For people having difficulty bearing a child, artificial insemination is one way to go for parenthood, but going to sperm banks can be expensive, shrouded with too much anonymity, and have had many incidents of malpractice. Some people would rather take things into their own hands. Spermworld explores the journeys of three different internet sperm donors, who meet with hopeful parents. It can be awkward, even when the donors are fairly ordinary guys with fairly decent motives, but the way director Lance Oppenheim approaches the community is disarmingly human, acknowledging the strange quirks that come with the donation, but also the interesting parental desires human beings do have.

It’s kind of amazing how Johnson, who writes, directs, and stars in this feature, narrowly escapes narrative holes by being so darn self-effacing and likable. The female lead Maddy (Anna Kendrick) should be denounced as a Manic Pixie Girl, but because of Johnson and Kendrick’s overflowing charm, you don’t question the flimsiness of her character until much later on. The game itself should not make sense, but because Johnson is so committed in his physical performance, and so arresting in his charisma, all is forgiven. Self Reliance is like a tasty souffle that looks great at the moment, but left for longer, poofs and deflates. As long as you don’t take it too seriously, the film should be a fun if forgettable ride.

In Suncoast, writer-director Laura Chinn takes the personal tragedy of losing her brother to cancer and weaves it into something meaningful. The film is a sensitive meditation on death and grief, but it isn’t all grim. It’s also a coming-of-age story, one that focuses on Doris (Nico Parker), a version of Chinn’s younger self aching for normal teen experiences. The film is at its best when it zeroes in on Doris’ interiority and examines the duality of having to deal with so much death while still wanting to live a vibrant life. The surprising friendship that blooms between her and the popular kids as she chases after this life is one of the best depictions of authentic teen dynamics in recent memory. But the film is at its weakest when it tries to be something it’s not—that is, your usual tear-jerker indie fare that’s rife with lessons from a magical stranger (in this case played genially, but unnecessarily, by Woody Harrelson) and grievances from a grief-stricken mother (played powerfully by Laura Linney). To be sure, Harrelson and Linney (especially) deliver top-notch performances, but they feel shoehorned in an otherwise pitch-perfect film about a girl finding her place in the real world.

Admittedly, being released in theaters a month after Immaculate, The First Omen can almost be accused of being derivative, with similar protagonists, plots, and themes. However, unlike Immaculate, this film captures a bit of the 1970s horror style that was best seen in the original 1976 Omen film, with the paranoia, the investigations, the Eastman Kodak-inspired color grading, and the number of the devil now depicted in striking modern images and clearer digital definition. And, considering that the Roe decision was overturned two years ago, the idea of a forced virgin conception is a great way to reintroduce Gen Z to the horror franchise, as the prequel, and today’s women, now have to deal with religion and authority reducing women only into vessels. The First Omen is a timely adaptation that takes familiar horror tropes and executes them well.

Miranda’s Victim often feels like two different movies smushed into one. On the one hand, it tells the story of how Trish finds the courage to speak up against her abuser, who happens to be a person of color. On the other hand, it shows us the legal intricacies that led to the founding of what we now know as Miranda Rights. In better hands, these two stories (one emotional and one technical) could’ve worked well together, and they would’ve spoken to the intersectionality at the heart of this complicated case. But instead of going for nuance, instead of exploring the complex racial and gender politics that inform this case, Director Michelle Danner goes in all sorts of odd directions as if herself confused about what the focus should be. 

Breslin is heartbreaking and powerful as Trish, but she’s only given so much to act with. Despite being based on a real person, her character is reduced to trauma and tears—a caricature of abuse—and nothing more. The movie is at its strongest when it converts into pure courtroom drama by the third act. Suddenly, it’s brisk and intelligent, bolstered by the compelling one-two punches of the judge (a commanding Donald Sutherland) and the two lawyers (Ryan Philippe, a revelation, and Luke Wilson, only slightly better here than in his earlier turn in Legally Blonde). As a story about violation and abuse, there’s surprisingly little compassion to be found, despite the title. But as a legal drama, it’s as informative as it can be. 

