In order to be taken seriously, a film of this variety cannot take itself too seriously. Stay quirky and true and you make this enjoyable film. Try to win an Oscar and you make Boyhood. Kelly Fremon Craig knew this.

The Edge of Seventeen finds Nadine (Steinfeld) on the perilous precipice of adulthood. She adds a teaspoon of biting wit to her self-deprecation and melancholy. And we love her for it. Normally thrilled with indifference, our hero lands herself, and her colorful sneakers, in a junior year social pickle.

Mr. Bruner (Harrelson), her History teacher, generates even more desperation for poor Nadine with his mocking disinterest in being her confidant. This fantastic interplay drives the film’s comedy. And Erwin (Szeto), the torchbearer for all high school kids awkwardly asking each other out, grabs our rooting interest. The only hiccup is the woe-is-me diatribe by the otherwise well-acted older brother, Darian (Jenner). It sparks thoughts of Zach Braff’s “latch” rant in Garden State, not the best company.

Judd Nelson turned 56 the other day so let’s stop comparing every original high school movie to The Breakfast Club. The candid and whimsical Edge of Seventeen passes notes on 4.34 cafeteria napkins out of 5.

Newt Scamander (Redmayne), the withdrawn magizoologist, and the niffler, a sleight of hand and adorable briefcase beast, spark a magical game of cat and mouse in the middle of 1920s New York City. This lighthearted pursuit guides our narrative and we are pleased to enjoy this film without asking what it has to do with, well, you know who.

Sure, there are some astute references, but the focus leans toward the perfection in which Eddie Redmayne delivered Newt to us; awkward, reserved, calm and intelligent. This ideal sartorial and artistic portrayal facilitates our belief in Jacob Kowalski (Folger) as well as sisters Queenie (Sudol) and Porpentina (Waterson). Kowalski is the lovable outsider with baking aspirations that fell victim to right place, right time. Queenie, the enchanting legilimens (mind-reader), evokes thoughts of Marylin Monroe and Porpentina, the clumsy American witch with good intentions.

The idea that this film can be savored singularly, even with the impending follow-up tales, is quite clever. And sure, you can ask what Newt has to do with the ultimate story, but that is far-sighted. The FC wand casts 3.8 napkins out of 5 upon Fantastic Beasts, reflecting our automatic 0.5 napkin deduction for casting Johnny Depp.

Arrival is a wonderful departure from the typical close encounter film. It breathes communication and symbiosis into the genre with a narrative that hovers above the simmering government paranoia and potential conflict. And the picture is fantastic.

The day after the alien shells arrive, Dr. Louise Banks (Adams) is letdown by her empty lecture theater, laying bare her dedication to her linguistics work and her apathy toward anything else. It is a brief moment in a film that dissolves the barriers between moments.

In Adams’ long overdue lead role, supported nicely by Whitaker and Renner, she redirects her heartbreak and comforts her loss by forming a maternal understanding with the alien heptapods. She interprets their language and, most importantly, begins to think as they do. All the while, she conveys the wonder of language to us.

The cinematography is clever as the visual communication is monochrome but the language is a complex circular convergence of time. The film’s only glitch is the daft use of a couple subtitles near the conclusion, cheapening the pleasant nonverbal communication throughout. I could tell what they were saying.

We greet Arrival with 4.91 napkins out of 5, the universal language of the Film Clas elite.

We used to be so excited to find out who was going to play Batman. But that is Batman; spun into the fabric of cool, referenced when we are astonished and chased by awesome villains. But a bright actor like Cumberbatch entering into a waterlogged collection of Marvel comic book films, is not marvelous. And the film did not alter this sentiment.

The forced persona and cheap dialogue of Doctor Strange was obvious, no matter the dimension. The special effects were dizzying and a puppet string version of Chris Nolan’s mastery. Furthermore, this origin story was about stuffing too many shoes in the suitcase for one trip while leaving the basics behind.

As we take in the layers of fantasy within this story, skepticism is the only applicable notion. And we are asked to bear a degree of mental malleability to accept this tale. Ergo, the big screen version of Doctor Strange, with severe nerve damage in both hands, is tightly gripping a collapsing window ledge in another world. And that might be glossed over by other folks, but not us.

Poof! Our mystical napkin rating system can only spell 1.9 out of 5 napkins upon Doctor Strange.