Frank Scheck

For a film so seemingly interested in educating audiences about the evils of sex trafficking that it provides horrific statistics at the conclusion, it has no compunction about including copious doses of female nudity.

Considering the importance of the still active 93-year-old poet’s art and social activism, the film seems slight and discursive, more of an introduction than a definitive portrait.

Although reasonably compelling to watch and featuring fine performances from its charismatic and attractive lead performers, it ultimately displays little reason for being other than to serve as a transatlantic cinematic calling card.

While a huge hit in its native country, is neither arty nor truly thrilling enough to greatly impress American audiences.

Should attract some interest in urban theatrical situations before settling into cult video status.

While Imperfections lives up to its name with its too clever by half plotline and failure to find a coherent tone, the indie film features enough enjoyable moments to overcome its flaws.

While this cinematic adaptation of W. Glasgow Phillip's acclaimed 1994 novel isn't wholly effective in handling its complex storyline, the film offers compelling performances by its two leads and enough provocative elements to make it worthy of attention.

Director Campbell clearly knows his way around this sort of material, resulting in some tense, well-staged action sequences that make Cleaner reasonably diverting for its concise running time. But the film never achieves the heights of the classic actioners that clearly inspired it, and its overuse of familiar genre tropes (for once, can’t the main villain be uncharismatic, like so many in real life?) soon becomes wearisome.

Striving to be an inspirational story about personal and professional redemption, the film mainly comes across as a self-aggrandizing promotional project that the famously arrogant pop star would have once sneered at.

Pantoliano brings his usual degree of wily, understated humor to his role and is ably supported by the terrific ensemble, but he's unable to elevate a film that is ultimately as directionless as its protagonist.

Although it never quite lives up to the satirical possibilities of its high-concept premise, Unleashed delivers some mildly enjoyable laughs thanks to its engaging female lead and the exuberantly physical performances of her co-stars.

Madea is starting to look a little tired.

A former MMA star, Carano clearly has the impressive physicality and charisma to compete with the male stars in this arena. But she's going to need far better vehicles than this humdrum effort.

Mad as Hell is far too subjective to take seriously.

This tale of a despondent man's attempt to find someone to help him commit suicide never really hits the emotional heights it should; it may be that the film's proponents are confusing simplicity with profundity. [30 Sept 1997]

All the well-crafted effort has unfortunately been expended on a tired and overly familiar story that never registers as anything more than a compendium of horror-film clichés.

For all its effective atmospherics and performances, Don't Go has an inevitably familiar feel.

For all its fandom and self-indulgence, Dear Mr. Watterson does offer some insightful musings about the decline of comic strips in general, with their content ever shrinking due to the diminished state of the newspaper industry.

The sort of lumbering epic drama that went out of fashion by the late 1960s, For Greater Glory is mainly notable for shedding light on a little-known historical conflict, namely the Cristero War that took place in 1920s Mexico.

This is a documentary about psychics that make you think Ouija boards might be a better investment.

The film doesn't really manage to sustain attention through its brief running time. But it is heartening to see that the filmmaker, now in his mid-80s, is as passionately engaged as ever.

Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick, who have written much funnier scripts for the Zombieland and Deadpool films, are here working in uninspired mode. Balls Up loses comic steam the more it goes on, and although Wahlberg and Hauser have demonstrated solid comedic chops in the past, their laid-back underplaying fails to provide much juice.

This overly meta farce beats its mildly silly jokes so steadily into the ground that it’s not so much a case of diminishing returns as humor abuse.

The picture will naturally hold its biggest appeal for racing buffs but may also prove appealing to nonfans thanks to the moving story at its core.

Remakes of '80s-era cult-favorite horror flicks seem to be all the rage these days. But they have to be better than this formulaic effort to replace the already not-so-great originals.

The result is that the slackly paced Echo Boomers has all the excitement of a feature-length essay in The Nation.

There's plenty of material here for a reasonably engrossing drama. Somehow, screenwriters Craig R. Welch and Greg Gerani fail to come up with anything remotely interesting.

The film's chief asset is its superbly atmospheric evocation of its period milieu.

Takes a surprisingly gritty approach that gives the material some gravitas but also robs it of some of its fun.

The director attempts to infuse the film with a dreamy poeticism via slow motion and other stylistic devices, with the results feeling mildly pretentious.

The director does an excellent job of setting a properly ominous mood, effectively delivering a procession of jump scares that succeed in keeping viewers on edge. Unfortunately, the screenplay by Tarryn-Tanille Prinsloo proves less effective, failing to deepen the characterizations or situations in sufficiently interesting fashion.

