Bent twig

Hereditary

Crit

This is three-quarters of what might have been the best so far of the current horror golden era. It is spectacularly good for that long, with an excruciating plot spinning out in a direction that could be all psychological or all supernatural, and with Toni Collette doing some of her best work (which is tall cotton) as the very troubled mother of two very troubled children, played with troubling persuasiveness by Milly Shapiro and Alex Wolff. (The troubled husband is played by Gabriel Byrne, so that role is in good hands too.)

So we're put into such a squirmy uncertainty, exacerbated by one of the most horrible events we've ever seen on the screen, that an aural cue of less than half a second induces a theaterwide tremor, and we're just having exactly the experience we come to a smart 21st-century scare flick for, and then . . .

It takes a sharp turn into the certainty of a familiar trope, and becomes overlong and, by the end, almost boring.

Still, some kid named Ari Aster, in his writing and directing feature debut, has left a calling card I'm going to hold onto. If he can make 75% of a great film, he seems a good bet to close the deal later.

A month of Sundays

First Reformed

Crit

Ethan Hawke's Reverend Toller (and how's that for an unsubtle preacher name?) struggles with guilt, faith, alcohol, irrelevance, the social justice imperative, relationship issues, and, probably, soon-to-be-fatal stomach cancer. Paul Schrader's film is a descent into various hells, but an ascension, too, an uneasy but rewarding slice of ecclesiastical life.