Elizabeth Weitzman

By the time the film was finished, I felt ready to move on from these characters. But I was definitely ready to learn more about Norwood.

This amiable, off-kilter Australian comedy pits parental manipulation against adolescent pride, with generally amusing results.

Well-meaning but frustratingly unfocused documentary.

Tossing off one-liners about drugs and porn to a New York audience, even Waters sounds a little bored.

More vanity project than full-fledged film, Manu Boyer's modest chronicle is best left to diehard Kiefer Sutherland fans.

There are certain elements in life that you either have a taste for, or you don't. Like coffee. Cats. And Mr. Bean.

Stocked with an impressively high-quality collection of New York actors. Unfortunately, in asking them all to play such unlikable characters, Walsh flushes too much of that talent down the drain.

If you're going to make a movie about men talking, shouldn't they have something important to say?

This sci-fi spoof is desperately bidding for cult-classic status. It falls far short of that goal, but with so many jokes flying wildly around, it does hit its targets every once in a while.

Clearly, nobody's going to win any awards for this, but maybe Bale and McConaughey knew what they were doing after all. The music is loud, the action is fierce and the bodies are buff.

At this late date, filmmakers who draw inspiration from the Mafia had better have a whole new angle to offer. Otherwise, they'll end up with a movie like 10th & Wolf.

We could all use a little more Noel Coward in our lives. But the fizz falls flat in Stephan Elliot's adaptation of a lesser-known play, which, while blithe enough, has little spirit to speak of.

As it is, while Tunney is undeniably lovely to look at, she's just not that much fun to be around. And for 100 minutes, she's all we've got.

Intriguing almost in spite of itself.

Judging by the audience reaction -- there is apparently something funny about the idea of a man trying to hump a goat in heat.

Abranches intends for a religious parable by way of Greek tragedy, but the film drowns in a morass of portentous signs and poetic symbols.

Despite its impressive pedigree and unshakable assurance, Knight and Day is nothing more or less than an average popcorn flick.

So sudsy it should have been rinsed off before being allowed into theaters.

There isn't much here besides two self-absorbed kids.

The good news is the script for Scooby-Doo 2 is marginally better and the eternally irritating Scrappy-Doo is nowhere to be seen.

Baldly superficial, it probably should have been given a less demanding metaphor to live up to.

As earnest as it is awkward, the film has so much spirit, it's hard to dismiss entirely, even at its considerable worst.

At its best when it embraces its true identity, as frivolous fun.

If August has turned the children in your life into Bored Girl and Fidget Boy, you could find worse ways to keep them entertained.

Redmon has captured some compelling footage, but his lack of resolution feels like both a copout and a luxury.

Though the director takes a thoughtful approach to the material, mixing humor and poignancy, he undercuts our sympathy considerably by dragging things out to an inexplicably indulgent degree.

A surprisingly adult exploration of religion refracted, as always, through (Smith's) insistently pop-culture kaleidoscope.

My 3-year-old date had a fine time, pronouncing the movie "very good" and backing up her assessment by going 90 minutes with barely a fidget. Which may actually be the highest compliment any movie can ask for.

Lawrence's co-stars are more than ready to provide salty humor while creating a loose, almost improvised feel.

Among the cast, Chandrasekhar is easily the funniest of the Lizards, though in fairness, each has his moments. The movie does, too; just expect them to shrink exponentially depending on your level of sobriety.

The movie tends to wander between story lines and characters without any real sense of purpose.

So French you may have to buy your ticket in euros, Christophe Honoré's musical trifle feels ready-made for emotionally woozy undergraduates.

Three movies in one: a spaghetti Western, an urban drama and a historical epic. All of them suffer from self-indulgent direction, a convoluted script and awkward acting.

There’s a surprising lack of provocation to this determinedly positive portrait. As a result, the movie often feels like a full-length ad for a great workplace, which just happens to stash whips and chains in the stationery closet.

An ongoing problem is the complete lack of chemistry between the leads.

Every woman falls for the wrong guy at least once in her life. This week, it's Betty Thomas' turn.

It’s a lightly-indulgent passion project that leaves us wanting so much more.

While the cast members, Dick and Prinze in particular, have fun with Robert Moreland's sassy script, the exaggerated, unappealing animation seems to belong to another movie altogether.

