Danny King

Pálmason can occasionally get bogged down in his ambiguous leanings.... But many moments attest to the high ceiling of Pálmason’s abilities.

Between the candy of the Federal Reserve robbery itself — which features a marvelous running bit about the process of delivering Chinese food in a government-surveilled building — and the merry nonsense of Butler chugging Pepto-Bismol during a strategy session, Den of Thieves earns a nice spot in the watch-forty-minutes-on-a-rainy-day canon.

Wolf establishes only a half-formed idea of the decisions, fights, and silences that have shaped these characters’ lives, so the cast often seems to be shouting into a vacuum.

Cooper has yet to elevate his sensibility beyond a choked, self-inhibiting intensity.

Jones and Reid are hemmed in by the screenplay’s schematic nature.

It’s little more than a diverting sketch, but its characters justify its ninety minutes, and Killam’s unremitting enthusiasm is occasionally contagious.

Most of Crown Heights, which is based on an episode of public radio’s This American Life, suffers from structural confusion.

It’s a vital and worthwhile project to unpack Di Palma’s career...but Water and Sugar misses the mark.

The majority of American Honey has Arnold working overtime to make her movie seem important or scandalous.

It's another modest, functional success from a director who used to work on the margins.

A mere hour long, the movie could stand to be more discerning with its material.

Hilditch's approach to this end-of-days scenario can be heavy-handed... But Hilditch gets good mileage out of his cast.

Unfortunately, White Rabbit's grave, problematic conclusion attempts to broaden the movie's scope in a way that ultimately feels more unwarranted and distasteful than it does organic to the material.

This is an indifferently filmed, sloppily conceived story that finds infrequent life through resourceful production design (Gigi's house is strewn with Modelo, Red Bull, and scribbled-on note cards) and on-edge work from Tomei and Rockwell.

The movie's flaws — silly plotting and unconvincing psychological groundwork — are Klein's doing.

Befitting a doc about a data-intensive struggle, the movie benefits from a wealth of resources.

Aside from some inspired uses of chiaroscuro lighting, the movie around Depardieu is mostly derivative.

If the results are occasionally broad and schematic, the actors (Woodley especially) are anything but, and Araki has an absolute field day adorning his kitschy, 1950s-ish view of suburban Los Angeles with a string of showoffy colors.

Poppe's closeness to the material ensures a level of passion, but he still fails to create a truly specific dynamic for Rebecca and Marcus's family, settling instead for a catch-all representation of the difficulties of maintaining a healthy home life while working in a dangerous profession.

The movie loses its zip as it becomes more dramatic.

The movie is partly saved by Bonifacio and DP Timothy Nuttall's regular use of patient long shots, as well as their capable grasp of widescreen composition.

Fanny has a stagy sensibility, but Auteuil displays flashes of genuine, old-school craft.

Khan’s orchestration of suspense impresses.

Gerster and Schilling are more successful when they allow Niko's behavior to be their main subject.

The appealing performances from Brühl and Herzsprung, as well as the film's surprisingly clean sense of composition...keep Lila, Lila moving. But it ultimately suffers from poor characterization.

Visually, Kurys offers a mostly conventional, period-handsome widescreen style, which suits her capable actors just fine. The real drawback, though, is the spoon-feeding frame narrative, which takes away from the urgency.

Green's historical diligence proves rewarding... But the movie, shot largely in Milwaukee in 2009, can still be dry.