Elizabeth Weitzman

Teller is, by far, the best thing about this easygoing, stubbornly generic independent romance from Max Nichols (son of Oscar-winning director Mike Nichols).

In a movie, nothing good ever seems to happen at a country house. And when it comes to this film, nothing very interesting happens, either.

No, there’s nothing new here. But sometimes it’s enough to be merely entertained, rather than amazed.

The scenery is stunning and the story compelling, but some viewers will find it easier to admire Tracks than to engage with this meditative tale of Robyn Davidson (played beautifully by Mia Wasikowska).

There are no twists or even surprises, except the final realization that director Alan White is taking his culturally clueless, ineptly shot B-movie totally seriously. Judging from the uniformly underwhelming performances, he’s the only one.

Tusk is alternately amusing, appalling and frustrating. It’s also unique.

We already know Kristen Wiig can act. So the real revelation in The Skeleton Twins is Bill Hader, who turns in a performance so overflowing with poignancy that he deserves to be considered on any early awards list.

The film rests, though, on the sturdy shoulders of Chastain and McAvoy. They don’t share the intense chemistry this couple really needs, but they commit to the individual stories with touching persuasion.

It’s almost painful to watch the immense promise of The Congress, Ari Folman’s spectacularly ambitious experiment, dissipate into nothing.

This uneven directorial debut from Jen McGowan is notable mostly for a nicely understated turn from Juliette Lewis.

Thematically tough and emotionally rough, Starred Up is the kind of movie you might enter into with some reluctance. But because everyone involved does such an outstanding job, it's also the kind of movie you won't want to see end.

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.

There’s a potentially fascinating series waiting to be mined here, even if it is buried beneath bland visuals and a pedestrian script on the big-screen.

Ultimately it’s the cast, more than the crime, that gives this story life.

Writer-director Carter Smith got his start as a successful fashion photographer. But you wouldn’t know it from the murky look of this generic thriller.

Even in the lazy days of late August, this movie is hardly worth the price of popcorn.

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.

Director Jennifer Kroot’s good-natured biography is so appealing that even non-Trekkies may be convinced we needed a full-length documentary about the man who was Sulu.

The compelling Draper’s the creation of “Mad Men” mastermind Matthew Weiner, the writer-director of Are You Here. Which begs the question: how could Weiner make, as his debut comedy, a movie as amateurish and off-putting as this one?

The movie is designed not to explore the experience of illness, or first love, or adolescence, but merely to make us swoon, sigh, and sob.

Coogan and Brydon make terrific companions for us partially because, at least as they appear onscreen, they’re so amusingly incompatible themselves.

Anyone looking for a date-night flick will be inclined to fall for Michael Dowse’s aggressively adorable What If. Just be warned: The single-minded determination to win you over may wind up pushing you away.

Once Quale and writer John Swetnam get their generic setup out of the way, they can loosen up and treat the tornadoes like the villains they are. The effectively simulated storms, with their massive wreckage, start to feel like monsters stalking the heroes.

It’s admirable that writer/director Michael Walker wanted to make a socially conscious thriller. But surely he didn’t have to replace all the thrills with broadly moralizing messages.

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.

Each viewer is likely to connect with a different character initially, but don’t be surprised if you switch allegiances several times before the story ends.

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.

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.

To see an expensive, big-studio movie freed from creative constraints and directorial cynicism is always a rare and wondrous experience. In a season of bloated indulgence, it’s also fair to call it a marvel.

Fast-paced, funny, and packed with – to indulge in a bit of ad-speak — eye-popping action.

The only real reason to see it is for a luminous leading turn from Dakota Fanning as Brooklyn teen Lilly.

A brazenly mindless thriller about the infinite capacities of the human brain. That said, sometimes we just want to shut down and give in to bombastic summer entertainment. In that regard, as usual, Besson delivers.

Whether you call Anton Corbijn’s adaptation of John le Carré’s 2008 novel “deliberately paced” or “so slow I can feel my hair growing,” there’s no denying the power behind the central performance.

There’s a lot of heart in his creativity. But this particular effort, delightful as it often is, lacks some essential soul.

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

The results are awkward and atonal.

As for our leading man, he’s clearly just messing with us now. Who else would make a revenge thriller called Rage and then sleepwalk his way through it?

Pahani’s films have become increasingly indistinguishable from his complex life, making them a challenging but often thrilling experience.

The blatantly misogynistic treatment of the female characters, who exist solely to service Rob and his best friend (Craig Roberts), would have felt retrograde in a movie made decades ago.

Ferreras is similarly frank, but heavy doses of humor and empathy, along with gorgeous hand-drawn animation, keep things from getting too morbid.

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

Earth to Echo is a copy of a copy. The movie feels less like a weak “E.T.” than a substandard “Mac and Me.” And you may not even remember the latter, a 1988 flop — the fate likely to hit this well-meaning but underwhelming effort.

The 6-year-old I watched it with summed it up perfectly: “It starts out fun but then it’s kinda sad and scary. And sorta boring, too.”

Most of all, she (Zemeckis) brings generosity and compassion to the Hiltons’ tragic story.

Knightley does fine work, but she’s been miscast. Her innate sophistication undermines the movie’s intentions right off the bat. We never believe her as Greta.

As the most comfortable performer among this inexperienced cast, Walken brings a crucial maturity. In contrast, Young seems to have been hired primarily for his uncanny falsetto.

Daniel Cohen’s genial French comedy is as airy as a soufflé. Alas, it’s not nearly as satisfying.

Byrkit and his actors successfully build a sense of tension, and then dread, from what appears to be an extremely limited budget. Indeed, the movie was shot primarily in his own living room.

