Frank Scheck

Another effective civics lesson that, unfortunately, will probably never be seen by the people whose minds it seeks to change.

David Duchovny delivers a clearly heartfelt but terminally mawkish and awkward directorial debut in House of D.

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

Ultimately comes across as a soporific costume drama featuring a gallery of miscast stars.

Depicting the travails of an emotionally troubled Manhattan woman who returns to the remote Maine village of her childhood, Frank the Bastard doesn't reward the viewer's considerable investment of time and patience.

While the experience may have been highly rewarding for its participants, viewers may be less than enthralled.

The results are visually disorienting, to say the least. Although Notary and the special effects team do as good a job as technology allows, the expressive Buck never quite looks real. And you keep expecting him and the rest of the animals to burst into song.

Vivid if scattershot documentary examines today's sexualized culture by focusing on three subjects.

Even Fiennes, who delivers a typically expert, understated performance, doesn’t manage to make us fully invested in the stagey proceedings.

La Vie au Ranch boasts an undeniable authenticity. But how much you enjoy it will depend on your affection for its aimless if attractive characters.

Kate Clere McIntyre and Saraswati Clere's less than revelatory documentary that incessantly makes the point that yoga is really, really good for you.

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

King of the Corner has been adapted from Gerald Shapiro's "Bad Jews and Other Stories" and suffers from an odd, disjointed quality.

This disappointingly conventional effort pales in comparison to the filmmaker's wildly audacious comedies.

Distinctly and proudly old-fashioned in its retro, film noir vibe, A Walk Among the Tombstones is notable for its dark atmospherics and strong performance by Liam Neeson.

The film simply has too many tiredly predictable elements for its own good, and despite the handsome cinematography of the extremely picturesque California locations, "Sherman's" never really finds its way.

The characters are defined in the sketchiest of terms, with Julia herself emerging as little more than a cipher. But as ciphers go, she's an arresting one, with Williams using her large, expressive eyes to powerful effect.

A static and awkward effort that never quite comes to life.

While the events in the first Omen seemed to be taking place in a real world that just happened to include demonic figures, this film seems more like a fever dream, its outlandish storyline taking a back seat to a nightmarish vision that’s more about mood than narrative coherence.

Della Valle’s screenplay features the sort of artificial-sounding, hard-boiled dialogue uttered by characters who know they’re in a movie, and it’s woefully thin on storytelling coherence. Still, Akinnuoye-Agbaje looks great, and suitably haunted, walking on deserted beaches clad in a trench coat, and his co-stars prove equally compelling.

While the group’s short SNL videos are often quite amusing, this feature-length venture doesn’t do them any favors.

The admirable efficiency of Skyfire means that you don't have to waste a lot of time sitting through endless exposition.

Trey Nelson's film can't help but evoke a feeling of déjà vu. But strong performances by Josh Duhamel and young Josh Wiggins (Max), plus haunting visuals of the barren Texas setting, provide some compensation for the narrative contrivances of Lost in the Sun.

A faux black-and-white silent film that will gain immeasurably from its road show presentations, Louis is more of a novelty than a satisfying cinematic experience.

Doesn't delve deeply enough to be fully satisfying. Much like the drug it spotlights (to reference another journalism-themed movie), it will leave you hungry afterwards.

The film doesn't manage to achieve for hip-hop what the great rock concert films of the past have done for their musical genre.

An elongated, rather aimless portrait that doesn't fully convey the essence of its titular subject.

Mad as Hell is far too subjective to take seriously.

The resulting biographical drama squanders its compelling central storyline with a lengthy subplot involving crooked cops. Even if the incident is true, it lends an unnecessarily melodramatic tinge to what could have stood on its own as a powerful inspirational story.

The next time you're invited to a French dinner party, you might want to give it a pass, if the tedious proceedings in Change of Plans are any indication.

Packing in enough cliches for a dozen movies, this drama about a sensitive young man trying to achieve his dreams via the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis will best be enjoyed by the generation unfamiliar with "An Officer and a Gentlemen," "Top Gun" and any preceding boxing movies.

The gimmickry ultimately wears thin and you find yourself thinking less about the inventive way the scenes were shot . . . than the flimsy narrative.

While its theme of youthful empowerment inevitably strikes an emotional chord, the film never manages to achieve any dramatic steam, plodding along in mildly diverting but essentially bland fashion.

At this point, Cage's movies don't have to be reviewed, but rather stamped with official certificates of weirdness. This effort directed by Kevin Lewis certainly qualifies.

This war-horror movie basically plays like "Blair Witch" in Afghanistan.

