This weekend’s releases have a distinctly B-team feeling to them, as though the studios are still operating on the expectation that Infinity War will continue to make all the money in the world.

And who knows? Maybe they’re right. But there’s some really good counterprogramming dropping today, especially for genre fans.

Breaking In: Gabrielle Union doesn’t get many chances to play a badass, so it’s disappointing to hear Rad thinks this home-invasion thriller doesn’t deliver on its potential.

The Endless: Friends of SEMcast Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead return with a film that goes even further into radical genre exploration than their previous Resolution and Spring … and I am not going to say anything else about it, so there.

Godard Mon Amour: The Artist‘s Michel Hazanavicius tackles the legend of Jean-Luc Godard. Paul, who saw it back when it was called Redoubtable, liked it a little more than I did; I would simply have cut-and-pasted Marshall McLuhan’s theater-lobby speech from Annie Hall.

The Heat: A Kitchen (R)evolution: I found Maya Gallus’ Hot Docs opener — a look at female chefs in the restaurant industry, and how they relate to their employees differently than their male counterparts — engaging but superficial, never getting as deep into its thesis as I would have liked. Nat feels much the same way.

Kusama Infinity: Kevin approves of Heather Lenz’ profile of Yayoi Kusama, which arrives just as the AGO’s Kusama show wraps up. I have seen neither the exhibit nor the documentary, because I am a bad person.

Leaning into the Wind: Andy Goldsworthy: Nearly twenty years after Rivers and Tides, Thomas Riedelshiemer checks in on Andy Goldsworthy and finds the artist still doing what he does best, as ephemeral as it may be. It’s a pleasant drift through mindfulness, and I dug it.

Life of the Party: Melissa McCarthy and Ben Falcone’s latest goof-around is a pleasing mess of campus comedy and character work, and that’s all it wants to be. Go for McCarthy’s typically layered mania, stay for Gillian Jacobs’ delightfully loopy reaction shots.

Revenge: Coralie Fargeat’s feminist reworking of the rape-revenge genre changes the game in the best possible way — by engaging with the tropes, turning them up to eleven and framing the whole thing as an almost mythical narrative. Also, it’s hella bloody.

The Seagull: There’s an awful lot to admire in Michael Mayer’s adaptation of the Chekhov classic — particularly some exquisite work from Corey Stoll and Elisabeth Moss  — but the play still resists the screen, and Billy Howle’s Konstantin is a mess of poor choices. See it on the stage sometime, you’ll be happier.

And there you have it. Enjoy the weekend. Go see something scary.