The film's saving grace are its fast pacing and generous doses of humor, the latter of which is mostly provided by Robert Patrick's sly delivery of the many wisecracks doled out by his villainous character.

This remake of a South Korean movie ultimately provides fewer scares than the average aging baby boomer feels every time they look into a reflective surface.

Club Life demonstrates that not everyone has a compelling story to tell.

While The Storyteller hardly breaks any new ground in its Peter Pan-inspired tale, it boasts an undeniable sweetness that proves appealing amidst so many frenetic kids movies.

The film falters when it ham-fistedly attempts to detour into sensitive drama.

The result, Chronicling a Crisis, is an admittedly harrowing exercise in solipsism that will be of little interest to anyone besides the director's diehard fans and perhaps his therapist.

Fortunately, there's Lively, adopting a convincing British accent, who almost, but not quite, manages to infuse the convoluted goings-on with enough gravitas to make them convincing.

All of this material proves fascinating. It's a shame, then, that so much of Intent to Destroy plays like a special feature for the DVD edition of The Promise.

For those not motivated purely by a desire for cinematic bloodlust accompanied by an abrasive musical score that sounds like electronic fingernails on a blackboard, there’s some fun to be had.

The film weaves enough social, political and personal themes into its mix to make it interesting even for those who mainly think of "hockey puck" as a Don Rickles insult.

Jackass Forever is being released only in theaters, providing the opportunity for its fans who find constant hilarity in its sophomoric antics to share their pleasure with like-minded brethren. The rest of us can only shake our heads and wonder about the future of civilization.

Sergei Bodrov's Mongol relates the story of Genghis Khan's early years in a plodding, uninspired fashion that doesn't bode well for the next two entries in a planned trilogy.

A feel-good tale with undeniably good intentions, this Canadian comedy-drama doesn't really manage to convince on any level.

Never really decides whether it wants to concentrate on providing information or sociological analysis, with the result that it fails to fully satisfy on either level.

Tai chi devotees will find much to appreciate here, especially the extensive footage of Cheng demonstrating his skills. But the hagiographic approach doesn't delve very deeply, and the repetition of extravagant tributes by talking heads eventually proves monotonous.

Oh, "Blair Witch," what hath thou wrought? It has taken less than a decade, but the concept of horror films filmed documentary-style has officially become a tiresome cliche.

The fight scenes are extremely well choreographed, filmed and edited, but they’re so relentless in their non-stop pacing that the viewing experience becomes numbing.

Ultimately, the film, for all its evident verisimilitude, never really demonstrates a compelling reason for being.

The Tale of King Crab strains mightily for a poetic quality that it never quite achieves.

Manages to be reasonably diverting even as it proves inevitably minor in its impact.

While Ryan’s bountiful charm is as evident as ever, her character unfortunately comes across like an older version of the manic pixie dream girl. And the movie’s heavy-handed magical realist elements counter the slightness of the material to deadly effect.

This is such a uniquely bizarre story that it can't help but exert a certain fascination. But it's hard to avoid the feeling that it would have been better served by a compelling dramatization rather than this too-dry documentary.

Rather than delving deep into its subject, the film loses focus by concentrating on the feelings of Harlan's descendants rather than a deep analysis of the man himself.

Dull, talk-heavy snoozer that most closely resembles something that would show up on the CW network.

Director-screenwriter Hopkins is unsuccessful in navigating the absurd storyline’s jarring tonal shifts, with the result that this kinder, gentler variation on Ms. 45 mainly emerges as off-puttingly bizarre.

The film is notable more for its unusual conceit than as a serious exploration of grief and familial relationships.

Unfortunately, while the film has some fascinating and compelling arguments, it quickly assumes the tone of an angry diatribe rather than a well-reasoned political discussion.

Postman Pat: The Movie is a mostly charmless and dark affair.

Although it sketchily touches on many provocative issues -- the inhumanity of this form of incarceration, the relationship between the artist and subject -- Herman’s House fails to explore them in a fully satisfying manner.

The film, which thankfully doesn't wear out its welcome with a scant running time of 64 minutes, is fairly prosaic stylistically. But the admittedly rough-hewn footage of the games is thrilling, and the pride and self-respect instilled in the players by their success is still evident today.

Outfoxed would have benefited from a greater exploration of exactly why Fox News has become so popular and so trusted by its viewers.

Proves alternately inspiring and depressing even while skirting uncomfortably close to voyeurism.

The sort of sweeping romantic saga rarely attempted on our shores these days, Bride Flight should well please art house audiences, especially of older females, starved for this sort of old-fashioned fare.

Fortunately, the new actioner directed by the prolific Steven C. Miller (First Kill, Arsenal, Marauders) proves fast-paced enough to overcome its more ludicrous plot elements.

