The Divergent series has, in many ways, been doomed from go. Propping up the dystopian hero’s story is a clumsily conceived, confusing “faction” system that makes so little sense it can cause spontaneous combustion if meditated on for extended periods of time. So, here we are, considering Allegiant, the third entry in the series based on Veronica Roth’s popular YA books, directed by Robert Schwentke. While the overlong, bland, uninspired, nonsensical movie didn’t cause said spontaneous combustion, my explosive demise is imminent; there’s another one coming out next summer, part two of this miserably drawn-out finale, and if there’s any silver lining, it’s that we can at least say there’s an end game in sight.

Again, we join Tris (Shailene Woodley) as she continues to unravel the mystery of “the founders,” the people who set up the cockamamie faction system however-many years ago. To catch up: Until the final events of Insurgent, Chicago had been divided into districts, whose residents are assigned according to their dominant personality traits. Upon opening a mystery box left by the founders, Tris and the rest of Chicago learns that there are people beyond the sky-high city walls that have confined them for all this time, a revelation that effectively collapses the longstanding faction system and sends plucky Tris, her super-soldier boyfriend Four (Theo James) and their rebellious friends on a quest to find out, once and for all, what’s beyond the wall.

An underwhelming run-n-gun sequence follows our heroes as they evade military forces sent by Four’s mom, Evelyn (Naomi Watts), who in the last movie disposed of the tyrannical Janine (Kate Winslet), only to (predictably) adopt the former leader’s totalitarian tendencies. The group makes it over the wall, but not before two of the series’ prominent characters of color—played by Mekhi Phifer and Maggie Q, who are each given virtually no dialogue as a parting gift—are gunned down, likely to make room for the new influx of white actors we’re about to meet (Daniel Dae Kim shows up for a second too, another minority bit-part designed to create a false sense of diversity). Not an uncommon Hollywood practice, but frustrating nonetheless.

On the other side of the wall, we find a Martian-looking wasteland, an army bearing futuristic weaponry, a new city (built, amusingly, on the remains of O’Hare International Airport), and a benevolent leader David (a sleepy Jeff Daniels), who informs Tris that she is the sole success of the “Chicago experiment” the founders set up all those years ago. There are details, but they’re too stupid and uninteresting to get into here. The basics are, Tris is the key to the prosperity of the human race, and David, who (surprise!) isn’t as benevolent as he appears to be, pampers her into ignoring her friends to concentrate on fulfilling his Hitler-y dreams. Four, Christina (Zoe Kravitz), and Tris brother Caleb (Ansel Elgort) do their best to snap Tris out of her self-aggrandizing daydream while also dealing with a civil war that’s broken out back in Chicago between Evelyn and Johanna’s (Octavia Spencer) respective followers.

The logic of the faction system was already frustrating, but now the series introduces this master-race narrative that only makes things worse. It simply isn’t clear what the message is Roth and the filmmakers are trying to get across. Is it that everyone’s special? No one is special? Tris seems pretty special. So do her friends. They all specialize in one thing—Four kicks major ass, Caleb’s good with tech—but the movie seems to be saying that their laser career focus is the result of genetic tampering or something, which leads us back to the secret behind the faction system mess. I can feel my body wanting to burst now, as I type this.

The enjoyable thing about Insurgent was that the action was urgent and inventive, but the set pieces here feel more trite and way less entertaining. The folks beyond the wall have nicer looking lasers and flying bubble ships than the dirty trucks and machine guns we’ve seen in the previous installments, which is a welcome change, but one can’t get over the fact that every bit of art design we see feels woefully generic, as if they were scrounged from a bin of unused video game assets. Unexpectedly missed are the surrealistic dream sequences from the first movies.

Perhaps the biggest head-scratcher of all is how a movie can fail so epically with such an amazing cast of seasoned vets and young stars populating the screen at any given moment. For goodness sake, you’ve got Spencer, Watts, and Daniels bouncing off of Woodley, Elgort, James (who’s not half bad here, actually), Kravitz, and Miles Teller, whose charisma can make the most terrible line work, at least to some extent. The Whiplash star is a standout as the opportunistic Peter, whose flips in allegiance have been enjoyable throughout the series. My feeling is that the cast makes a terrible script feel somewhat coherent and emotionally grounded, and for that the unlucky few who actually see this movie in a theater should be thankful.

