If you’re lucky enough to remember memories from your early childhood, you’ll know they tend to be fragmentary, skewed from an outlook incapable of fully grasping the adult world. Czech filmmaker Beata Parkanova captures that feeling beautifully in her film receiving its world premiere at the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival. Related entirely through the viewpoint of a six-year-old girl, Tiny Lights emerges as a small gem.

It helps that the little girl, Amalka, is played by adorable child actress Mia Banko, possessing wide, saucer eyes that are endlessly expressive and long red hair of which Heidi would be jealous. In the opening scene, Amalka hears voices emanating from a closed-door room and, naturally curious, attempts to listen. She hears her grandmother angrily say to her mother, “Happiness? Save it for the fairy tales,” but she has no idea of what it means.

So she goes to play with her very submissive cat, apparently named Mr. Cat. But she tests Mr. Cat’s patience by putting him inside a wooden chest, from which her grandfather (Martin Finger) soon rescues him. She returns to the room, and when she opens the door, the adults grow silent. “I’m bored,” Amalka says petulantly, and her grandmother (Veronika Zilkova) tries to assuage her by promising that she’ll take her to the lake that afternoon.

After naughtily picking flowers that we later learn came from a neighbor’s garden, Amalka has soup for lunch, unaware of the tensions surrounding her. Her grandparents live up to their promise by taking her to the lake, where her grandfather teaches her how to dive. They hike in the woods and pick blueberries, but Amalka throws a tantrum when told they have to leave.

And so the film goes, with Amalka trying to amuse herself as the adults seem to be engaged in tense confrontations, especially when her mother (Elizaveta Maximova) shows up with a strange French man and announces that she’s going with him to Prague. Amalka, of course, doesn’t comprehend what’s happening except when it relates to her, as when her father (Marek Geisberg) gently upbraids her for picking the flowers and tells her that she’ll have to apologize to the neighbor. As the day ends, she goes to bed, unaware of the fissure in her parents’ relationship, and her father wearily reads her a bedtime story that she’s heard a thousand times before but clearly still finds fascinating.

Even with its brief running time, Tiny Lights demands a certain degree of patience with its intense focus on banal childhood preoccupations. The filmmaker also indulges in stylistic flourishes — principally quick inserted shots that look like they were captured on 8mm and feature a series of close-up views of objects and facial features ­— that are more distracting than illuminating. The strained attempts at artiness just feel self-conscious.

But for most of the film’s running time, Parkanova maintains tight control over her material, making us fully identify with little Amalka and her preoccupations. The film presents things from her viewpoint, even physically; DP Tomas Juricek often places the camera low down, aligning with her diminutive size. The story takes place over the course of a single day, and its poignancy derives from the fact that we, if not Amalka, are fully aware that her life is going to change, possibly forever.

Or maybe she does realize it, as evidenced by the haunting, lingering final shot, in which we see the silhouette of her body as she peers through the large windows of her bedroom, as if trying to see the world beyond her limited perspective.

How to make a new “Beverly Hills Cop” movie? It’s a question that has long vexed Hollywood. Brett Ratner tried for years to crack the case, though, judging from a 2010 Empire magazine interview, it’s fair to wonder how much progress he ever made. “Like, where do we start?” he wondered.

Like, where, indeed? Among the obstacles puzzling those who attempted to revive the franchise: Is Axel retired? Is he in Beverly Hills? Is he on vacation? Does Judge Reinhold reprise his role as Billy Rosewood?

In hindsight, this all seems unnecessarily complicated. From the moment the Don Simpson/Jerry Bruckheimer Films lightning bolt logo comes on the screen in Netflix’s “Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F” (streaming July 3), followed by the wailing sax riff of “The Heat Is On,” you realize that everyone involved understood the assignment. The solution to creating a new “Beverly Hills Cop” movie was to simply make the first one all over again.

“Beverly Hills Cop” came out 40 years ago, an anniversary that will alarm the segment of moviegoers who remember seeing it in theaters, and perhaps astound some just now realizing that Murphy was only 23 when he made it. The movie topped the box office 13 weeks running, selling 67 million tickets and, adjusted for inflation, still stands as the highest-grossing R-rated film of all-time. Coming on the heels of his work on “Saturday Night Live,” “48 Hrs.” and “Trading Places,” it certified Murphy as a movie star.