Come to think of it, 84 minutes isn't much of a sacrifice for a few laughs, even if the material is almost as hit-or-miss as our heroes' shooting skills.

Its crazy non sequiturs and anything-goes performances do lend it a certain cult appeal.

Valentine's Day is sugary, sappy and totally predictable. It's also what a whole lot of women are likely to want.

McAvoy is unerringly charming as Rory, a man who quickly discerns and dismisses well-meaning condescension. So one can't help wondering what he would think of this film, whose sentimentality comes across as smug.

Director Christopher Spencer’s biblical yarn lacks the complex rigor of Martin Scorsese’s “The Last Temptation of Christ” and the fury of Mel Gibson’s “The Passion of the Christ,” leaving its star, Diogo Morgado, stuck in a film that’s stiff and earnest.

Pure grindhouse, so committed to its own junkiness that it is, in its way, a pleasure to behold.

The Golden Age is packed with distractions. But the biggest of all is the story itself, which works so mightily to tarnish the queen at its core.

The buoyant McMillan is a charming presence, but he's entirely miscast as a character described as moody and angry.

Herzog has certainly found a fascinating subject, but he does surprisingly little with it, especially considering the 135- minute running time.

Some documentaries are so well-made they transcend the nature of their subjects. This is not one of them.

A militaristic B-movie heavy on action but light on faux-patriotic bombast? It seems fair to call that its own kind of treasure.

It's a shame Bravo doesn't allow herself a broader perspective, because she's right to consider Castro one of the most important figures of the 20th century.

Julian Jarrold's cheerful, utterly predictable crowd-pleaser affirms that, according to many recent films out of Britain, there's a quirky interest to cure whatever ails you.

With few laughs and no real poignancy, the movie's success rests squarely on Adam's oft-naked shoulders.

Here's what Crossroads does not have: Cohesive direction from Tamra Davis, intelligent dialogue, a comprehensible plot.

After an hour of red herrings, in which Jill investigates creepy corridors or opens rattling closet doors with no results, the only real danger is that we'll become bored to death. For real thrills, rent the original, turn down the lights and scare yourself silly.

A curse would be a great improvement on the wishy-washy wickedness of this movie.

While the series is smart enough to have inspired an army of adult fans, too little of its droll intelligence is on view here. Instead, the film feels like a rote effort made for some quick box-office bucks.

Like the homeless kids at its center, Alison Murray's feature debut is passionate, angry and suffering from a serious lack of discipline.

After a fiendish start, filmmakers James Wong and Glen Morgan approach their task with all the subtlety of a hammer to the head (or a knife to the gut, or an ax to the back). They do, at least, find a mordant humor in the formula.

So after about an hour of watching four children eat, bathe and crawl, you might start to wonder why you've paid to see somebody else's home movies.

There are some genuinely funny moments amid the gore, but who knew this famously edgy director would find bathroom humor to be such a knee-slapper?

In Mean Machine, soccer is pretty much an excuse to watch a bunch of grown men smashing their heads together. Which, come to think of it, may be enough.

There are a few clever moments, as when an Amish farmer saves the tech-savvy students. But mostly, we're in it for the gore.

Had director Ziad Doueiri focused on the resentful Arab youths who clatter provocatively around the edges of his Marseilles-set drama, he might have discovered something interesting.

In general, movies made by improv comedy groups are hit or miss. And this one, from the Upright Citizens Brigade, misses a whole lot more than it hits.

You'll have a few laughs, for sure. Just don't expect to enjoy yourself as much as everybody on screen.

If an hour and a half of so-called "torture porn" sounds like fun, you'll find Saw IV situated somewhere between the first in the cycle (a solid original with plenty of energy in it) and the last (a gasping copycat willing to do anything to stay alive).

Does great justice to an extraordinary astronaut and reluctant icon, but also repeats the error made so often by media of Ride's era, in centering other people’s perspectives over her own.

Many of the cast members originated their roles onstage, and the ensemble scenes capture the spirited sense of fun that is Perry's trademark.

This is not a great comedy, but it has some honest laughs, a few touching moments.

There are some good ideas buried beneath the grotesque whimsy, and several animated sequences are modestly clever. But Pitt's mannered performance will inspire nothing but a run to the video store, in search of a real Burton.