Good-natured geeks get pulled into the quicksand of LA gang culture in Rick Famuyiwa‘s Sundance hit, Dope. It’s an unpredictable coming-of-age comedy that earns every laugh with its smart writing and well-crafted jokes that never feel cheap. Unlike other films addressing similar social and racial issues, Famuyiwa’s film isn’t a hero’s tale or some urban fantasy about rising above prejudice. It’s not a story about being a good person; it’s about being a survivor.

The underdog at the center of the story is Malcolm, played by a flat-top-rocking Shameik Moore. Malcolm’s a bright high school senior living in the Inglewood neighborhood called “The Bottoms” with his mom, a bus driver (his father left a long time ago, his only meaningful remnant a gifted VHS copy of Superfly). He’s a self-professed geek, spending most of his days obsessing over ’90s hip-hop culture (hence the flat-top), manga, porn and playing in a punk band with his two best friends. Kiersey Clemons plays Diggy, an outgoing, out-of-the-closet scrapper who’s always got Malcolm’s back. The third member of the hip-hop bohemian tribe is a scrawny fellow they call Jib, played by Tony Revolori (he was Zero in The Grand Budapest Hotel).

It’s explained early on (via slightly awkward Forest Whitaker narration) that The Bottoms is a pretty unfriendly place for them. Fights and shootings happen all the time, so getting bullied at school by Bloods (an everyday occurrence for Malcolm) is considered a relatively trivial complication compared to the gruesome stuff that happens on the block. Malcolm tries to avoid trouble as best he can, especially since he’s got Harvard in his crosshairs as his first-choice school. Nowhere in his application letter does he mention his under-privileged upbringing; instead, he analyzes Ice Cube’s Good Day as a way to stand out from the crowd of Harvard hopefuls. Upon reading the letter, Malcolm’s professor, who’s facilitating the application process, is frustrated that Malcolm—a straight-A student with a sterling record—thinks he can get into Harvard without using his hard-knocks upbringing to garner sympathy. “Who do you think you are?”

Later in the film, Malcolm’s in a dingy warehouse back office making a deal with a snarling thug involving inordinate amounts of molly (ecstasy), a thumb drive, and wads of dirty cash. The gangster tells Malcolm exactly who he is: “A man who don’t give a fuck.” How did Malcolm, a model teenager with a clean conscience, fall into such shady business, business that could derail his future?

It all starts with Dom (A$AP Rocky), a charismatic dealer who runs his block with a clenched fist. He takes Malcolm under his wing, using the nervous teen as a messenger pigeon to ask a pretty, smart girl up the block (Zoë Kravitz, channeling Nia Long in Friday) to come to his birthday party at the club. She agrees, but only if Malcolm goes, too. Malcolm develops a quick crush, of course, so he shows up to the party, Diggy and Jib in tow. In the chaos of a drug deal gone-wrong and a subsequent police raid, Malcolm winds up with a gun and tens of thousands of dollars worth of drugs in his backpack.

Thus begins Malcolm’s descent into a world of narcotic traffickers, racketeers and killers, with the geeky trio scrambling to figure out how to get rid of the drugs while trying to stay alive. The series of unlucky events cascade like falling dominos, and though things get dicey, the humor is always there, sustaining the film’s vigor.

Malcolm’s is a veritable whiz when it comes to academics, but when it comes to his new drug-slinging street life, he’s completely out of his depth. Whether he’s being seduced by a sultry drug empire princess, talking on the phone with a growly debt collector, or shivering as he points a gun for the first time, he’s always got a stupefied, almost cross-eyed look on his face. Moore’s great in the role because he’s effortlessly sympathetic; you can’t help but like him (the awesome Fresh Prince, De La Soul-inspired throwback attire doesn’t hurt, either). The rest of the cast is mostly very good, though Roger Guenveur Smith stinks up the joint as a borderline-comatose drug lord. Clemons and Revolori play solid confidants, but at the end of the day, Moore runs away with the movie.