The ideal animated film for Ron Paul to watch with his grandchildren, the bizarre Silver Circle certainly deserves points for sheer eccentricity.

Unfortunately, the gags start to wear thin shortly around the 15-minute mark, not to mention the fact that they pale in comparison to the real-life indignities endured by the members of the "Jackass" crew.

It all feels old hat by now, with returning director Michael Chaves (The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It, The Nun II) failing to bring much freshness or vitality to the proceedings.

Biggs is appealing in the central role, although for him, conveying mortified embarrassment doesn't exactly qualify as an acting stretch. But he does have good chemistry with Montgomery.

Replicas manages to be perversely entertaining for its fast-paced first half, if only because of the sheer absurdity of its storyline. But it eventually devolves into tedious thriller tropes.

Unlike the restrained 1974 film which cleverly relied mainly on suggestion, this version piles on the graphic, often CGI-enhanced gore.

The film — penned by Michael Ricigliano Jr., a lawyer making his screenwriting debut — never really achieves the necessary dramatic tension despite a surprising climactic plot twist. The dialogue rarely rises above the level of cliché.

Despite the professionalism of the acting talent, Like Father feels distressingly retrograde.

While Adam Sussman's screenplay can be admired for its emphasis on subtle atmospherics rather than cheap scares, it is a gimmicky slog of an affair that lacks narrative coherence or strong focus.

The Prosecution of an American President demonstrates that you can be deeply sympathetic to a film's arguments and still come away feeling unconvinced.

Has the feel of a home movie of greater interest to its participants than to an audience.

Lackluster and decidedly old-fashioned (in the worst way).

The film unfortunately depicts black female sexuality, a topic rarely portrayed onscreen, with all the depth and subtlety of a late night Cinemax offering.

Hamm is unable to do much with his underwritten role, and the present-day sequences don't really hold interest.

The film's relentless artiness ultimately proves more off-putting than involving, distancing us from what should be a harrowing tale.

Lying and Stealing might have been more effective if its two leads had more charisma, but James is mostly bland and Ratajkowski never quite convinces as a woman of mystery. This is the sort of lighthearted exercise that requires genuine star power to overcome its triviality, and the lack of it here seriously diminishes its impact.

The main problem is that the storyline becomes so convoluted that it doesn't live up to the intriguing setup. Most of the film's second half is consumed by plodding exposition that is not exactly handled in imaginative fashion.

Only the writer's most ardent fans — and they are legion, judging by his book sales of over 190 million copies — will find anything of interest here.

Balloon simply doesn't feature the sort of cinematic thrills necessary to keep us fully invested in the travails of its central characters. It's not that the events are depicted in anything less than bombastic, hyperbolic fashion. It's more that the filmmaker lacks the directorial finesse to calibrate the suspense for maximum cinematic effect.

Featuring long stretches in which little is said or happens, the film never quite burrows into the viewer's skin in the way in which it was obviously intended.

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.

In the depiction of this unlikely journey -- it is supposedly based on a real-life story -- the film awkwardly veers between naturalism and a striving for poetic myth.

This exercise in brutal nihilism ultimately proves as empty as the inane philosophy that provides the film its title.

One of those infuriating comedies that practically nudges you in the ribs while you're watching to remind you how cute and funny it is.

The lead performers certainly are highly attractive, making this one of the more sensual werewolf pictures in quite a while -- and to their credit, they do manage to keep a straight face throughout. But ultimately, the anemic Blood and Chocolate could have benefited from a little less chocolate and a lot more blood.

While one of the first rules of writing is to write what you know, Sabet's romantic comedy demonstrates that not everything that actually happens to you can be mined for comedic gold. The picture starts out promisingly enough, but eventually sinks under the weight of its implausibilities.

Fourth of July turns out to be something we would have never expected from its director/co-writer — bland.

Keating fails to effectively transmit his love of pushing the horror genre to new heights, with the result that we feel less gleefully complicit than merely voyeuristic. This is a case in which less would definitely have been more.

Lacking even the galvanizing action sequences that would have compensated for suffering through its formulaic plot, this is a thoroughly forgettable exploitationer that will not enhance its stars' resumes.

[Yeoh] has such a commanding and darkly amusing screen presence that the pedestrian film can almost, but not quite, be forgiven for letting her down so completely.

This meta-theatrical attempt at creating a comically subversive film is far too self-indulgent to provide insight into its important themes.

Although she lacks the imposing height and fierce muscularity of Nielsen, her predecessor in the role, Lutz makes up for it with impressive physicality and excellent thespian skills, the latter of which come in handy while she’s striving to keep a straight face during the absurd events here.