Overwrought and overlong, Returner might been a rousing B-movie -- had it not been hamstrung by Yamazaki's bigger pretensions.

As earnest as its artless young characters, Tom Rice's intermittently affecting debut walks a well-trod path without finding anything very new.

Eyre offers a merciless, affecting portrait of reservation life, but his relevant themes eventually wash away in a sea of unnecessary sentimentality.

Overall, though, you get the exhausting feeling that Stolberg is desperately trying to prove how cool he is. And didn't you see enough of that in high school?

The production values are impressively slick and a few performances are polished, but it's not much more than "The Big Chill" on a little budget.

After allowing sadistic violence and whining children to invade his movie like a horde of termites, Carr tries to put one over on us by tacking on a sentimental ending. But as any homeowner could have told him, you can't disguise a weak foundation with a cheap finish.

A lazy attempt to snare some preadolescent allowance money, Sleepover earns little more than a few bored yawns.

Leaves almost no impression at all.

Mostly admirable for its ambition, which often feels nearly endless – as, alas, does the film itself.

Dubbed for U.S. audiences, the film has suffered in translation.

Co-stars Parker Posey and Chris Kattan offer minor diversions, but the humor never rises to the quality any New Yorker, regardless of sexual orientation, would expect.

The kind of movie in which plot and performances (and members of the fairer sex) are treated as accessories, "Tokyo Drift" is all about the action. And on that count, it won't let you down.

The soundtrack is a genre-hopping joy, and each musical number is cleverly staged and creatively choreographed. The problem is the noble mess of a movie that takes up so much space in between.

A Belgian "Deliverance," Calvaire (The Ordeal) not only treats us to a few good scares, it also teaches us that Europe has its own rednecks.

Like the direction, the script veers all over the place before reaching its inevitable, unsurprising destination.

If you want to make a film, this is a great place to start. But if you just want to watch one, it's more of dead end.

The story doesn't make any real sense, and the production values are home movie-cheap. But the cast seems to be having fun.

There are some light chuckles to be had, but considering its promising parentage, this is surprisingly soft stuff.

How anyone could make such an uninvolving movie out of such a fascinating subject remains its own inexplicable mystery.

The Buis seem not to have complete confidence in their unique, imprecise style, which is too bad.

Seems to have been made entirely for people who were kids during the Johnson administration.

The awkwardly told story of salsa legend Hector Lavoe, El Cantante doesn't even get the title right: It should have been called "La Esposa," since it's really less about the singer than his wife.

Nunez's fans will appreciate his ability to evoke a palpable atmosphere. But there's just not enough spark in his scorched setting.

Even the food - usually the centerpiece of a restaurant movie - is oddly uninspired. Despite Zeta-Jones' best efforts, barely a moment here feels organic, or fresh.

All we get is mild platitudes before the shows, and one-song sets.

On the plus side, the actors - especially Butler and Wilkinson - work overtime to pump some extra life into the self-conscious script.

Directors Adam Del Deo and James D. Stern focus primarily on the casting process for the 2006 revival, parading so many personalities past us that we don't really get to know anyone. Bypassing the original for the recreation? That ain't it, kid.

Takashi Miike is a master at making love-'em-or-loathe-'em spectacles, but even fans are likely to consider the final film of his Dead or Alive trilogy a minor entry in his oeuvre.

Adapted from a years-old stage play, The Salon, Mark Brown's stilted, sista-centric answer to "Barbershop," definitely shows its roots. And despite a few highlights, the overall effect is not pretty.

A shiny shell of a movie, "TWBS" is pretty to look at, and occasionally fun to watch. But ultimately, it's an exercise in futility - for the participants, who can do so much more, and the audience, which deserves so much better.

If you like your gore hardcore, you'll want to head straight for "Halloween II." But if you're happy to ease around a slightly smaller track, look no further.

There's little depth underneath the simmering surface, but if you're looking for escapist Halloween scares, you could do a lot worse.

If Firehouse Dog was on cable, where it belongs, it would make a passable diversion from homework or chores. But a kid would have to be pretty desperate to leave the house - and waste allowance money - for this modest distraction.

If, on the other hand, your driver's license is still a distant dream, consider this a path to pure hilarity.

