Elizabeth Weitzman

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.

Sorrentino’s dazzling tribute to Roman indulgence is a bittersweet, slightly surreal epic.

It’s Ross, however, who really makes a lasting impact. Someone should snap her up for a series — and soon.

There’s so much more to this story — as any number of articles about the people he wronged attest — but this time, Gibney never really gets in gear.

The movie’s strong sense of empathy, enhanced by several noteworthy performances, ought to engage most viewers.

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.

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.

Not much happens in Sandra Nettelbeck’s intimate family drama, but its well-drawn connections between lonely souls make an impact nonetheless.

You certainly won’t learn anything of interest about the Princess of Wales in Oliver Hirschbiegel’s misguided new biopic. But Diana can be declared a success in one regard — its vacant inanity serves to remind us of the perpetual indignities forced upon this unlucky Lady.

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.

Given that his subjects are so inspiring, surely Levy could have spiced up his storytelling with a bit more creativity.

The historically essential document they’ve created here pulses with an immediacy that will leave you simultaneously enlightened and stunned.

Overlong and dramatically thin.

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

As for Ginsberg himself: Should we be more impressed that Radcliffe so confidently portrays an actual icon, or that he banishes all memories of the fictional one he’s portrayed before? Both accomplishments suggest that he’s got real talent, and a future that’s already taking him well past Harry Potter.

Redford will surely earn a well-deserved Oscar nomination for this role, to which he commits with unerring dedication. But the real star is writer/director Chandor, whose painstaking approach is exquisite in its spare integrity.

Shabby on the surface and indulgent at its core.

There is no reason a film with an agenda can’t also be engaging or thought-provoking. But what we have here is not so much a movie as a blunt Sunday sermon.

Moore shows promising ingenuity in shooting parts of the movie covertly, within the notoriously restrictive Disney World resort. But his script never takes the same sort of risk.

This version is never rough, nor rude, nor boisterous, but for first-timers, perhaps wisely and slow is the way to go. There will be time enough for them to discover cinema’s superior adaptations anon.

Rare is the film so ineptly made that it barely deserves the dignity of a review. Which, on the one hand, makes this slapdash horror romance somewhat unusual. On the other, however, you’re wasting valuable time just reading about it.

The movie can’t help feeling like a vanity affair — a shot of novocaine, instead of a letter bomb.

Alas, the split-screen compositions, slow-motion effects, pensive closeups and prosthetic teeth can’t distract from what’s missing: Faulkner’s pointed but deeply buried observations of the human condition.

Giamatti and Rudd banter with appeal, but Melissa James Gibson’s lackluster script doesn’t offer either much to work with.

Perhaps it’s inevitable that the movie works best not while we’re watching fictional recreations, but when we see real footage or hear actual broadcasts.

Scott, Winstead and Howard are charming, while Poehler, O’Hara and Jenkins have a grand time bickering. Since Zicherman doesn’t ask much of us in the first place, they make it easy enough to commit.

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.

I’ll take messy, daring creativity like Gordon-Levitt’s over a formulaic fantasy any day.