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Airborne (NR)

Image Entertainment

While it's not based on the life story of the woman who created those popular air sickness pills, you still might want to pop a handful of them as you try to maneuver your way through all the turbulent twists and turns that the British thriller Airborne offers. An unrecognizable Mark Hamill is an air-traffic controller trying to figure out why the last flight of the night is not only off course, but keeps disappearing off screen. Up in the air, the bare-bones crew and passengers start dying off and going for each other's throats as a full dinner service of delicious red herrings is served to us, the audience. Greedy hijackers, PTSD-affected soldiers, brutal gangsters, possible psychopaths and a cursed antique all let us know very early that for 78 minutes we'd better keep our seatbelts on because it is going to be a bumpy ride. — Louis Fowler

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Safety Not Guaranteed (R)

Sony Pictures HomeEntertainment

When a movie's "real-life" origin threatens to overtake its narrative, it's because the "story behind the story" glorification sucks the surprise out of the film's linear universe. But damned if this Aubrey Plaza semi-indie vehicle's mythology isn't independently charming: A classifieds editor, to fill space, wrote a joke ad seeking a fellow time-traveler to go back with him. "Must bring your own weapons," it read with a wisp of adventure. Debut screenwriter Derek Connolly expanded the viral sensation into an award-winning script. Now, as the fictional man who places the ad, Mark Duplass, along with The One Who Responds (Plaza), brings the tale to life in an occasionally maddening but ultimately uplifting film. While Plaza and Duplass' low-key, high-stakes romance is consistently interrupted by a jarringly false "reporter on the case," the sneakily sci-fi-flecked third act redeems it. Even better, the final scene lifts it to the heavens. — Justin Strout

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Tight (NR)

Wild Eye/MVD Visual

Purported to be the adventures of the world's first all-girl porn-star rock band, it's hard to tell if it's supposed to be a Spinal Tap-style mockumentary about the comedic travails of an inept band or a Some Kind of Monster-style documentary about a band falling apart thanks to sex, drugs and rock 'n roll. It doesn't matter, because Tight is neither enthralling, honest or entertaining. Baby-faced porn-queen Bree Olson manages a band made up of D-level sex starlets, all bringing more of their problems than talent to the table. Their songs are terrible, their tour adventures unfunny, and their backstage arguing tedious. The problem with these women as musicians is the same as their problem as actresses: They're one-dimensional caricatures of human beings, thrust into our faces as nothing more than objects of lust that when we finally do give them a chance to express themselves, it's embarrassing because they have absolutely nothing important to say. — Louis Fowler


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