It’s hard to say whether Branagh is concerned about getting things wrong, or of being disrespectful. But he never finds the freedom he’s unlocked so often in Shakespeare’s own works. His ambition is honorable, but without substance, it becomes merely the shadow of a dream.

Though the story itself is undeniably fascinating, this somewhat prosaic account simply doesn't do it justice.

Mays throws himself into the role of a man who attempts to transform into a woman, but his efforts feel like futile flailings: The actor - and his character - are so much bigger than any story we're allowed to see.

The movie is so shiny, bright and noisy, the under-10 set ought to be sufficiently entertained.

Fortunately, the cast cuts through a cloying script and boosts unsure direction with sharply focused performances.

A B-movie effort from an A-list production team, Joe Wright’s The Woman in the Window buckles beneath its aspirations almost immediately.

There are movies that are all about the characters, and then there are movies, like Bangkok Dangerous, that are far more about the directors who created those characters.

The entire cast is fully committed to this squishily sentimental tale, which is especially impressive given that it's the kind of generic dramedy you'll swear you've seen a thousand times before.

Little more than a blatant marketing tool. But it's breezy and brief enough to keep young fans - and even their parents - modestly entertained.

This is the kind of movie in which Jarrod's nemesis turns out to be paraplegic, while his dad lives in a wheelchair despite the fact that he can walk just fine. Ha.

The dialogue does have Coupland's characteristic snap, but like its mellow hero, the movie takes the easy route just a little too often.

Ultimately the movie asks a lot of us, while simultaneously withholding too much. The concept remains compelling, but the execution both figuratively and literally falls flat.

When a movie doesn’t hold up to introspection as a whole, it’s best to examine its parts. And some of those are admirable.

Unlike its levitating heroine, it never really gets off the ground.

While the actors do fight to find depth, their characters are consistently sketched in two dimensions.

Who would have guessed that sex, drugs and double-crossing could be so unrelentingly boring?

You won't get much back story, and the action is fairly generic. But The Damned still makes for a serviceable horror flick, with better performances than a movie of this caliber usually offers.

Colman does her absolute best to counter a scenario that manages to be both strangely off-putting and patly predictable, by shaping up a tartly unsentimental turn.

The only thing worse than bad horror is pretentiously bad horror. From title to finish, After.Life takes itself far more seriously than you will.

Admirable without being fully engaging. It’s too intelligent to dismiss, but not emotional enough to inspire lasting passion.

If you’re considering spending your hard-earned money on such bland fare, you should at least know what you’re getting: a rehash of every rom-com cliché imaginable.

Unfortunately, Miller never finds the right balance, so while there are some sweet notes, the pileup of clichés ultimately leaves a slightly acrid aftertaste.

The sisters who play Sophie are adorable. And if you happen to be a sleep-deprived parent yourself, there are worse ways to catch a two-hour nap.

Screenwriter Pablo Fenjves start with a promising premise, and the opening scenes are taut and suspenseful. A late-day chase scene picks up the sagging middle, but Leth totally fumbles what should be the movie's biggest moment.

All this story needs is a mariachi band to walk in on all the overwrought mourners. Oh, wait ... yep. There it is.

There are few real scares, though, and even fewer actual laughs. Despite several obvious gags, Aja never captures the spoofy fun of the 1978 original.

The book itself is an easy read -- conveniently enough, it shouldn't take you more than two hours. So you might want to skip the discordant copy, and use that time to discover the real thing.

Loosely adapting Larry Beinhart's darker novel, Ratliff and co-writer Douglas Stone indulge in so many cheap shots and caricatures, their disdain drips off the screen.

From performances to pacing, nearly every element of Rao's debut is uneven. But her passionate vision of so much useless prejudice leaves a lingering impact.

There are moments in Jack and Jill that are genuinely funny - and, just like countless family reunions, there are moments when you can't wait for it to end.

Still, every time Kurt opens his mouth you wish he would refocus and realize that, in fact, we've come to see a movie about someone else.

If one of your non-filmmaker friends watched "Office Space" a few too many times, this is probably the movie he'd make.

Slick direction and a strong central turn from Jeffrey Dean Morgan will keep you watching, if rarely from the edge of your seat.

