Frank Scheck

Ascent sometimes lives up to its title by proving a slog, not fully earning its feature-length running time. But the film nonetheless exerts fascination with its haunting imagery.

Shlomit Nechama’s screenplay makes the proceedings compelling while mining gentle humor from the foibles of the mostly endearing characters, expertly played by the large ensemble.

Johnson and Efron possess impressive muscles, but the performers have never done as much heavy lifting as they do here. And to their credit, they succeed to some degree.

The film has its sporadic pleasures, mostly provided by Bella, who effectively conveys Destiny’s enjoyment of her over-the-top murderous and sexy antics, and Michael Madsen, as Lisa’s supportive stepdad.

[A] comprehensive documentary adding context and a modern-day update to the tale.

One of the more effective entries in what has essentially become a documentary subgenre, the film focuses on the surviving Green Berets who recall their experiences with a combination of pride and sorrow.

Rough-hewn stylistically and occasionally bordering on self-indulgence, 32 Pills: My Sister’s Suicide nonetheless packs a powerful emotional punch with its unflinching portrait of two siblings dealing with past and present demons.

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 film makes its case methodically and persuasively.

Uneasily combining its determinedly edgy plotline with failed sentimentality, Flower is redeemed only by Zoey Deutch’s magnetic performance, which would be star-making if in the service of a better vehicle.

Danger Close provides a vivid portrait of combat and its emotional and physical aftermath. But despite its harrowing footage and moving elements, the film may feel all too familiar to viewers who have become numb in the face of seemingly countless other similar efforts.

Below Her Mouth (you can use your imagination regarding the title) is an undeniably steamy effort that delivers plenty of heat in its sex scenes while falling significantly short in dramatic terms.

I Hate Myself :) centers on two thoroughly repellent, self-absorbed figures with whom spending time proves a nearly intolerable trial.

The film’s stage origins, and a cameo appearance by Lin-Manuel Miranda, may be of interest to theater buffs, but everyone else will be left wondering what all the fuss was about.

Although imparting an important message about the devastating effects of global warming, The Penguin Counters is too rambling and diffuse to have significant impact while lacking the accessible qualities that would make it appeal to younger audiences.

Bezmozgis, whose previous feature was 2009's Victoria Day, is more assured as a writer than filmmaker, with Natasha featuring a bland visual and editing style. But he's elicited fine performances from the ensemble.

Despite its missteps and occasional pretensions, Jeremiah Tower: The Last Magnificent provides a compelling portrait of the chef as tortured artist.

This affectionate portrait includes extensive interviews with Wertmuller, who remains vital in her late 80s, as well as performance footage of her singing her original compositions.

Director Alex Merkin does reasonably well with an obviously low budget, and the screenplay by Jesse Mittelstadt thankfully doesn't take itself too seriously. That's not to say it's good, mind you, with the film's last line, delivered by Richards, definitely not destined to go down in screen history.

This religious-themed drama earns points for proselytizing in more narratively compelling form than usual. But while the film is watchable and features some effective performances, suffice it to say that it isn’t exactly All the President’s Men.

Unfortunately, he (Schwarzenegger)doesn’t quite have the chops to do full justice to the material, and his decades-long, popcorn movie image proves a further impediment. Despite the seriousness of his intentions, Aftermath doesn’t pack sufficient emotional punch.

The tale is told entirely through Rock’s perspective, with no friends, colleagues, or talking heads weighing in. But that turns out to be no detriment, since the Cambridge-educated photographer proves a witty and rueful commentator whose observations are infused with self-deprecating humor.

Despite its recycled tropes, the comedy-drama manages to be both funny and moving even if its emotional manipulations are fully apparent.

Smurfs: The Lost Village is a mediocre effort that nonetheless succeeds in its main goal of keeping its blue characters alive for future merchandising purposes.

A puerile combination of raunchy sex comedy and bland action vehicle, CHIPS will likely manage the difficult feat of simultaneously alienating fans of the original series and newcomers who will wonder why a buddy cop comedy displays so much homosexual panic.

