Elizabeth Weitzman

The movie is not up to the company’s highest standards, but it’s certainly better than most other kid flicks you’ll see this year.

At first, Elie Wajeman’s moody French drama looks like so many other stories to come before it.

The real star, though, is the ocean itself, which is so stunning in its furious majesty that we fully understand every risk they’re willing to take. Finally, a 3-D ticket worth paying for.

The very best — and, alas, the very worst — of human nature is captured in this heartbreaking and inspiring documentary.

It's no minor accomplishment to make one of the most indulgent projects in Hollywood history. But with This Is the End, Seth Rogen and his pals have indeed achieved this dubious goal.

Skip the movie and go buy yourself a drink instead.

Simplistic plotting, pedestrian visuals and poorly-handled melodrama do lend the project a cheap, made-for-TV feel, which is underscored by the fact that Danes and Marsden don’t seem obliged to turn in their best work.

The script unfurls too many obvious setups, but director Eric Valette is smart enough to rely on his most authentic effect — Dupontel’s natural intensity.

There are no surprises among the characters — depressed mom (Amy Jo Johnson), controlling aunt (Cynthia Stevenson), new boyfriend (Tatanka Means) — but the cast is strong enough to build on familiar elements.

An absolute delight, as merry as the day is long.

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.

Built on dry one-liners, off-kilter timing and self-conscious nostalgia, The Kings of Summer seems expressly designed to delight quirk-loving Sundance audiences.

For a while, Leterrier does manage to conjure up a little bit of magic between all these charming actors. And then, presto: Just like that, it’s gone.

There probably is an interesting story in Van’s rags-to-riches tale. But all we get in this extended publicity stunt is clichéd filmmaking, stilted performances and a self-aggrandizing hero.

Plimpton recorded many of these adventures in books that are well worth seeking out. But if you don’t have enough time to do so, Bean and Poling have assembled a delightful cheat sheet.

The vastly divergent paths of Assange and Manning make up the most fascinating aspects of this relentlessly compelling film.

“Let’s go for a little ride,” teases Vin Diesel as Dom Toretto at the start of Fast & Furious 6, an amusingly mild suggestion that’s also the only moment of understatement in two dizzyingly high-octane hours.

There’s no explaining the presence of Guy Pearce in Pauline Chan’s sappy, atonal family drama. But it’s easy enough to understand why he looks so uncomfortable throughout.

Sokolinski, a French pop singer better known at home as Soko, is fully in tune with Winocour’s sharp vision. Her intense, almost accusatory turn feels like the opposing image of Keira Knightley’s intellectual neurosis in 2011’s similarly themed “A Dangerous Method.” Where that film found some lightness within the dark, this one drags an historic darkness into the light.

Most people can only watch the same movie so many times. But Philipp Stölzl is clearly hopeful that when you’re done with “Taken” (and “Taken 2”), you’ll want more of the same. Should that be the case, this undistinguished but decent knockoff is ready to satisfy.

It would be nice to say that Rourke, at least, offers a reason to see this junky thriller, about an American agent who gets involved in an Indonesian terrorist plot. But as entertaining as it is to watch him adopt a strange accent and swan around in sarongs as an eccentric jewel thief, it’s also a little depressing. The paycheck cannot possibly be worth it.

Directors Maiken Baird and Michelle Major may have begun this documentary with the intention of profiling two of the most successful siblings in sports. But any reality TV viewer knows that bad behavior is always more compelling than likability. So this movie’s title becomes, perhaps to the filmmakers’ own surprise, a little misleading.

Director Tina Gordon Chism, who also wrote the screenplay, seems to have relied pretty strongly on Perry for guidance. In particular, she rejects any notions of subtlety, either in the comedy or the weirdly heavy-handed messages about masculinity.

Luhrmann piles on one shiny distraction after another. But amid all the seductively gaudy excess, DiCaprio finds both the heart and hurt buried within one of literature’s everlasting enigmas.

It’s a mystery as to how so much talent combined to create such a cynically superficial product.

Assayas may have been inspired by biographical memories, but “Air” is so sensitively observed that it simultaneously evokes a universal, and eternal, state of adolescence as well.

Though Nair leaves us guessing as to Changez’s motivations, she also uses a pretty heavy hand in laying out the movie’s themes. The changes between the novel and the screenplay are equally unsubtle, especially in regards to the ill-conceived romance.

There’s never a moment when we forget that Mike and Wallace are just vacant personalities that two talented actors decided to try on for fun.

To be sure, there are many reasons to see the film. The cinematography is memorably vibrant, and the performances are solid, even if they pass by too swiftly. Most of all, of course, the subject matter remains fascinating.

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.

Neither Claude nor Ozon comes up with a satisfying finish to this intriguing setup. But because they’re both so committed to seducing their audience, it’s a lot of fun watching them try.

The setting and themes are pure Loach, and he’s handled comic scenarios with skill before. But he and his longtime screenwriter, Paul Laverty, have added a lighthearted buoyancy — enhanced by a spirited if obvious soundtrack — that might lead some to call this a feel-good crowd-pleaser.