The kind of movie designed more for a has-been than a potential leading man, this slapdash dramatic comedy fits the now-established pattern perfectly: Your (Ryan Reynolds) committed performance is the sole reason to see it.

A lightweight goof that feels a little dashed-off.

A witless rom-com that is only marginally watchable.

There's a fine line between labor of love and vanity project, and this blandly earnest tale straddles it.

No one is able to make much of the disposable script, but Hamm is so limited by the period trappings that it seems as if he simply wandered onto the wrong set.

The real problem is that no one involved seems to realize that their heroine is, in fact, an antiheroine. Had the movie gone all-in on Peg’s amorality, we might have had a more interesting project.

A comedy with two left feet, Immigration Tango does have enthusiasm on its side. But it trips up under the awkward efforts of all involved.

We have little to hang onto once the film falls apart. Between the ongoing sermonizing and that final, sharp shock - which is gravely mishandled - we feel cowed into submission, rather than led towards enlightenment.

Yes, that's an impressive collection of actors. And yes, it's deflating to watch them wandering in and out of half-written scenes with no discernable direction.

Most notably, Bahrani offers an emotional depiction of American farming that will leave viewers troubled, as it should. But he loses his footing when it comes to the story itself.

How could a movie that offers Jason Segel riffing on sex and Cameron Diaz regularly disrobing be so dull?

For the most part, we sit in on the conversations as good-natured, ordinary guys — all graduates of Brooklyn College in the ’50s — reminisce.

For her debut drama, Song One, filmmaker Kate Barker-Froyland snares Anne Hathaway. It’s a stroke of luck. Hathaway’s doe-eyed sincerity provides just enough weight to keep this sweet but slight romance from floating away.

Spacey is the film's primary draw, but the cast is uniformly solid -- a crucial asset when the screenplay and direction are not.

Riseborough once again transforms herself dramatically, expanding her role as best she can. But neither the hesitant script — adapted by Tom Bradby from his own novel — nor the sluggish tempo give her enough support.

Barely makes the grade in either humor or provocation.

The Good Liar really wants to be either a thriller or a caper. Unfortunately, it has neither the excitement necessary for the former nor the fun required of the latter.

"Vampires" doesn't suck, exactly, but the laziness and lack of imagination kinda bites.

A palpable sense of environment and strong performances from Noah Wyle and musician Steve Earle can’t balance the extensive flaws in this unconvincing Appalachian melodrama.

Perhaps, if this movie fails, studios will finally accept that we all deserve better. Biel knows it already, and Butler keeps up in their scenes together.

Without Ewan McGregor in the lead, this flashy but aggressively superficial Aussie thriller would likely disappear without a trace.

Actually, Ramirez should probably have been cast in the lead, since things flatten out whenever he disappears.

Just slightly funnier than you'd expect, this dashed-off teen comedy cribs from a thousand other movies, without coming up with anything original of its own.

Sure, sometimes it's fun to be assaulted by sequins, wigs, corsets and retro homage. But Xtina's fans can find all that already - in videos ranging from "Lady Marmalade" to "Ain't No Other Man" - without having to sit through two hours of recycled plots and plastic acting.

It's Barkin, though, who holds everything together, even as her character is falling apart. Whether or not she took this role as a favor - Levinson's father, Barry, directed her in "Diner" decades ago - ultimately seems irrelevant. This isn't an invitation you should feel obliged to accept. But if you decide to stop by, she'll be the reason you stay.

This slickly packaged bit of Disneyana would probably work best as an attraction at Epcot.

Director John Stockwell (“Blue Crush”) knows how to make the best possible use of his star while adding a strong supporting cast, some pretty scenery and a taut mystery. Stockwell understands most of all that we don’t need Carano to talk; we need her to kick ass.

From a consumer perspective, you're better off skipping the movie and putting your money toward their book instead.

It’s always extra frustrating when a biopic falls short, especially if its subject is as compelling as the relationship between two brilliant iconoclasts like Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West.

First-time director Anthony Baxter jettisons all pretense of impartiality, without adding any of the intelligent outrage of his evident influence, Michael Moore.

As a low-cost baby-sitter, this high-energy sequel definitely does the trick.

There are plenty of ideas to gnaw on, given that Cronenberg has adapted Don DeLillo's intense novel of a New York on the verge of dystopian breakdown. But frustratingly bland work from lead Robert Pattinson results in an awfully watery stew.