Produced by ABC News, Print It Black is a documentary that opts for a straightforward approach instead of a stylish one. It’s more breaking news than investigative, more TV than film, but it works to highlight the urgent issue at hand. Well, two issues, which it sometimes clumsily handles. On the one hand, Print It Black is about the devastating Robb Elementary massacre and how the small town of Uvalde is further divided in the aftermath. On the other, it’s about the relevancy of the town paper, The Uvalde Leader-News, and the crucial role it plays at a time when more and more news publications are shutting down. At the intersection of these two stories is Kimberly Rubio, a staff reporter for the paper whose 10-year-old daughter was one of the victims of the massacre. Without Rubio, the two threads come undone and the documentary fails to feel like a cohesive story. Odd decisions, like leaving out the identity and motivations of the perpetrator and allotting virtually zero screentime to the other nine victims, start to become glaringly obvious. It’s a shame because both are worthy topics that deserve their own features; here, they seem unfairly smushed into a feature that’s unconfident about the way it handles them.

You can see what director J.J. Anderson is trying to do with Sacred Soil: chronicle the lives of current Piney Woods students and connect them with their school’s storied past. It’s an admirable task that speaks to how, despite all the innovations we’ve made since the school’s founding in 1909, we still have a ways to go to achieve true racial equality. And it’s a story worth telling, set in a school brimming with bright minds unafraid to engage in important discourse. However, these ideas are muddled in Anderson’s unfocused storytelling. There is no narrator, so we’re left listening to clips of conversations and meetings that go on for too long (it often feels like sitting in a forum we’re not invited to). There are inserts of archival photos and beautiful shots of the school, but there’s little context provided to them, so those of us outside of the Piney Woods ecosystem are left feeling confused. Is the documentary about Black teenhood or is it about the history of the school? I imagine there’s a smoother way to interweave the two, but Sacred Soil ultimately fails to bridge the gap between the then and now.

There are a lot of laughs to be had in Prom Dates, most of them coming from the funny and actualized characterization of Hannah, the lead’s queer best friend. But everything else about this coming-of-age film feels too familiar and forced to be memorable. Despite leading the film, Jess feels like a hollow copy-paste version of all the delusional, ambitious leads in teen films like Booksmart, Superbad, and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, except there’s nothing particularly insightful or likable about her. She comes across as the annoying classmate you know too much about, against your own will. Events unfold in more or less predictable ways, though it’s not hard to imagine that the film could be elevated by a more robust cast. As it is, Prom Dates is a fleeting, forgettable entry in an already stacked genre.

Lovers share moments and memories intertwined with music, to the point that when the relationship ends, listening to an old track brings back the past. For Harriet in The Greatest Hits, this is literal, to the point that random music playing outside prolongs her grief. The story is familiar– it’s sort of similar to 2022’s Press Play– and frankly, the cinematography relies a bit too much on lens flares, but the cast makes the best of it, with Lucy Boynton having compelling chemistry with both Justin H. Min and David Corenswet. That being said, the film has a dated feel, with most of the tracks coming from the previous decade, and the conclusion it makes would feel totally insulting if they wrote Harriet’s relationship with Max in depth. But it’s still a fairly decent launching point for the cast and maybe a decent ad for silent disco spots and Spotify.

With inconsistent pacing and a deeply unpleasant protagonist, it’s hard to recommend The Seeding to every viewer. It’s really slow-paced, deeply uncomfortable, and it starts with, of all things, a baby eating a finger. But there’s an interesting style to this arthouse horror, a marriage of desert survival thriller and folk horror that restricts all possible modes of escape through its claustrophobic canyon. As Wyndham gradually discovers a secret community driven back to primitive instincts, director Barnaby Clay inverts the idea of what it means to be one’s fundamental self. Most viewers might not appreciate the story, and the ideas aren’t as cohesive as it could be, but horror fans looking for something new in the genre might find The Seeding fairly interesting.