Judy Blume Forever (Davina Pardo and Leah Wolchok, 2023). This documentary dutifully traces the life and career of author Judy Blume, convincingly making the case that her literary accomplishments were undervalued because her most famed and adored books were primarily meant for younger readers. Directors Davina Pardo and Leah Wolchok do a fine job assembling biographical details, a chronological journey through the most significant titles in Blume’s bibliography, and testimonials from well-chosen admirers. If there’s nothing particularly inventive about Judy Blume Forever, the film capably gets its job done. The filmmakers benefit greatly from the presence of Blume herself, speaking directly to the camera and proving to be an abundantly charming guide to her own career. Her lively exasperation at the resurgence of right-wing fervor for the banning of books is an especially welcome — and hard-earned — contribution to the broader current discourse.

The Informer (John Ford, 1935). Victor McLaglen won his first of two acting Oscars for this drama about a down-on-his-luck Irish mug who gives up an old IRA compatriot (Wallace Ford) to the authorities, leading to that man’s death. Given the reports that director John Ford coaxed McLaglen into uncommon authenticity through strategic exploitation’s of the actor’s inebriation and hangovers, the bottle should have gotten its own prize. However he got there, McLaglen is genuinely terrific in the role, showing the humanity that reside within — and often drives — the character’s desperate mistakes. Ford is characteristically masterful in the visual craft of the film, working with cinematographer Joseph H. August to cast perfect shadows across the street scenes and make every interior seem deeply lived in. Everything that revolves around the main character has a kinetic urgency, even the smaller moments. In contrast, The Informer clunks to a halt whenever the story drifts away from him. This flaw is especially true in the handful of scenes which center on IRA leader Dan Gallagher (Preston Foster). Foster’s performance is dreadfully stiff, which was common enough for the era but looks mannequin-like compared against McLaglen ferocious turn.

The Color Purple (Blitz Bazawule, 2023). Maybe it’s a shortcoming of imagination on my part that I find merging show tunes with the story introduced by Alice Walker in the 1982 novel The Color Purple to be such an ill fit. Certainly, the moments in this musical adaptation when the songs lean towards traditional forms that feel culturally appropriate for the time and place the film is set in — gospel, juke-joint R&B, jazz — do stand as a logical celebration of Black expression through art when most other avenues were entirely closed off. More often, though, the film jolts like it’s jumping two gears at once when it goes from drama to a number. Director Blitz Bazawule has a nice eye, but he lacks the deftness that Steven Spielberg brought to the 1985 straightforward film adaptation. Spielberg’s utter command of the story’s emotional landscape made the incongruous third-act triumph and redemption work better than it should have. When belted out through wannabe showstoppers, that closing arc feels like a sham.