So who was the movie really made for? Mostly, it seems, for Cyrus herself, who needed to take the first, hesitant step in another direction.

Despite Sparrow's ongoing flashes of charm, Depp himself seems to know he's coasting.

Appropriately enough for a movie built on two-dimensional cartoons of amoral adults and innocent children, Shahidi is the only actor who emerges with her dignity fully intact.

On the bright side, Robinson’s unlucky astronauts are played by Liev Schreiber, Elias Koteas, Olivia Williams and Romola Garai. All of these actors approach their potential demise with impressive conviction.

Pay close attention to the title of Tom Shadyac's documentary. He will try to convince you his film is about humanity uniting to solve its problems. But somehow, his own ego keeps getting in the way.

The original title of Jess Manafort's directorial debut was "The Beautiful Ordinary," and she shouldn't have changed it. After all, her cast is beautiful and her movie is ordinary.

Without a satisfying resolution, the movie ultimately sheds very little light on its own subject.

Super starts off feeling like a cult comedy you might catch during a midnight film festival. But since Gunn never nails his tone, the concept makes more sense than the execution.

It's simply a blandly shot recording of Michael Flatley's musical revue, as performed overseas.

An uncharacteristically stiff Mortensen can't break free from the clichés that constrain his character, who feels more like a symbol than a real person.

Though they lack chemistry as a team, it's gratifying to see both Perry and Burns stretching in ways they haven't before.

For all the talent involved, the overall effect is surprisingly flat. Foxx appears disconnected, Byrne is wasted and a painfully hammy Diaz seems to be in another movie altogether.

Watch closely and you might even spy a better film inside, straining to break free.

In the end, Albert’s biggest problem isn’t the threat of coyotes or cholera. It’s that he’s being played by the wrong guy.

What makes the calculated sentimentality palatable is Curtis’ intelligent assurance as he guides us through each step. It’s a gooey indulgence, to be sure, but one that will please anybody with a cinematic sweet tooth.

Descends with dismaying speed into clichéd Southern melodrama.

The real problem is that this eager-to-please debut never quite achieves its own, more modest ambitions.

There's barely half a film here, stretched and pulled so thin you can nearly see through it.

While I fully support the appearance of a new Madea movie every six months, even Tyler Perry can't be bothered to take this setup seriously.

What it is, really, is a trainer film, meant to prep the world's youngest ticketholders for the day when they're old enough to help turn Bruckheimer's bigger movies into blockbusters.

As fake and forgettable as a marshmallow Peep, Hop goes down easy enough.

It's a mess from start to finish, but there's still fun to be had in Rob Minkoff's caper comedy.

Like a lemon that's been tricked out with a fancy paint job, Fast & Furious won't stand up to much scrutiny under the hood.

Dagur Kari both wrote and directed, so he has no one else to blame for so little originality. Neither does his hard-working cast, all of whom deserve better.

Perfectly inoffensive and almost entirely unfunny, Paul Blart: Mall Cop is more of a numbing experience than a painful one.

From the insistently discordant score to each overthought shot, this triad of stories feels self-conscious and deliberately arty rather than heartfelt.

The good news for Carey is that she gets to prove she's a pretty decent actress after all. The bad news, of course, is that she's done it in a movie no one has any other reason to see.

Think of Mansome as the equivalent of a $10 manicure: It'll modestly enhance your day without making any lasting impact.

What a letdown it is to see this spellbinding, era-defining story tamed into such stodgy submission.

Brad Leong’s “quirky” romantic comedy retreads ground that is already so well worn, everyone just slides right through.

The movie doesn’t weave religion into the familiar structure of a comedy or melodrama. Instead, everything works in service to the sermon at the core. For most audience members, that will either be the primary draw or an inescapable drawback.

Although Kutcher deserves some ­credit for trying to spread his professional wings, it quickly becomes clear that he's in over his head.

Built on an amusing idea that can't quite support an entire movie, Wayne Price's comedic debut might have made a terrific short.

After a promising start that uses Anna Paquin and Kristen Bell to perfection, they settle into their old stomping grounds as if they'd never left - and that turns out to be a letdown.

