power imbalance.

The show treats "abominable behavior" as a quirky character flaw. While some find the result "brilliantly cringe," the series often feels "unconvincing" and dated. It wants to be a show about love, but it delivers a petty feud that leaves the audience feeling oily. The chemistry between the leads keeps the action anchored, but it doesn't save the project from its own ick factor.

Who it's for: Die-hard fans of British cringe-comedy who don't mind feeling greasy. Who should skip it: Anyone who finds the dating-my-best-friend's-kid trope more repulsive than funny.

Daniel Craig sits in a Mexico City bar, his face a map of aging desperation and gin. He’s a far cry from 007. In Queer, he plays Lee, a man whose skin seems to itch with a need for something—or someone—he can’t have. Luca Guadagnino doesn't bother with a tight script. He prefers being a "poet of erotic desire" who prioritizes mood over momentum.

The film feels intentionally artificial. The jungle sequence looks studio-bound and surreal, acting as a "kaleidoscope of addiction" rather than a realistic travelogue. It’s slow. Sometimes it’s agonizingly still. Guadagnino uses these "Brechtian distancing devices" to keep us from getting too comfortable. He reminds us that even when Lee finds someone to touch, he’s still "out-of-sync" with his own life. It’s a look at isolation that refuses to offer a hug. Craig’s performance is raw and occasionally pathetic, stripping away every ounce of movie-star ego.

Watch this if: You want a lush, drug-soaked fever dream that values style as substance. Skip it if: You need a plot that moves or you hate stagey, self-conscious filmmaking.