The fine cast pushes beyond the script’s limits, even if some, like Hope Davis as Ben’s mom, are mostly wasted.

Berger’s got some clever ideas, but he does not push far in exploring them. And aside from Cross, there is virtually no one to like among these self-involved suburbanites. After an hour alone with them, we can’t help wishing The End would just arrive.

Along with Moore, all of them deserve some kind of credit for committing to a movie barely six souls will ever even see.

Though consistently engaging, Redford’s latest directorial endeavor does feel like a plea. You can almost hear him coaxing us to learn from the past, even as we rush into the future.

Though Alvarez keeps us watching, he takes no real chances. Buried under all those enthusiastically mangled bodies is the comfort of familiarity. He may have intended to remake a single film, but we’ve seen this movie countless times before.

The actors hold our attention, and there’s something to be said for the guys’ pathological disconnect. But the movie itself is too disconnected to say it.

We’re not in Disney’s world. Berger knows his Grimm, and he suffuses his entrancing fairy tale with a moving sense of melancholy.

Despite the promise Epps and Turner show in their film’s finest moments, we’re still talking about a movie that tries to wring jokes from puppet therapy.

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

Perhaps every generation gets the movie stars it deserves. “Olympus” has quite a bit to say about the current state of our country. Intentions aside, not all of it is entirely flattering.

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

Enthusiasm carries the day in this paint-by-numbers period tale, which is just charming enough to coast on its own clichés.

It’s not easy to play twins (in another language, no less), without relying on showy mannerisms to define them. But Mortensen pulls it off. Your move, Franco.

None of the seven shorts here is worth a single, well-made feature. But there are a few amusing moments to be found.

No one’s winning any awards for The Call. But at least the award winners know how to make it worth our while.

There is enough here — including the gifted Arena’s barely believable backstory — to keep your head spinning.

Philip Roth turns 80 next week, and what better way to celebrate than to serve as the hero of his own story? It’s too bad, though, that this dully conventional biography doesn’t do justice to its subject.

Like a creaky Vegas act desperate to please, The Incredible Burt Wonderstone is so eager you can’t help wanting to like it. But you also can’t help wondering if something better is playing in the theater next-door.

Its compelling conceit is immediately weighed down by leaden execution.

Most of the performances are as unpolished as they are heartfelt, which is both endearing and distracting.

This material could so easily have tipped over into false sentimentality, but everyone works with a steady hand. Rebecca Thomas makes an assured debut as both writer and director, the gifted Culkin is excellent as always, and Garner finds lovely shades of nuance in Rachel’s innocent faith.

Don’t be fooled by the smoke and mirrors. There is nothing here that is great, or powerful. Worst of all, there’s nothing here that even feels like Oz.

How ironic (depressing? predictable?) that the week after we celebrate the best in movies, we are force-fed its very worst. 21 & Over is filmmaking by formula, and evidence of Hollywood’s assumption that appealing to viewers’ basest instincts will always pay off.

There is plenty of evidence that Webber has something significant to say, and the gifts with which to express himself. Once he’s ready to commit fully to his own vision, there’s no end to what he might accomplish.

The movie works best as a calling card for young Haney-Jardine, whom we can surely expect to see more of on the festival circuit.

While the filmmakers never quite make the case that their chosen melody deserves its own full-length film, they do ensure that you’ll leave the theater happily humming it.

A director as talented as Singer (“The Usual Suspects,” “X-Men”) should be working to raise popcorn movies to a higher level. Instead, this uninspired effort feels like a colossal letdown.

The pacing is so tedious and the action so unexciting that it's a real thrill when J.K. Simmons shows up as a wry alien expert — and a huge disappointment when he disappears a few minutes later.

Wang Xiaoshuai’s gently engrossing coming-of-age tale isn’t strikingly unique, but it does possess the heartfelt confidence that comes from autobiographical influence — and natural talent.

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.

Newcomers may be disappointed by such a slender effort, but fans of revered Iranian director Abbas Kiarostami will find plenty to appreciate in his observant followup to 2010’s acclaimed “Certified Copy.”

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.

Who could have predicted that one day we would long for the relative subtlety of “Twilight”? Richard LaGravenese’s Beautiful Creatures is so outrageously florid, Bella and Edward’s baroque courtship looks understated by comparison.

The ensuing road trip should be hilariously chaotic, a classic misadventure between two ill-matched travelers. Instead of “Midnight Run,” though, we get another gloss on the recent “Guilt Trip,” in which the concept is all that counts.

This is really the kind of movie that was made to be watched in a haze after midnight, at which point it would all, no doubt, make perfect sense.

Grohl has a longstanding reputation as one of the nicest guys in rock. So it should come as no surprise that this may be the most positive music documentary you'll ever see.

He tells his story honestly, but with no great sense of self-awareness or insight.

Despite the filmmakers' desperate attempts to scandalize us, the only real shock is that a movie this disastrous ever managed to get made.