The Edge of Love may be intended as a biopic of Welsh poet Dylan Thomas, but it’s destined to be remembered as the movie that brought Keira Knightley and Sienna Miller into the same bathtub.

With all of the city available, she made the curious choice to follow couples who are neither unique nor especially memorable.

If last year’s searing old-age tragedy, “Amour” — or 2006’s bravely blunt “Away From Her” — weren’t digestible enough for you, perhaps this mild romance will suffice.

Despite the overwrought plot and unabashed pretension, there's something admirable about the fact that Coppola clearly made this movie for himself. But he shouldn't be surprised if few others join him in watching it.

It’s McCarthy’s complex use of language, rather than the plot’s grueling imagery, that elevate the book. There’s simply not enough insight here to make the punishment worthwhile.

An excellent Keener commits reliably to the role and does give us moments worth savoring. But the underwritten script and misguided direction leave her stranded.

We will simply be grateful she (Lawrence) is here, and thus able to turn generic junk into mildly interesting junk.

Director Jonathan Sobol clearly understands the first rule of a good grift: misdirection. He packs his middling caper flick with so many known faces, it’s easy to miss all the other familiarities.

But the movie is so confused about where it wants to go, it suffers from the same identity crisis as its protagonist.

Ever catch yourself thinking, "Man, I wish beer commercials lasted just 104 minutes longer"? The Farrelly brothers are ready to make your dreams come true.

Even taken on its own, this story of Graham (Poe), a single New Yorker feeling his way toward adulthood, feels like a promising college project that wasn't ready for the real world.

Thomas offers particularly fine work, but the underwritten script, which relies too much on sentimentality, gives him little to do.

Fashionistas who flock to Whitney Sudler-Smith's documentary should pay heed to the entire title: this isn't simply the biography of an American icon, but the chronicle of a misguided filmmaker.

The unexpected chemistry between Sam Rockwell and Olivia Wilde helps balance this sour noir comedy.

Phillips sticks so close to the formula of his original that even the characters are given to saying things like, "I can't believe this is happening again."

When writer and director are one and the same, there’s always a risk that the project will suffer from a lack of perspective. Indeed, in helming her blackly comic indie Miss Meadows, Karen Leigh Hopkins fails to fulfill the potential of her own script.

The music will keep you in your seat, but there's so much more to this story. If only they'd gotten it right the second time around.

Designed as their own entity, the brief subtitles convey so little that to get the full experience you won't only need to understand Godard's language. You'll also have to speak French.

Bledel brings a sweet, steady presence, but this sort of minor project is a step backwards. It's high time she graduated on to bigger and better things.

Italian prime minister Silvio Berlusconi is an ideal documentary subject, but Erik Gandini's jumbled take on Berlusconi's corrupting influence quickly shifts from good idea to wasted opportunity.

No worse than the second. Still, it pales in comparison to the first, which starred Dolph Lundgren. And that, right there, should tell you everything you need to know.

Franco’s rather flat narration doesn’t do justice to Crane’s verse, but he is a charismatic onscreen presence.

Even the actors seem disconnected, with only Leighton Meester - who has the most to prove - working to create a distinguishable character.

Coasting on lazy stereotypes, the script basically ends where it started, teaching young viewers that it's really not so bad to be a spoiled bitchy puppy.

It's all a little insular and very conversational, but the setting is cozy and the performances all pleasantly low-key.

The tone veers wildly, from wacky indie to melodramatic soap opera. Like the other men in her life, Ireland adores Jolene without entirely understanding her.

It's easy to see how a film so unafraid of religious touchstones could become a phenomenon among the faithful. Nonbelievers, however, need not apply.

Calculated Belgian crowd-pleaser.

Although little Timothy does arrive in unusual circumstances, his story will feel familiar to anyone who's encountered Hollywood's particular brand of calculated sentimentality.

With Australia, Luhrmann obviously intends to stage a grand romance against the epic backdrop of World War II. But what we get instead is an unwieldy mess that needed another six months in the editing room.

The author of "Naked Lunch" and his words were funny, freaky and sometimes just Out There. Yet as "there" became "here," Leyser shows, Burroughs seemed to be everywhere.

We keep getting glimpses of a compelling subject, but it’s hard to know what Nichols is really going for, since he tosses so many disparate elements together without tying them into a meaningful thread.