Famuyiwa and DP Rachel Morrison’s visuals are vibrant and crisp, utilizing split-screen and unexpected freeze-frames and interludes to electric effect. The film’s always on the move, just like its protagonists. A late, unforgettable sequence in which Malcolm addresses the camera directly is a breathless show-stealer, a chilling monologue that’s easily be one of the best movie moments of the year. As far as soundtracks go, it’s Dope‘s track-list is going to be tough to beat. Narratively weaved-in classics from Nas (“The World Is Yours”), Public Enemy (“Rebel Without a Pause”) and A Tribe Called Quest (“Scenario”) are invaluable in defining the film’s style and vibe.

Like Dear White People, Dope is a movie about identity and perception. Malcolm’s struggle to reconcile his Harvard aspirations with his current, Walter White-ish situation is the movie’s drive, and the final resolution is a piercing observation on being someone of color, someone who society expects less from than the white mighty majority. The movie doesn’t get weighed down by the serious business, though: it’s a terrific hangout flick in the vein of Cooley High and Friday. Dope‘s dopeness is off the charts.

America’s drone war is no secret. The media has long been privy to the Air Force’s dirty laundry, and lately movies and TV have caught on as well. What has stayed hazy though are the details, the rules of engagement, the lives of the pilots involved, the kill counts, and who exactly is running the show. Good Kill dares to zoom in on the dark life of a drone pilot and the new, “retaliate first” ethics of war.

Ethan Hawke dons a pair of aviator sunglasses and a flight suit to play Major Tommy Egan, a six tour veteran who has been relegated to flying drone missions from an air-conditioned box outside of Las Vegas. From the start Tommy rallies against being caged on the ground. Being a pilot was his life. It made him happy, and despite the risk, it kept his marriage stable, and him sane. But flying drones has its perks. After landing his UAV Tommy gets to go home to his wife and kids. He gets to barbecue in his Nevada backyard.

Everything changes though when Tommy’s unit, complete with idealist rookie Suarez (Zoe Kravitz), is handpicked to fly special drone missions for the CIA. The ever-present risk of collateral damage is magnified tenfold by the agencies strike first policy, and it isn’t long before Tommy is sinking into the bottle and losing sleep over pulling the trigger. As the operations get more and more ethically blurry, Tommy and Suarez begin to push back against the invisible hand that guides them.

Good Kill, for most of its run time, is as morally pragmatic as a film like this—with such an obvious message—needs to be. The questioning of the government’s drone program is worn openly; characters repeatedly find themselves in debates about the killing of civilians and the creation of extremists. These debates seem to do little for the plot or character, except to show who stands where—as though the soldiers’ banter during their missions wasn’t enough. But Good Kill stays on target. First and foremost it is a film about a man, Tommy, struggling with alcoholism, with keeping his family together, and with the ambiguous necessity of killing innocent people to save American lives.

As Tommy, Hawke is at his brooding best. He’s a man running out of fight, struggling to breathe under the weight on his conscience. It’s a performance that could have been one note, but Hawke manages to make Tommy a fully rounded character (unlike his pure-gruff barkeeper in last year’s Predestination). For all his silence Tommy is still simmering beneath the surface, nursing his dreams of taking flight once again, and still holding onto a happiness he once had.

Written and directed by regular Ethan Hawke collaborator Andrew Niccol (Gattaca and Lord of War when he’s good, In Time and The Host when he’s not), Good Kill is a well crafted drama that functions best when the pilots are hunched before their dazzling array of monitors. The script mines true tension from Tommy, Suarez, and their Colonel (a fine Bruce Greenwood) as they question the orders voiced by an absent Langley, knowing all the while that they will ultimately comply. At home though, as Tommy and his wife Molly (January Jones) try to recapture the spark of their early marriage, and Suarez manages her own romantic feelings, the film falters and the tension crumbles, at least until Tommy can once again take the pilot’s chair. One constant is that the film is richly lensed by Amir Mokri. Everything is sun-baked; the deserts of the war-torn Middle East and dusty Nevada are shot to mirror each other ominously, the view from above suddenly terrifying.