This version is unlikely to strike a similar chord with young audiences while severely disappointing older fans of the original.

This tedious exercise in abstraction by Belgian filmmakers Helene Cattet and Bruno Forzani well apes the visual stylization of such filmmakers as Mario Bava and Dario Argento without bothering to provide anything equivalent in terms of theme or content.

Donald Cries demonstrates that cringeworthy isn’t necessarily the same as funny.

Lacks the cinematic panache to elevate it above the level of agitprop. But its all too relevant dissection of its subject is well worth paying attention to.

Best of all is Holm, who is consistently hilarious as the sarcastic shrink from hell.

Despite the fine performances by leads Lena Headey (Game of Thrones), who has herself long been active in refugee causes, and Ivanno Jeremiah (AMC's Humans), The Flood lacks the narrative urgency needed to make watching it feel like more than a slog.

American Selfie inevitably feels a bit scattershot at times, no doubt due to the vagaries of Pelosi's travel schedule and her guerilla shooting approach. Some of the footage is revelatory, some feels overly familiar.

The cinematic clumsiness is a shame, because Equal Means Equal makes many powerful points along its diffuse, rambling way. Here is a case in which less would definitely have been more.

If it had skipped the clichéd supernatural elements to instead concentrate on the relationship between the two central characters, Don’t Knock Twice might have emerged as an interesting film.

Unfortunately, Reinventing Rosalee, the new film about her directed by her daughter Lillian Glass, feels less like a documentary than the most elaborate Mother's Day present ever.

Lacking narration or graphics, the documentary employs a fly-on-the-wall approach that proves frustrating.

Sweaty Betty has a likable quality and an obvious affection for its subjects who maintain a resolute cheerfulness throughout their struggles. But it's hard not to wish that the shambling material had been constructed into a more cohesive whole.

The Reckoning: Hollywood's Worst Kept Secret is generally effective as a fast-paced primer on the sexual harassment scandals that have swept show business in the last year but doesn't really add much to the story that we don't already know.

It is a provocative and potentially rich premise, to be sure, but the execution here is somewhat lacking.

Visually stunning if dramatically logy and willfully enigmatic.

While all this might have made for a potent short subject, the abstract visual monotony begins to wear thin shortly into the 98-minute running time.

Despite its shameless manipulations and unsubtle approach, it’s an ambitious and well-intentioned feature debut from a director whose future efforts bear attention.

While it features some pungently observational moments, Below Dreams is ultimately too diffuse and disjointed to have the desired impact.

The formulaic script by Steve Koren doesn't manage to exploit the absurd premise with any discernible wit or invention, and the star is left floundering.

Manages to be effective even though the Indian drama is rough around the edges.

Attempts to achieve a Pedro Almodovar-level of humor without much success... Degenerating into witless slapstick.

Those not enthralled by Margiela's wittily iconoclastic but gimmicky avant-garde designs (and I must confess to being one of them) will probably find this documentary less than compelling. Like so many fashion-themed docs, Martin Margiela: In His Own Words will play best to afficionados who will be grateful for this insightful look at its reclusive subject.

That the film works to the degree that it does is largely due to the sensitive performances. Bonnaire delivers a beautifully modulated turn.

Once the outlandish premise is established, there's little to enjoy in the increasing body count, leading you to wish that Mr. Peterson had simply murdered his victims in their sleep. That at least would have made for a blessedly shorter movie.

For those less interested in horticultural matters, however, this Dutch documentary is akin to, well, watching plants grow. The sort of film frequently described as "meditative," it produces a calming but ultimately soporific effect.

Cocote tells a relatively simple story in willfully obscure, opaque fashion. While the film features many intriguing elements and often proves visually stunning, it ultimately feels a trial to endure.

While Stanford is more annoying than endearing as the self-righteous slacker, the charming Deschanel provides the film with its few moments of genuine fun with her offbeat turn as the wily, put-upon girlfriend.

Many of the film's most entertaining moments are, ironically, its most peripheral: Namely, the extensive archival clips of news conferences in which an alternately relaxed and tense Kennedy jostled with journalists

While plenty of information is imparted in the impassioned proceedings, the film loses some impact because of its lack of a compelling structure.

Despite its flaws and unevenness, White Reindeer at least deserves points for not providing another sugarplum-infused view of Christmas.

This Divided State will become yet one more largely forgotten cinematic footnote to an election notable for its divisiveness.

A slow-paced and often confusingly plotted crime drama that never lives up to the delicious potential of its premise.

The sort of quirky independent comedy that strives for hipness but ultimately just feels contrived and derivative.