Good Fortune opens with an angel played by Keanu Reeves, because of course it does. He floats in like a well-moisturized guru and decides the best way to help a struggling gig worker is to pull the classic “life switch” move. This is the kind of plan you’d expect from a celestial being who just discovered reality TV and got too emotionally invested in Undercover Boss. Aziz Ansari plays Arj, a man who delivers things for a living and gets paid in vague apologies and low battery warnings. He’s exhausted, underpaid, and one algorithm away from a full breakdown.

From what I can gather, Americana is about a magic shirt. Not Harry Potter magic—more like “if your uncle’s old rodeo jacket had ghosts and bad intentions.” This so-called “ghost shirt” gets stolen, and suddenly a dusty small town is knee-deep in crime, blood, and country music dreams. Sydney Sweeney plays Penny Jo, a waitress with a stutter and big aspirations. She’s apparently the emotional anchor of the whole thing, which is ironic because just a few months ago the internet was roasting her denim ad for looking like a campaign commercial filmed in a Bass Pro parking lot.

The internet tells me Happy Gilmore is back, older, creakier, and probably icing his back between drives. People are calling it a nostalgia parade with golf balls. Reports of Travis Kelce covered in honey while a bear lurks nearby have turned the movie into a conspiracy theory magnet. Some fans swear the bear is secretly Taylor Swift. Netflix is saying nothing, which makes it funnier. The sequel leans hard on memories of the original. Expect ghostly nods to Chubbs, lots of hockey jerseys, and cameos that feel like Sandler just texted every contact in his phone.

The Naked Gun (the reboot, not the 1988 classic that had a higher body count of banana peels than bullets) So there’s a new Naked Gun movie, which I have not seen but feel fully qualified to review because I once watched Airplane! while under the influence of NyQuil and a Costco-sized box of Cheez-Its. This reboot stars Liam Neeson, who is mostly famous for playing characters who threaten to do horrible things to people over the phone.

The Pandemic Western That Asked: What If TikTok Was Armed? Eddington is like bingeing a pandemic conspiracy forum while eating cowboy-shaped cookies dipped in existential dread. Ari Aster has somehow convinced Joaquin Phoenix to trade in his usual silent brooding for gun-barrel sermons about “reclaiming our sovereignty,” which is either about COVID or his neighbor stealing his recycling bin. Pedro Pascal struts through town hall like a man who once read the Constitution on a bar napkin and now won’t take off his bolo tie.

Dust, Drama, and One Emotionally Available Horse The Last Rodeo is the kind of movie where you can smell the plot just by looking at the poster: one man, one saddle, and one final emotionally cathartic ride into the setting sun. It stars an aging cowboy (probably played by someone like Josh Brolin or any actor whose face looks like it was carved out of barn wood) who’s been out of the game since The Incident™ and now gets dragged back in for—you guessed it—one last rodeo.