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

Any viewers actually interested in the topic would be well advised to search elsewhere for information.

Awkward execution and technical imperfections prevent the film from having its desired emotional impact.

This Chekhovian-style comedy about a group of neurotic actors endlessly kibitzing during a weekend at a country house might have some appeal for self-absorbed thespians, but "civilians," as they're derisively referred to in the film, will find little of interest here.

Straining for its ungainly combination of action, romance and silly comedy, Love Hurts doesn’t fully succeed in any department.

Stefan Haupt's (The Circle) documentary Sagrada: The Mystery of Creation explores the building's tortured history and the current efforts to bring it to fruition, but in a disappointingly dull style that fails to do justice to its outsized inspiration.

Diffuse and rambling, the documentary offers plenty of fascinating historical tidbits but lacks the breadth and depth to do justice to its complicated narrative.

Other than providing yet another meta-theatrical examination of the ever-blurring line between reality and artifice, Janeane From Des Moines emerges as a pointless affair.

Although touching on a multitude of aspects of its disturbing subject matter, it never really digs particularly deep into any of them, with the result that it ultimately proves unsatisfying

Trafficking in familiar themes, Permission ultimately doesn't have anything very new to say about them.

Features fine performances from the veterans in its cast. But it ultimately comes across as little more than a compendium of cliches.

The sole laughs are scored by Robert Davi, amusingly playing it straight as a Muslim terrorist who wants to hire Malone to make a suicide bomber recruitment film.

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.

The action sequences are strictly pro forma and -- despite the sleek killer's resemblance to the similarly lethal heroine of "La Femme Nikita" -- this dull effort lacks the excitement generated by any of its incarnations.

Its paper-thin characterizations, hackneyed plotting and overdependence on viciously profane humor put this effort more in the minor league of Tammy, McCarthy's previous collaboration with her director/co-screenwriter husband Ben Falcone, than her truly inspired work with Paul Feig on Bridesmaids and Spy.

Wohl never manages to achieve the proper tonal blend. The result is neither sufficiently funny nor moving, lacking the truly daring humor that might have made the film a bracing dark comedy. It's a shame, considering the estimable ensemble.

The screenplay co-written by Clark and Thomas Moffett attempts to derive much humor from Atticus' relentless debauchery, but it all feels pro forma and repetitive.

Hough’s dancing is far more impressive than his acting, and BoA, despite her perky sexiness, is an even less compelling screen presence. But they certainly move well together, and that’s pretty much all that matters here.

Director Stephen Kijak, who previously explored far more compelling musical territory with Scott Walker: 30 Century Man, has delivered a behind-the-scenes portrait that should please the band's diehard fans but offers little of substance to the uninitiated.

Unlike such similar efforts as "A Mighty Wind," this would-be satire isn't funny enough to be entertaining, nor is it clever enough to fool us.

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.

Despite the strenuous efforts of all involved, Every Secret Thing never manages to overcome its overwhelming air of artsy pretension.

Annette Haywood-Carter’s slow-paced film features a plethora of colorful characters and incidents that register with little dramatic impact.

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.

Battlefield America manages to pack every cliché imaginable into its overstuffed and overlong 106 minutes.

Although visually stylish and imaginative — the short bits of animation on display wouldn’t be out of place in a Tim Burton film — Friend Request gets less interesting the more it goes on.

Fails to overcome its hokey script and cliched characterizations.

Watching your friends’ actual wedding videos, however painful, would be a more edifying experience than sitting through Breakup at a Wedding.

It's telling that the film's original Danish title, which translates to "Suicide Tourist," has been changed for its U.S. release. Exit Plan sounds much more dynamic, indicating the sort of action thriller that the star's fans probably expect. They're likely to be quite disappointed by this stylish, cerebral drama that doesn't really have anything profound to say.

No doubt the film has noble intentions, but its absurdly over-the-top, practically fetishistic approach undermines its very aims.

As with his 2007 effort, director-screenwriter Rob Zombie's approach is far grittier than in the original series.

While its emphasis on character dynamics and a slow burn atmosphere is to be commended, Dark Was the Night is too derivative and familiar to make much of an impact.

The movie, which will inevitably spur comparisons to such similar efforts as "Argo," works well enough on its own terms, with Mychael Danna's synthesizer-heavy score providing a suitably retro vibe.

Essentially "Alien" set in a self-storage facility, the British low-budget horror flick Storage 24 doesn't manage to rise above the limitations of its bare-bones concept.

This effort offers some mild amusement but lacks the anarchic wit to make it anything more than a slight diversion.