Younger kids looking for the cute connection between hesitant teen Hiccup and his loyal dragon, Toothless, may be stunned by the film’s violent tone. At the same time, it’s the unflinching edge that gives the film its unexpected depth.

Every actor probably dreams of creating his or her ideal role. So kudos to Marvel movie stalwart Clark Gregg (“The Avengers,” TV’s “Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.”) for actually doing it, as writer, director and star of this indie drama. If only we could extend our congratulations to the project itself.

The story itself is fairly straightforward, but lands with a thud.

The parts are greater than the whole, but there’s a lot to like here, including the easy interplay between the leads.

Crucially, Cruise knows just how to pace Cage’s shift from cowardly to courageous. Yes, we get cool effects and impressive machinery. But he and Liman add unexpected humor and genuine tension to the seasonal thrill of blowing stuff up.

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.

A charming coming-of-age drama.

So be forewarned: What admirers will consider measured may read, to the unimpressed, as merely slow-moving.

Before you spend good money to see the purported comedy, Blended, watch the trailer. The entire movie is packed into those 152 seconds.

Phil Alden Robinson’s overheated dramedy feels disconnected from reality in every emotional way.

"Dexter” fans will enjoy watching Michael C. Hall as a bumbling everyman terrified of violence. But there’s plenty more to appreciate within Jim Mickle’s gripping adaptation of Joe R. Lansdale’s pulp novel.

If there were a Lifetime Channel for Men, Emilio Aragón’s unabashedly sentimental take on old age would surely wind up there.

Nathan’s neurotic self-indulgence strains our patience.

As slickly entertaining as you’d expect a Disney-produced inspirational sports movie to be. But it’s so lacking in sincerity and creativity that “inspirational” never rounds the corner to “inspiring.”

It’s nice to see these characters again. But there’s an uncomfortable strain of bitterness running through the nostalgia. Klapisch is, for example, much kinder to his good-natured leading man than any of the ladies, who are by turns cruel, flaky and dishonest.

Instead of falling into exaggerated exploitation, Coppola always stays true to the essence of adolescence — that sense of waiting, reacting and then waiting some more.

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.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with faith-based entertainment. The problem comes when, as with any heavily slanted perspective, the faith takes precedence over the entertainment.

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.

If Meghan's misadventures were funny, or creatively told, or even just mildly entertaining, perhaps Brill ("Little Nicky") could get away with such lazy filmmaking. Instead he wastes all of his resources, including two top-flight comic actors, shamelessly.

It’s a shame to see both actor and director play things so safe. Not only is much of the choreography reminiscent of their better films, but they rely too much on digital effects. Instead, we should be awed solely by the sight of a first-rate fighter.

Michael (Hansen) fakes his death and announces it online, solely so he can see who shows up at his funeral. His plans only grow more dimwitted from there.

Somehow, though, director Huck Botko and writer Jeff Tetreault have turned their dopey tribute to testosterone into a surprisingly amusing rom-com.

All we’re left with is the sight of older men hiring a gorgeous young woman to take her clothes off and fulfill their desires. If nothing else, Ozon does leave us wondering whether he intended such an uncomfortable parallel between life and art.

First-time feature director Omid Nooshin deftly downplays his budgetary limitations. He creates a sense of tension on the confining set and draws as much as possible out of a strong cast, led by Scott.

So instead of the rom-com, we now have the “non-com.” The cardboard characters and predictable rhythms remain. But this time, we get all the comic cliches with none of the romance.

You can always tell when filmmakers get their ideas from watching other movies. First-time writer David Congalton must be a Christopher Guest fan, because his derivative mockumentary feels like the work of someone who’s seen “Waiting for Guffman” and “Best in Show” too many times.

A romantic triangle featuring Rebecca Hall, Alan Rickman and “Game of Thrones” costar Richard Madden has no business being this dull.

His (Surnow) unfocused script swerves all over the road, but Christopher Meloni and Dean Norris repeatedly get things back on track.

It’s cheesy fun for sure, but fun nonetheless.

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

This is a movie about the transcendent bond between partners who can communicate without speaking a word, so it’s only fitting that the gorgeous cinematography perfectly captures the movie’s emotional depths.

Most impressive: the striking vibrancy of the animation. This is the rare movie that earns the extra cost of 3-D glasses.

Haven’t Cleveland fans suffered enough? Not only have they never won a Super Bowl, but now the Browns serve as the center of Ivan Reitman’s painfully creaky sports drama.

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.

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

Apocalyptic visions are no longer enough to shock us. By this point, if you want to imagine the end of the world, you really need to say something new about it.

So clear your calendar. There’s no better time to get to know a character so obnoxiously stubborn that not even his own creator can shake him.

When you name your movie Dom Hemingway and then require the titular antihero to repeatedly declare, “I am Dom Hemingway!” the filmmakers must be very confident that there is something special about their character. Too bad there isn’t.

Jessica Goldberg’s sluggish directorial debut feels like a leftover from the 1990s, when dank indie dramas littered film-festival lineups.

In Cheap Thrills, a committed cast elevates what is, ultimately, a gimmicky thriller. It dissolves into a puddle of blood-tinged hypocrisy.

Anita Hill deserves a great documentary chronicling her life, her trials and her ongoing impact. This underwhelming effort isn’t it.

If you’re wondering how much heat you’ll find in this French romance, the title offers an unexpectedly frank clue.

Director Bertrand Tavernier’s amusing new political satire isn’t toothless, but it could use more bite.

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

Predictable as the adventure may be, the company — and the countryside — make it worthwhile.

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

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.

For his directorial debut, Bateman returns to his bad-boy beginnings. And the results are predictably amusing.

It’s so much fun you may want to put a few bucks aside for a sequel.