Capsule reviews for Sept. 6

Casa Bonita Mi Amor

You don’t need to be a “South Park” fan to appreciate this amusing documentary about an ill-fated if well-intentioned entrepreneurial venture by show creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone. After deciding to save the titular Colorado restaurant from closure following the pandemic, they soon realize the quirky spot they revered as children is falling apart behind the scenes. Re-opening it will cost millions to fix decades of disrepair, along with delays due to their obsession over details such as food and entertainment. Sure, it comes off as a bit promotional, but the film’s agreeable mix of eccentricities and tender sweetness makes you root for them. (Not rated, 88 minutes).

Continue

A sense of raw vulnerability and therapeutic authenticity elevate this mildly contrived drama about mental illness from director Nadine Crocker (Desperation Road). She also stars as Dean, a suicidal woman scarred by a tragic past who’s taken to a mental institution, where her outlook on life changes despite some questionable care. After her release, she meets a musician (Shiloh Fernandez) and tries to start over, only to realize that her demons will follow her forever. A more disciplined edit could have shaped a more consistently compelling narrative from Crocker’s true-life screenplay, but the film’s heartfelt ambition and bleak audacity give it an edgy potency. (Rated R, 117 minutes).

Don’t Turn Out the Lights

Adhering to genre tropes rather than subverting them, this slapdash horror lampoon isn’t clever enough to produce any laughs or frights — whatever the intent might be. It follows a group of college-age coeds celebrating a birthday with an impromptu road trip to a music festival in a beat-up RV. Drinking and smoking their way through the Deep South, they stall on a rural road and begin hallucinating as supernatural forces bear down. We’re indifferent to the fate of the shallow and stereotypical characters, and the labored screenplay by director Andy Fickman (The Game Plan) takes itself too seriously instead of leaning into the campy absurdity. (Not rated, 109 minutes).

The Front Room

Emphasizing shock value over consistent suspense — occasionally in effective ways — this creepy domestic thriller steers its intriguing premise into conventional thematic territory. Belinda (Brandy Norwood) and her husband (Andrew Burnap) are stressing out about her pregnancy, given past complications, financial strain, and career uncertainty. When his overbearing mother-in-law (Kathryn Hunter), an extremely devout evangelical, offers cash to stabilize their situation, it comes with a steep price when she moves in. The ensuing power struggle produces some tension in spurts in the screenplay by sibling directors Max and Sam Eggers. However, despite some fully committed performances, the atmospheric film never feels grounded in realistic character dynamics. (Rated R, 94 minutes).

I’ll Be Right There

A richly textured performance by Edie Falco (“Nurse Jackie”) galvanizes this uneven yet charming comedy from director Brendan Walsh (Centigrade) about parental instincts and fractured families. Falco plays Wanda, who lives for being called upon to solve a crisis, whether involving her pregnant daughter (Kayli Carter), her addict son (Charlie Tahan), her unscrupulous ex-husband (Bradley Whitford), or her hypochondriac mother (Jeannie Berlin). But with her kids grown, she struggles to shed her caretaker role and refocus free time on herself and her happiness. Despite an overreliance on quirks and neuroses, the film effectively taps into mental health issues with a light touch and a universal resonance. (Not rated, 97 minutes).

Red Rooms

A suspenseful exploration of serial-killer psychology and celebrity, this offbeat French thriller is both viscerally unsettling and intensely provocative. It centers on Kelly-Anne (Juliette Gariepy), a Parisian model obsessed with an alleged murderer (Maxwell McCabe-Lokos) in the middle of a high-profile trial. As she sits in the gallery and listens intently, Kelly-Anne and a fellow groupie (Laurie Babin) reflect on the morality of their fixation and their own possible connection to the case. Although the twists strain credibility, the screenplay by director Pascal Plante (Nadia, Butterfly) offers a fresh and subversive take on familiar subject matter. It’s difficult to watch, but even harder to ignore. (Not rated, 118 minutes).