This tale of an elite military unit assigned to rescue a war correspondent kidnapped by the Taliban is as frenetic and ultimately mind-numbing as a "Call of Duty" videogame, only without the thematic depth.

Not quite able to make up its mind whether it's a parody or homage, this tired exercise wastes both its gorgeous visuals and a first-rate cast.

Despite some amusing moments, it never really takes off, burdened by a tiresome romantic subplot that periodically stops the movie dead in its tracks.

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.

It relies too heavily on shock value rather than solid facts.

It’s all an overstuffed mess, but that was true of the previous entries as well, and audiences obviously don’t seem to mind.

Collisions all but screams "Issue Movie," and is extremely unlikely to reach anyone but the already convinced.

It should be a sturdy player upon its release in home video formats, assuming that its target audience knows how to operate their DVD players.

Crudely shot and edited, the film is most notable for the strong performances by its two leads.

Interminable dull stretches blunt the impact of undeniably exciting action sequences, making the series finale unlikely to leave even fans wanting more.

Without that sort of compelling figure at its center, Diablo feels far more like a pastiche than the real deal.

Unfortunately, this effort, clearly inspired by the French classic The Wages of Fear (and its terrific American remake, Sorcerer), isn’t even as entertaining as a typical episode of the History Channel’s Ice Road Truckers.

The Misguided has its amusing moments but ultimately seems as aimless as the figures at its center.

Although directed in effectively creepy fashion by Roberto Buso-Garcia, the film’s leisurely pacing and overall restraint will likely leave genre fans dissatisfied even as its lack of depth will turn off art-house patrons.

Mixing soap-opera melodramatics with pithy one-liners, the film never achieves a coherent tone, with the uneven performances by the ensemble adding to the problem.

A mockumentary obviously inspired by his landmark 1990 series The Civil War, misses the Christopher Guest mark by a mile.

Designed as a family film adventure promoting positive values, it’s a sort of teenage "Raiders of the Lost Ark" that will provide mild diversion for very young audiences.

Generic B-level horror marked by numerous dull patches, long stretches of expository dialogue and, save for Astin’s admirably intense turn, uninspired performances.

Squanders its timely illegal alien theme with a predictable and unconvincing story line that makes "Green Card" seem a classic by comparison.

At a running time of over two hours, the experience eventually feels as wearisome as riding the same ride over and over again.

An ineffective indie variation on the sort of generic romantic comedy that should be starring Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson.

While it starts out promisingly, it seriously devolves in its second half into a surreal phantasmagoria that’s more gonzo than chilling.

A dry compendium of talking-head interviews.

The chief saving grace of Elliot: The Littlest Reindeer is its auspicious voice cast including Josh Hutcherson, Samantha Bee, John Cleese and Martin Short, among others.

Bound to disappoint diehard Winters fans while leaving the uninitiated baffled, Certifiably Jonathan doesn't begin to fully suggest the range of the comedian's brilliance and lasting influence.

The Disneyesque adage is unfortunately all too typical of A Ballerina's Tale, which, other than adding to the pop culture barrage that has accompanied this gifted dancer's rise to stardom, does little to provide insight into her unique story.

Levesque, soon to be seen in an action movie, "Inside Out," that is probably more suited to his talents, is a reasonably engaging and likeable screen presence.

The only real amusement comes from the casual asides delivered by Sandler and Aniston, the latter also providing perfectly calibrated slow-burn reactions that too often become overshadowed by the overproduced mayhem surrounding them.

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.

A lame action-comedy that seems ready made for undiscerning late-night cable viewing.

The action is practically non-stop from beginning to end, but is never remotely exciting due to the Cuisinart-style editing that reduces it all to an incomprehensible, messy blur.

It runs a little longer than two hours, but feels more like two tours of duty. And it has enough plot elements to fuel an armful of Tom Clancy novels but somehow manages to make none of them interesting.

The storyline, familiar-feeling as it is, could have made for an effective thriller. But writer/director Whedon (brother of Joss) bogs down the pacing with too many routine flashbacks.

This bloody exercise in camp quickly wears out is welcome, although its copious doses of nudity and gore, as well as its undeniably catchy title, should help it stand out on video shelves.

What might have proved reasonably compelling onstage comes across as forced on film, with credibility taking a back seat to contrivance.

Unfortunately, the thin storyline isn't substantial enough to sustain the nearly two-hour running time.

Achieves the dubious distinction of featuring a large gallery of nearly all unlikable characters.

While the two leads are appealing and display an undeniable chemistry, the narrative skimpiness makes their efforts for naught.

Its resolutely low-key approach doesn’t make for particularly compelling drama.

Redline is the cinematic equivalent of a sports car ad in Maxim magazine.