The movie wants to say something significant about the excitement and alienation of life in a strange — which is to say, new — place. The film never gets there, but its aims are honorable, and the lovingly shot Shanghai scenery does enhance the trip.

There's no one to root for but the loan shark, who makes an excellent point: It's no fun when somebody takes your cash and gives you nothing in return.

On the bright side, the actors are experienced enough to anchor their free-floating characters. But if you’d like to see this sort of thing done well, watch 2011’s infinitely superior Channing Tatum dramedy “10 Years” on Netflix instead.

For parents looking to get their preschoolers out of the house, The Hero of Color City will be good enough.

Bill Carey’s uneven first film, centered on an isolated Texas teen named Vallie Sue (AJ Michalka), has some offbeat charms. They are not, however, strong enough to carry such a heavy load of cliches.

Despite the film’s worthy goals, there are some empty calories. Katie Couric’s narration and Soechtig’s uninspired style make it feel more like a TV special than a feature documentary.

But with Kerouac declaring that “the only thing that matters is the conceptions in my own mind,” we’re still left waiting for the filmmaker who can take us there.

The story feels fairly perfunctory — not to mention unnecessarily knotty — but the well-connected leads do their best to ground it. And while this one falls far short of the “Bourne” films that serve as an influence, the intense action scenes consistently deliver some solid genre jolts.

Stephanie Riggs never manages to develop her debut documentary about Broadway performers into a satisfying feature. But the stories alone ought to be appreciated by theater fans and, especially, aspiring actors.

Anyone who actually adores New York is unlikely to appreciate this disappointingly bland collection of shorts, which might as well have been called "Madrid, Te Amo" or "Cincinnati, You're the Best."

That other actors - especially Akerman and Tony Hale, wonderful as a tentative couple - fare better suggests Radnor should give directing another shot.

If a black-metal band ever made a 107-minute music video, this visually striking but otherwise ludicrous epic is probably what it would look like.

Though it starts out as amusing satire, the jokes become as neurotic as Dallas' female population, and the film spins out of control in every way.

Just not feeling the holiday spirit? Maybe a brainless, extra-bloody B-movie will provide the boost you're looking for.

Those who go looking for tragic relevance in Scott Rosenbaum's debut indie won't find much to grasp onto.

This stilted crime drama from Atom Egoyan feels misguided from the start. He’s attempting to fictionalize a true story that has already been told better, several times over.

Peter Berg’s ultra-bloody battle film “Lone Survivor” is ultimately more grueling than satisfying. It’s more carnage than cinema.

Gere and Grace do make a decent odd couple, but neither seems entirely committed.

Children, of course, won’t notice the political subtext. But do be prepared for them to exit the theater demanding that you make only Tofurkey in the future.

Anthony Byrne's lazy drama is insulting to just about everyone, including Maeve Binchy, who wrote the short story on which it was based. But nobody fares well, especially cast members Vanessa Redgrave, Brenda Fricker and Imelda Staunton.

The deeply private, intensely ideological and undeniably brilliant Watterson would make an absolutely fascinating subject. But director Joel Allen Schroeder has no access to him. So instead he talks a lot about how much he loves “Calvin and Hobbes” and then invites other fans to do the same.

Racing enthusiasts will appreciate historical footage, while a thread about a new student overwhelmed by his responsibilities has promise. But after a decent start, Marquet stumbles, never making it across the finish line.

It would have been helpful had Smith put his words into some sort of context, allowing others to assess his theories. Instead there's simply Ruppert, talking, raging and warning, as if his very life depended on it.

Jones co-wrote the uneven script with Will McCormack, and one can't help wishing she'd aimed higher. Acknowledging cineplex clichés isn't enough if you still wind up embracing, rather than subverting, them.

Though the cast is energetic and the intrigues diverting, you'll have to distance yourself from reality to enjoy so much outlandish scheming.

Don't be fooled by the indie trappings: despite its downtown vibe, Lola Versus is as clichéd as any Hollywood rom-com.

Cage, adopting an accent that could best be defined as Just British Enough to Sound Serious, adds some welcome weirdness to this otherwise generic production. He doesn’t fit in at all, but then again, who’d want him to?

Too bad this would-be heir, Divergent, is so unimaginative and bland.