Dennis Harvey

One of the more bizarre illustrations of racial injustice under apartheid is dramatized in Skin.

It’s a film more gritty than stylish, but in any case with all key contributions lashed to the service of a tricky narrative with scant gratuitous fat or flamboyance.

Kabluey is short on the cutes and ca-ca jokes. But it's also short on substance, despite a watchable supporting cast and an amiable overall tenor.

A disappointingly rote entry in the '70s teen nostalgia sweepstakes.

A polished, watchable genre entertainment that nonetheless lacks the inspired dialogue and situations needed to make a memorable impression.

Heinz, demonstrating considerable assurance in his feature directorial bow, makes good use of the chemistry between the two musicians.

The camera's closer scrutiny doesn't flatter this unique theatrical reportage.

She hasn’t just created a stylish potboiler, but a densely textured piece that makes for a truly arresting viewing experience to a point. A shame then that the film succumbs somewhat to the more pretentious and silly aspects of Garai’s initially cryptic puzzle of a script.

A few droll and/or silly moments poke through the general boredom. But Martin and Peranson’s snarkfest doesn’t really offer any critique that Hopper didn’t already aim at himself, however incoherently, in the supremely self-conscious “Last Movie.”

Lutsik takes aim at reckless capitalism --- as well as the increasing Westernization of Russian filmmaking --- with a disquieting allegory that in both themes and aesthetic is an audacious throwback to pre-WWII Soviet cinema formalism.

A B movie in A-grade clothing.

As absorbing as much of this material is, the lengthy feature does not feel definitive: It commits the typical music-doc sin of devoting nearly all its time to a celebrated first professional decade, then hastily skimming past all events since.

Proving the “Paranormal Activity” formula can still work when used with canny restraint, Erickson achieves good results with long, eerie found-footage takes that end in jolts.

Powerhouse performances by Liam Neeson and James Nesbit make this an intense, ultimately moving tale.

At least its failings aren’t formulaic ones — or perhaps they’re the fault of jamming in more fantastic-cinema formula than one modestly scaled film can support.

It’s hard to dislike Alex Strangelove; one just wishes the film didn’t lean in quite so insistently to be petted.

Even if the rewards are limited, the technique is impeccable.

Antic horror comedy I Sell the Dead nods to the '60s Hammer heyday of fog-swirling Victorian chillers, as well as that period's penchant for teaming genre favorites (Boris Karloff, Basil Rathbone, Peter Lorre, etc.) in genial sendups.

Taken on its own confidently crafted terms, Jonathan is an intelligent, absorbing tale that provides an impressive showcase for “Baby Driver” star Ansel Elgort.

A respectably crafted, earnest ensemble drama.

By the time we see them playing “truth or dare” anew over dinner, Strike a Pose begins to feel like a rather flimsy, gimmicky exploitation rather than a thoughtful exploration of a shared, shining-moment-in-the-spotlight past.