Glossier and more lavishly produced than most faith-based films, the film directed by Steve Race is ultimately undone by a relentless preachiness that gives it the feel of a two-hour sermon.

Largely devoid of the sex-farce style comic wit to which it aspires, the film is palatable largely because of the charm of lead actress Cheung.

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.

John Wellington Ennis’ scattershot documentary has many relevant points to make, but the problem is that they’re not made very well and almost all of them have been made before.

Writer-director David Kittredge clearly has serious things on his mind about such subjects as voyeurism, the thin line between fantasy and reality, the link between sex and violence, etc., but whatever points he is trying to make are lost in the general muddle.

Aims to be a cutting-edge portrait of cutthroat political machinations. But it's a mostly toothless affair that, like so many of our current political figures, proves alienating.

Lacks the potent scares and exploitative elements to truly please genre fans. But its thematic ambition and well-crafted elements mark the filmmaker as a talent to watch.

The sort of cheesy thriller that would prove mildly diverting on late-night cable, Slow Burn at least features a terrific cast to enliven its familiar elements.

Depicting a close encounter of the decidedly low-budget kind, Extraterrestrial boasts an undeniable technical competence but can't shake off its inevitable been there, done that quality.

It never manages to overcome its air of overfamiliarity, straining mightily but giving off little but flop sweat.

Frustratingly devoid of any background information about the director’s storied career, the film is ultimately repetitive and tedious.

Part adventure saga, part elaborate home movie, the documentary showcases both the emotional and physical pitfalls faced by this emotionally fraught crew.

This mostly unfunny effort -- though it might have made them laugh silly in its home country -- is unlikely to appeal to art house audiences on this side of the Atlantic.

The writer/director deserves credit for his comparatively low-key approach to the potentially exploitative material, but much like the infant baby at its center, the film seems artificially cobbled-together.

He’s more than capable of handling the daunting assignment — he’s De Niro, after all — but the net effect is ultimately so gimmicky that it saps the movie of its intended seriousness. It’s a fatal miscalculation that consigns The Alto Knights, Levinson’s first theatrical film since 2015’s Rock the Kasbah, to being a footnote in the distinguished careers of both its director and star.

The film’s scattershot approach proves more enervating than enlightening, with the barrage of information presented in such a haphazard manner that continuity and coherence become lost.

As with both of his previous works, the filmmaker delivers an undeniably ambitious mind-bender that bites off more than it can narratively chew.

An overly ambitious, overly complex and overly long opus that bites off more than it can chew.

Pilgrimage alternates long stretches of tedium with ultra-violent sequences that have the feel of medieval torture porn.

The ambitions and intentions of War, Inc., co-written by and starring John Cusack, are laudable, but the film is a nearly complete misfire.

They don't make movies like Jolene anymore, and that's a good thing.

Safelight squanders the efforts of a talented cast who are unable to lift the material beyond its clichés.

If it was still the 1980s, then Dumbbells might actually be a hit.

Watching Will Smith’s Mike and Martin Lawrence’s Marcus go through their familiar comedic bickering routines has become like spending an evening with a long-married couple whose constant sniping has grown wearisome.

Rabindranath Tagore: The Poet of Eternity, although clearly lovingly intended, is too haphazard and unenlightening to fulfill its mission of educating Western audiences about the first non-European to win the Nobel Prize in Literature.

As with so many films of this ilk, plot holes and inconsistencies abound, with audiences likely to express in loudly vocal fashion their opinions about what the characters should or shouldn't be doing.

The overpowering air of familiarity to this rip-off pretending to be homage makes it redundant.

Unfortunately, while Long Lost has its moments, it ultimately fails to capitalize on its intriguing premise.

While this is indeed a likeable enough group, watching them interact with each other over the course of 80 minutes becomes a bit wearisome.

It sounds like the plot of a classic '50s film noir, but the movie squanders its potential with a lackluster approach that sacrifices thrills for uninvolving character study.

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.

Unfortunately, Allegiance is less sure-footed in the filmmaking department, rendering its potentially suspenseful storyline stilted and uncompelling.

What makes The Big Ugly watchable are the authentic locations and the veteran actors who bring admirable conviction to their tough guy roles.

Yet another stylish exercise in depravity in which Huppert floats through the sordid proceedings in a calm haze. If only the film she inhabits was as sexy as it aspires to be.

Unfortunately, the film's execution doesn't quite live up to its promising set-up. Feeling attenuated despite its brief 84-minute running time, it too often seems like an unnecessarily stretched-out version of the short film it was originally conceived as. Not that it doesn't offer some compelling moments along the way.

