Capsule reviews for March 22

Carol Doda Topless at the Condor

Both amusing and insightful, this documentary about the aspiring actress who become a stripping pioneer provides thoughtful context into her career even as it lacks detail into her personal life. Doda rose to prominence in the mid-1960s in San Francisco, where she worked as a cocktail waitress at the titular bar. Her transition to topless dancing began a trend in the city’s nightclub district that launched a movement toward sexual freedom and empowerment while drawing the ire of prudish protesters. Set against a volatile sociopolitical backdrop, the film examines Doda’s influence from a contemporary perspective, digging beyond the titillation to probe a unique slice of history. (Not rated, 100 minutes).

Do Not Expect Too Much from the End of the World

As provocative as it is humorous, this blistering satire from Romanian director Radu Jude (The Happiest Girl in the World) finds its groove with a misanthropic absurdism that’s both indulgent and subversive. It tracks the bizarre odyssey of a lowly production assistant (Ilinca Monolache) tasked with traversing Bucharest to film accident victims for roles in a corporate safety video. However, one interviewee ignites a scandal that throws the entire project into disarray. Contrasting that present-day scenario with that of a woman from a completed film from 40 years earlier, Jude skewers social media and cultural misogyny with a persuasive ferocity that transcends geographic and chronological boundaries. (Not rated, 163 minutes).

Femme

Fully committed performances drive this character-driven British thriller that balances a multilayered story of tolerance and queer identity with a thought-provoking saga of obsession and revenge. It begins with a violent attack on drag performer Jules (Nathan Stewart-Jarrett) by hoodlums including the closeted Preston (George MacKay). Months later, the two cross paths again, and Preston becomes drawn to Jules, who he doesn’t recognize without the makeup. Preston tries to keep the ensuing relationship a secret, unaware that Jules has other plans. Almost derailed by some coincidental late twists, the moderately suspenseful film generates some intriguing dynamics as motives and loyalties shift beneath the surface. (Not rated, 99 minutes).

The Fox

Considering the subject matter, this earnest World War II drama is slow and meandering, unable to match its worthwhile intentions with compelling execution. It follows a former orphaned farmhand (Simon Morze) who becomes a motorcycle courier for the Austrian army during the onset of the conflict. He bonds with an abandoned fox cub and accompanies it to occupied France, where they find comfort through mutual lessons of companionship and catharsis under the roughest of circumstances. The film’s true-life inspiration is the great-grandfather of director Adrian Goiginger, who tells the story with heartfelt sensitivity. However, the uneven script stifles the narrative momentum and emotional impact. (Not rated, 118 minutes).

Freaknik: The Wildest Party Never Told

Celebratory nostalgia seems to be the primary motivation behind this breezy documentary about the rise and fall of the titular Atlanta street party. It delivers on that level, without providing much deeper insight or perspective. The film charts Freaknik’s modest origins in the 1980s as an annual spring break gathering for Black college students, its growth and cultural influence — particularly coinciding with the rise of Southern hip-hop, and its eventual descent into a mess of debauchery, crime, and bureaucratic overreach. The interviewees include Jermaine Dupri, Luther Campbell, and Lil Jon, among others, whose anecdotes generally reflect the film’s focus on remaining upbeat, emphasizing empowerment over anarchy. (Not rated, 82 minutes).

Immaculate

Sydney Sweeney (Anyone but You) outshines the material in this tedious horror exercise from director Michael Mohan (The Voyeurs) that amps up the gore while skimping on the frights. Sweeney plays a devout young American nun eager for a fresh start at a remote convent in the Italian countryside. However, her new home holds a sinister secret that will test her faith and prompt a fight for survival. The film hints at emotional and thematic complexities while relying mostly on jump scares and genre tropes. By the final act, it’s uncertain whether to embrace its absurdity, and Sweeney can’t conjure enough divine intervention to save it. (Rated R, 89 minutes).

Late Night with the Devil

Both campy and creepy, this clever found-footage horror saga doubles as a provocative satire of media sensationalism that’s alternately amusing and unsettling. It chronicles a live Halloween episode of a ratings-starved 1970s late-night talk show with a desperate host (David Dastmalchian) who books a psychic, a skeptic, and other assorted oddballs for a ratings bonanza, only to watch as the resulting attempts to communicate with the dead hit too close to home. Sibling directors Colin and Cameron Cairnes avoid cheap thrills and remain committed to their central gimmick, which builds suspense by immersing viewers in its disturbing twists. It’s emotionally detached, but that’s the point. (Rated R, 93 minutes).

Limbo

Capturing its stark landscapes through evocative black-and-white visuals, this deliberately paced Australian thriller rewards patience with rich thematic texture beneath its procedural surface. It centers on a jaded detective (Simon Baker) who ventures into the sun-drenched outback to poke around about a missing-persons case that’s been cold for two decades involving a young indigenous woman. Family members and strangers alike are guarded in trusting the outsider, who exposes secrets while confronting his own vices. Despite its slow stretches, the character-driven screenplay by director Ivan Sen (Mystery Road) supplements its redemption story with potent subtext about racial injustices and family legacies. Baker’s portrayal is deeply felt. (Not rated, 108 minutes).

Sleeping Dogs

An intriguing premise is squandered by clichéd plotting and overwrought twists in this noir-infused potboiler that’s best forgotten. It follows former homicide detective Roy (Russell Crowe) suffering from severe memory loss who gets drawn back into an old murder case involving a Death Row inmate (Pacharo Mzembe) trying to clear his name. After reaching out to his ex-partner (Tommy Flanagan), Roy must sort through new clues from a writer (Harry Greenwood) and a femme fatale (Karen Gillan) while his condition deteriorates. The lack of tension stems from Roy’s affliction becoming little more than a plot device that triggers eye-rolling contrivances while diminishing the emotional stakes. (Rated R, 110 minutes).