Set to have been released in March of 2020, just as the country was going into lockdowns, A Quiet Place II was among the would-be blockbuster releases that decided to wait out the virus rather than partake in the premium video-on-demand experiment that became the primary release format of the year. Now, just in time for revised CDC guidance around masks, falling Covid-19 case counts, and increasing vaccination rates, the sequel is poised to be among the first huge cinema-only releases of this cautiously-optimistic new year. Picking up right where the first installment left off, with a family emerging from a long, cautious stretch spent huddled alone and self-sufficient in their surprisingly creaky farmhouse after a terrifying skirmish with deadly alien invaders, it’s timing couldn’t have been better.

Perhaps buoyed by the success of Wicked as villain image rehab or the fact that kids who watch the Star Wars films in numerical order grow up liking Darth Vader, Disney has dipped into its intellectual property vaults to explore the long-burning question of whether that mean fashion designer lady who wanted to skin a bunch of Dalmatians for the purposes of making a coat was ever, at some point, not the embodiment of pure puppy-killing evil.

That it is based on a book of the same name, which is in turn based on the author, Judith Kerr’s, early life and her family’s escape from Nazi Germany adds stark reality to this sweet, yet stirring film.

Every so often, there is the so-called “feel good” film of the year that comes out seemingly designed to hit a specific narrative note. Frequently called the type of “crowd pleasing” story that will “make you stand up and cheer” as well as a litany of other clichés, these films are a dime a dozen. Such is the case with Dream Horse, an often charming film that never makes the most of a rich story it is supposedly telling.

Late in Roy Andresson’s About Endlessness a man in a cafe watches in awe as snow falls gently outside a cafe window. A soft choral rendition of “Silent Night” accompanies the snowflakes, but no one seems to notice. He interrupts his fellow patrons’ quiet indifference to ask “Isn’t it fantastic?” To their quizzical responses he clarifies, “Everything”. Its as close a thesis statement as you’re going to get from this poetic contemplation of the mundane and profound that unfolds in dozens of short vignettes over seventy-four minutes.

A middling late-teen rom-com with some really lovely landscape photography.