Director Newbery proves ill-equipped to handle the convoluted narrative shifts of the screenplay co-written by Finola Geraghty, Brendan Bishop and Laurence Lamers. But to be fair, even Hitchcock would have thrown up his hands at the illogical plotting and over-the-top contrivances that make "North by Northwest" look like a documentary by comparison.

Phantasm: Ravager should please longtime fans while leaving newcomers unimpressed and confused.

Its deadly serious take on the subject may inspire more titters than anything else.

Despite its inspiring real-life tale and its laudable message, Godspeed is too flimsily constructed and crudely amateurish to have much of an impact.

Eventually, though, Waiting For Lightning suffers greatly from the absence of Way himself.

Alternately tedious and bombastic, the film never achieves a consistent tone, and the characters and situations, while seemingly played on a realistic level, are neither remotely credible nor satisfyingly surreal.

Well intentioned in the extreme, Sgt. Will Gardner is more effective as PSA than drama.

Failing to live up to it anarchic convictions by adding sympathetic aspects to its central character shortly before the conclusion, Uncle Nick, much like the sorts of holiday celebrations it depicts, is ultimately too strained to be enjoyable.

Simmering and subdued, this '90s-set teen drama with supernatural elements features an intriguing premise but doesn't quite seem to know what to do with it. Such restraint is admirable in a genre not known for it, but it results in the film feeling more tepid than it should have been.

Koechner tries hard, but ultimately scores few laughs except for when, like Ferrell, he bares his comically less than toned, fleshy body.

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.

The film's stars are Toni Collette and Harvey Keitel, but the proceedings are stolen right out from under their noses by supporting players Michael Smiley and particularly Rossy de Palma. The latter, familiar from the many Pedro Almodovar movies in which she's prominently appeared, nearly manages to save the picture.

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.

Telling an obviously lived-in tale, this small-scale indie drama suffers from a compendium of cliches.

It provides only scant background information and no deep insights about the musicians, other than that they seem like very nice people who apparently perform more for the love of church than money.

The release date is the most original thing about it.

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

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.

Lacking the stylistic finesse that might have compensated for its schematic narrative deficiencies, Backtrack lives up to its title all too well.

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.

About as subtle as its all too obvious title would suggest.

An essentially two-character drama that would have been far more effective onstage, Brett C. Leonard's Jailbait is ultimately as claustrophobic as its setting.

Director Camille Delamarre (Brick Mansions) and his collaborators have devised a few nifty sequences.

This ludicrously plotted drama of incestuous sexual abuse is only partially redeemed by its strong performances.

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.

Shorn of its New Age platitudes, the film works reasonably well as a mature, feel-good romance, especially since Holmes and Lucas are so engaging that you find yourselves rooting for their characters to get together.

That the film works at all is due to the performances of Smollett-Bell, who is natural and appealing, and Pierce, who infuses his low-key portrayal with his usual deep soulfulness. But their fine efforts are not enough to lift the mediocre One Last Thing above its basic cable-level veneer.

Unfortunately, the alternately melodramatic and comic Bringing Up Bobby fails to impress, despite a showy turn by Milla Jovovich in a sharp departure from her usual zombie butt-kicking in the Resident Evil series.

The lack of charisma exhibited by leads Jesse Metcalfe and Amber Tamblyn doesn't help matters, and not even the stalwart presence of Michael Douglas fails to provide the proceedings with sufficient gravitas.

The film simply fails to provide much reason for nonfans to particularly care about the rise to cult stardom of the Rhode Island-birthed group.

The latest example of J-horror to reach our shores, Takeshi Furusawa's Ghost Train demonstrates that the increasingly tired genre may be in need of a serious overhaul.

Veering heavily into sexual territory, the film is more a gothic melodrama than a horror film. It certainly feels like a waste of not only Cage's talent (although the actor has a climactic, literally fiery scene that will forever change the way you think about the pop song "Leader of the Pack"), but also Potente, whose potential has been sadly underrealized in American films.

This B-movie thriller fails to go beyond its familiar underwater peril tropes, providing as nearly a claustrophobic experience for viewers as its characters.

Although it contains many fascinating elements, Never Surrender: The Ed Ramsey Story emerges as a hagiographic and frustratingly self-indulgent exercise.

Directors Patrick Alexander Stewart, Gina M. Angelone and Mouna B. Stewart have failed to construct the often emotional personal accounts into a compelling film.

The longer the proceedings go on the more wearisome they get, with Perry's character quickly wearing out his satirical welcome. By the time it's over, you'll almost wish that La Ultima Pelicula would live up to its title.