You had to be there. And if you weren’t (but especially if you were), “Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F” has been designed to function as a carefully calibrated time machine to take you back to the days when synth pop ruled the airwaves, you could disable a car by putting a banana in its tailpipe and a suite at a swanky Beverly Hills hotel went for $235 a night. (The price, we learn in “Axel F,” has gone up considerably.)

The formula for making a “Beverly Hills Cop” movie goes like this: You start in Detroit, Axel’s hometown, and spend a good chunk of time and money on a chase involving cars and trucks and, in the case of “Axel F,” a snow plow. Axel is operating outside the police rule book, and when this opening scene is over, after a great deal of mayhem and destruction, his shouting boss lets him know that this time, he has really gone too far. And he’d better not do anything like that ever again! (This time it’s Paul Reiser reading him the riot act.)

But the reprimand doesn’t really register because Axel was right. He’s always right. In fact, he’s never more right than when everyone tells him he’s wrong. That’s part of the character’s appeal.

Then something happens that necessitates a trip to L.A., specifically the 90210. In “Axel F,” it’s a call from Billy Rosewood (Judge Reinhold), still lovable and now in danger because he’s close to learning the truth about a police cover-up. And Billy’s not the only one in peril. Axel’s estranged daughter, Jane (Taylour Paige), is entangled in this mess too, thanks to her job as a criminal defense attorney.

Stakes established, Axel heads to Beverly Hills, where he shrewdly talks his way out of trouble, shares a scene with Bronson Pinchot’s excessively accented Serge, teaches the local authorities a thing or two about police work and, on occasion, demonstrates a sly understanding of racial relations in America. (Told not to reach for his ID by a police officer in “Axel F,” Axel replies, “I’ve been a cop for 30 years. I’ve been Black a whole lot longer. Trust me. I know better.”)

Then there’s a final showdown, showcasing the need to remove your sunglasses while operating a submachine gun, a little more bopping around to Harold Faltermeyer’s synth-pop ditty “Axel F,” the equivalent of a group hug between Murphy, Reinhold and John Ashton (returning as Det. Taggart, Billy’s partner and cranky BFF) and roll credits.

You might not remember this, but the first “Beverly Hills Cop” movie earned an Oscar nomination for original screenplay. Were voters aware that Murphy improvised most of his dialogue to the point that his co-stars could not keep from breaking? Maybe this was a hat tip. Murphy was that good.

You also might not know that there was a third “Beverly Hills Cop” movie, the 1994 entry Murphy has called “garbage.” One of the best lines in “Axel F” comes when Joseph Gordon-Levitt, a newcomer to the franchise playing a Beverly Hills police detective, leafs through Axel’s file and says, “And then, ’94. Not your finest hour.” The first two movies, along with “Axel F,” are streaming on Netflix. The third is not.

Promoting “Axel F,” director Mark Molloy is advertising the fact that he gave Murphy free rein to improvise. (Three writers — Will Beall, Tom Gormican and Kevin Etten — share screenplay credit. Props to whoever came up with the “not your finest hour” line.) Murphy is effective, even if the tone has shifted from a brash swagger to nostalgic cheer. The heat is gone.

But you knew that. Murphy is content to act his age, and the movie spends some time focusing on Axel’s attempts to reconnect with his daughter, a woman as headstrong as her father. And it’s hard to validate feelings when they’re drowned out by machine gun fire.

While it’s easy to view “Axel F” as a calculated cash grab, it’s clear that Murphy possesses an affection for the title character. From the get-go, Murphy’s portrayal hinged on Axel’s ability to warmly connect with everyone he meets. Even the villains like him. As Axel drives his blue Chevy Nova through the streets of Detroit during the new film’s opening credits, the city’s residents smile and wave (and sometimes flip him off) when he cruises by. They’re happy to see him. And so are we.

Charm sets the film apart

“Despicable Me 4” isn’t amazing by any means and probably won’t be in conversation for Best Animated Film at the Oscars, but, like “Rise of Gru,” what sets it apart from any other run-of-the-mill animated film is the charm of the franchise. The reason people continue to rush to the theaters to see these films is their consistency. No matter if it’s a spinoff or a direct sequel, you know walking into a “Despicable Me” film what you’re going to get, and that’s perfectly fine because you’ll still have a good time.

The new additions of Maxime Le Mal (Will Ferrell) and Poppie (Joey King) are fine. They don’t get much setup and are just thrown at you as new characters, which is fine but very forgettable. The standouts, of course, are the Minions, as well as the addition of Gru Jr. The combination of the two was probably the best part of the whole film. I could’ve watched a 90-minute film of just that.