Good Kill is at its best when it is unflinching; while Tommy pushes back against “taking pot shots” at people from the sky, it becomes more and more clear that there isn’t another solution on the table. The war on terror has become a vicious cycle with no end in sight. The only question is who will fight that war. Despite being set five years ago, Good Kill is an urgent film that doesn’t look to serve up answers, but instead to incite debate.

With with young actresses emerging as bankable leads in sci-fi and action pictures, taking a bit of the pie from their hulking male counterparts, casting the right actress in those lead roles is more crucial than ever. Jennifer Lawrence has set a high standard with her work in the Hunger Games series, and Shailene Woodley holds her own as the star of Divergent, the first installment of adaptations of Veronica Roth’s best-selling YA series.

Woodley, a proven talent (The Spectacular Now, The Descendants), takes command of the film as our heroine Beatrice with a strong spine and perceptive wit. Unfortunately, even her presence (along with the rest of the rock-solid cast) can’t patch up the dull script, which is head-scratchingly nonsensical at worst, campy fun at best.

The aforementioned head-scratching begins with the film’s setting, a near-future dystopian Chicago divided into five distinct factions, each with their own role to play in maintaining an orderly, functioning society. This societal structure is so impractical it’s funny, though it serves its ultimate narrative purpose of providing rabid YA fanboys and girls with the same fantasy tribalism that was an appealing foundation for the Harry Potter series.

Beatrice was raised in the faction called Abnegation, an Amish-like group that prides itself on selflessness and humility. The kids in Dauntless, the enforcer faction whose members traverse the damaged city streets (and rooftops) like a parkour S.W.A.T. team, catches Beatrice’s eye as she shares their (ostensible) taste for adventure and camaraderie. Now that she’s turning 16, she’ll have the opportunity to switch factions, if she so pleases, after taking a VR test meant to suggest which caste she’s best suited to based on her attributes. Administering her test is a tattoo artist named Tori (Maggie Q), who informs her that her attributes are too numerous to shove her into any faction, an anomaly referred to as–you guessed it–Divergent.

Problem is, Divergents are considered a threat to society as they disrupt the order of the faction system. Erudite, the faction of intellectual snobs, hates Divergents the most, and their leader (Kate Winslet) seems hell-bent on sniffing them out and doing god-knows-what with them. (Probably something evil!)

Beatrice chooses to align with Dauntless, where she trims her name to Tris and gets thrown into a sort of bootcamp where the brutality of the training borders on felonious. She makes a handful of friends, bonding immediately with petit nice-girl Christina (Zoe Kravitz). Miles Teller plays a prick former Candor who bullies Tris at every turn, a dynamic made more interesting if you’ve seen the two co-star in The Spectacular Now.

Director Neil Burger (The Illusionist) is too precious with the source material, and the overwhelming amount of expositional information (conveyed largely in uninspired voiceover by Woodley) dampens any urgency and drama the actors manage to get rolling. For every well-acted, emotional minute between Woodley and her co-stars, there are 10 hollow minutes of tiresome explaining. The art design is forgettable and generic, and the world Roth has built doesn’t seem to be grounded in any sort of logic. Most of Chicago is literally crumbling to bits, while the yuppies in Erudite walk around in buildings that look as immaculate as giant Apple stores. This is the most obtuse kind of social commentary, since the logistics of it all don’t make any sense. Roth’s analogy is too extreme, too undercooked.

The hunky Theo James plays Four, Tris’ commander and crush. Woodley and James have good chemistry, but again, the script betrays them. When Tris glimpses a bit of Four’s back tattoo, and he peels off his shirt to show her the rest of it without a second thought, it’s hard not to let out a little groan. At one point, Tris proclaims proudly, “I am Divergent!” as Burger zooms in slowly. She might as well be looking straight into the camera. It’s schlock like this that no actor, no matter how skilled, can recite naturally.

Divergent is too by-the-book, literally and figuratively (and ironically), for it to be a viable challenger to Hunger Games‘ throne atop the YA market, but it’s got some thrilling set pieces (an urban zipline scene is a standout) and has a great cast, making it a distant–but solid–second. Divergent is chock-full of holes, but Woodley and her bright band of co-stars try valiantly to save the day.

Divergent trailer