Shock to the System demonstrates that merely subverting genre conventions doesn't quite make for compelling entertainment.

The mishmash of styles smacks of a "let's throw in everything but the kitchen sink" approach that becomes increasingly tiresome the longer it goes on and feels more like a horror anthology than a cohesive story. Nonetheless, there's no denying that the film could well please hardcore genre aficionados for whom more is always better.

Technological updating and a few clever narrative twists are the sole saving graces of the otherwise pedestrian Preservation.

Considering the long amount of time since the last installment, you'd think that more effort would have been put into creatively reviving the franchise. But Jigsaw just seems rote and mechanical, with long stretches of its running time feeling like a police procedural or CSI spinoff.

Unfortunately, Captain America: Brave New World proves a lackluster Marvel entry that feels as if its complicated storyline has been painstakingly worked out without a shred of inspiration.

By the time the relatively brief but seemingly interminable proceedings reach their conclusion, viewers may feel like they've been held hostage themselves.

Despite the vivid evocation of its central character's helpless self-destruction, All Mistakes Buried offers little that we haven't seen before.

A failed cinematic experiment mainly notable for its fine starring performance by a pre-"Juno" Ellen Page, The Tracey Fragments provides more evidence (not that any was needed) that an extensive use of split-screen visuals is far more irritating than arresting.

In between bouts of torrid sex, the men engage in the sort of anguished, confessional conversations that Eugene O'Neill would find over-the-top. None of the characters are particularly interesting, even with the dramatic revelations they've been assigned.

Director Rupert Wainwright fails to bring any style to the material, not producing a fraction of the suspense or wit generated by Carpenter in the original even while working with a far lesser budget.

Unfortunately, Love Object, which uncomfortably totters from psychological suspense to black comedy to pull-out-the-stops horror, never quite lives up to its bizarre premise, and despite its audacious subject matter, it will even have difficulty attaining future cult status.

This informative but scattershot documentary about the Occupy Wall Street suffers from a surfeit of facts and figures.

Should well succeed in attracting their literally faithful audiences, although its heavy-handed proselytizing and soap opera-ish storytelling will prove a turn-off to those who don't pray on a daily basis.

Despite his extensive action movie experience, director Johnny Martin (Vengeance: A Love Story) fails to invest the violence with much suspense. He also doesn't elicit the best work from his performers, with Urban and Snow unable to overcome their characters' stereotypical aspects.

It's the sort of by-the-numbers, forgettable thriller, starring actors whose marquee days are behind them.

The overall pretentiousness and lack of humor make it more of a slog than a guilty pleasure.

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.

While those in the know will undoubtedly find something to appreciate in the film's wide-ranging if amateurish stabs at satire, the vast majority will feel left out of a private joke.

Repellant to look at and fairly inscrutable, the film does at least offer vivid if at times overly broad performances from the three leads.

The latest indie effort from writer-director Jérôme Cohen-Olivar (The Midnight Orchestra, Kandisha) modestly succeeds in its modest genre goals, particularly benefiting from its exotic locations. But don't look for anything particularly original in The 16th Episode (originally titled Little Horror Movie), which mainly traffics in overly familiar tropes.

There are plenty of fisticuffs and shootouts to be found in The Duel, but precious little of interest.

A less than satisfying cinematic experience.

This documentary portrait of the hip-hop superstar certainly delivers what it promises — an unflinching look showcasing its subject’s many inner demons. But for those not fascinated by the twists and turns of Ye’s clearly disturbed mind, In Whose Name? makes for a painful viewing experience.

Undeniably offers cheap laughs, its most receptive audiences will likely be found in retirement-community auditoriums.

A highly awkward blending of gay porn and political satire, this latest effort from cinematic provocateur Bruce LaBruce ("Hustler White," "Skin Flick") is the sort of film John Waters would make if he were more political, less funny and completely willing to shed all aspirations of mainstream respectability.

Rollins' villain is a deliciously deranged, compelling character, but the problem is that there's not enough of him in this otherwise routine B-movie clearly shot on the cheap, with low-grade CGI effects making the shootouts and gore mostly laughable.

Genre fans, at least, should be satiated by the copious amount of gore and viscera on display, although whether they'll be hungry enough for the next installment--all too obviously set up for at the conclusion--is another matter.

Those enthralled by the venerable brand will no doubt swoon, but casual viewers will find it little more than a feature-length infomercial.

Monogamy doesn't manage to find anything particularly new to say, and says it very, very slowly.

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

Doesn't quite manage to elevate its subject to a sufficiently interesting level for anyone who isn't already one of its frequent visitors. A good stroll inside your nearest city park would provide a more edifying experience.

Cheesy reality shows monopolize the TV schedule, but must they infect our multiplexes as well? Love, Etc., Jill Andresevic's documentary depicting the romantic travails of various New Yorkers, is a disturbing example of a trend that is to be soundly discouraged.

While The Empire in Africa offers a litany of talking heads and shockingly violent images in its exploration of the conflict, it is more confusing and disturbing than enlightening.

Unfortunately, while director/co-writer Ed Gass-Donnelly displays an admirable restraint in his general eschewing of gratuitous gore, quick editing and flashy visuals, the results have a generally soporific feel.

Strictly for the small-fry set, lacking the visual style, wit or imagination necessary to entice adult viewers.

Unfortunately, the proceedings become increasingly tiresome the more the characters are killed off, with the result that despite an impressive cast, the film comes to feel like a Coen brothers rip-off.

A horror film dealing with the terrors lurking via our computers, cell phones and other electronic devices, Pulse isn't nearly as scary as watching your hard drive crash or having your BlackBerry conk out in the middle of a vital call.

Playing Kane, a flamboyant crime boss who lives up to his name by using a walking stick, Flanery chews the scenery with gusto, as if auditioning for the next Quentin Tarantino movie. He's the most enjoyable element in what otherwise proves a flimsy vehicle for its producer/star Natalie Burn.

There's little to distinguish this from the rest of the entries coming down the horror film assembly line, though the presence of Carrie Fisher as a shotgun-toting housemother who taunts the killer by shouting "Come to mama!" offers some camp value.

Although stylishly made and featuring a compelling lead performance by Trevor Long (Netflix's Ozark), Seeds never takes root.

Featuring a plethora of unsavory characters, undeveloped subplots and a confusingly jagged narrative, this extremely low-budget effort is mainly notable for its willingness to get down and dirty.

A horror spoof that has little reason for being, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Undead pretty much uses up its quotient of wit with the title.

Its intriguing premise devolving into familiar genre conventions, 400 Days also suffers from clichéd characters and strained dialogue.

It's mildly enjoyable while you're watching it, but as with all such outings, you'll have a hard time remembering it the next day.

Unfortunately, there's little wit or genuine suspense to elevate the proceedings above the level of a cheesy comic book.

Director Nimrod Antal (Predators) stages the mostly vehicular mayhem with as much variety and visual excitement as possible, especially in a crucial scene in which Matt is cornered by the police in a tunnel. But there’s only so much he can do with the hackneyed premise.

Rajiv Shah’s screenplay fails to flesh out its characters and situations in compelling fashion, leaving the actors struggling to bring depth to the sketchy scenario and Mehta’s uninspired direction.

While this low-budget effort seems to have its heart in the right place and features a sensitive, moving performance by Oscar winner Melissa Leo, it ultimately feels like a compendium of bizarre character quirks adding up to a barely coherent whole.

The film might have been outrageously bizarre fun if it displayed any humor or ironic self-consciousness, but everything is played so straight that viewers will find themselves laughing not with the film but at it. The characterizations are paper-thin, the dialogue is perfunctory, and the performances are, to put it charitably, adequate at best.

Has an impressive visual style that reveals its director's music-video experience. Unfortunately, that's about all it has going for it because its sluggish pacing and confusing story line will prevent it from appealing to all but the most rabid J-horror fans.

Frequently wearing only a halter top and skintight yoga pants, Johnston looks as great as she moves. While her dramatic chops leave something to be desired, they’re more than adequate for the rote narrative which only gets in the way of her kicking serious butt.

The strained results eventually prove wearisome, although the sexy Winter is effectively scary and at times even moving as the psycho femme fatale.

Suffering from its forced attempts at pseudo-religious profundity and its familiar depiction of a spiritually lost central character eventually finding salvation, The Calling is ultimately all too resistible.

You've Been Trumped Too is a mostly unnecessary sequel that spends much of its brief running time rehashing distressingly familiar news footage about Trump's campaign.

As lumbering and slow-moving as the vehicle in which most of its action takes place, Nick Gillespie’s horror thriller makes the familiar mistake of confusing obscurity with tension.

Interweaving clumsily staged action sequences with endless pontificating about evil mega-corporations privatizing public resources, the mediocre environmental-themed thriller A Dark Truth wears its good intentions on its sleeve.

The Rite becomes more ludicrous as it goes along, with more than a few lines of dialogue from Michael Petroni's over-the-top screenplay eliciting unintended titters.

Unfortunately, the poor production values, ham-fisted screenplay and uneven performances prevent it from achieving the desired dramatic impact.