While there’s nothing particularly wrong about minimalistic science fiction — some of the genre’s best offerings have been of that variety — Atomica is a lifeless, tedious affair that won’t play any better on the small screens for which it was obviously intended.

Tickling Giants provides a comprehensive examination of Youssef’s career highs and lows while providing a vivid personal portrait of its subject whose cheerfulness and resolve began to wither in the face of constant threats to himself and his family.

While its intriguing setup sounds like it could make for a provocative and original thriller, The Dark Below never lives up to its promise, although it earns points for originality.

Cannily interweaving its personal stories with a vivid depiction of an eco-system on the verge of collapse, Uncertain marks an outstanding feature debut for its documentarians.

[Offers] plenty of laughs in its thoughtful examination of the issue.

American Fable possesses an amorphous, dreamlike quality that proves increasingly irritating as it wears on.

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

The only frustrating aspect of this cinematic treasure is its brevity.

The film conjures a strong sense of atmosphere, with the gritty NYC locations — yes, there are still some in the gentrified city — well captured by cinematographer Juanmil Azpiroz. And the performances are first-rate.... But by the time it reaches its hoary climax...Wolves has reached such an absurd level of schmaltz that it practically feels like a parody of itself.

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

The dark humor feels forced and artificial, especially when tied to the utterly ludicrous plot machinations

This is the sort of bad film that can only come about as the result of misguided ambitions.

Depicting the struggles of three undocumented Bronx high school students to avoid deportation, From Nowhere resonates with tender compassion for its characters.

While its narrative elements threaten at times to descend from whimsical into hopelessly twee, My Name Is Emily ultimately finds a proper, if not particularly compelling, balance.

Despite the strong efforts of everyone involved, Havenhurst proves all too unimaginative in its formulaic recycling of genre tropes.

The lead performers deliver faultless performances, and are certainly not tough on the eyes. But their efforts are not enough to lift this moody erotic thriller above its pretensions.

Moore displays a low-key deadpan charm and Zima, although a little too prone to constant giggling, is sexy and charming. But by the time the film is over viewers are likely to wind up feeling like they've been stuck in traffic themselves.

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.

The film handles its admittedly familiar themes in uncommonly sensitive fashion.

A fascinating if uneven portrait.

The film raises more troubling questions than it answers, but it's fascinating throughout nonetheless.

That the film works to the extent that it does is a testament to Murphy’s ability to command the screen with stillness. His anguished expressions and halting body language go a long way toward filling in the frustrating narrative blanks.

What the film doesn’t have is anything resembling a compelling narrative.

Combining its adventure and romantic plotlines in painfully hokey fashion, The Space Between Us (the title is a pun, get it?) is so ludicrous that only a cinematic stylist might have been able to pull it off.

By the time Left on Purpose reaches its conclusion, it has delivered a powerful examination of the debilitating effect of clinical depression and raised disturbing questions about the right to take one's own life.

Visually stunning but strained by pretentious poeticism and a simplistic storyline, My Father Die is ultimately as labored as its ungrammatical title.

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.

A lame would-be comedy that wouldn’t be any funnier even if you were smoking the most powerful weed on the planet while watching it, Doobious Sources is a total bummer, man.

Disjointed and confusing, the film fails to live up to the promise of its spooky setting. There’s a good horror film to be made from this story, but The Axe Murders of Villisca isn’t it.

While the human performers are more than adequate, there’s no doubt that the canine stars carry the day. Their utter irresistibility helps a long way in terms of getting past the corny plot machinations of A Dog’s Purpose.

Dallas Jenkins’ dramedy about a washed-up actor who learns the error of his ways through being exposed to religion doesn’t have an original cinematic bone in its body. But it’s also refreshingly genial and lacking in preachiness for a faith-based film, demonstrating that a lighter touch doesn’t necessary dilute the obvious messaging.

A reasonably entertaining popcorn movie experience.

The Sunshine Makers is an entertaining look at the days in which the phrase "Turn on, tune in, drop out" were words to live by.

The real crime, rather, is how utterly boring it all is.

Worlds Apart doesn’t manage to transcend the forced and familiar-feeling aspects of its multipart narrative, but it does offer an evocative portrait of its troubled milieu, and one of its segments, at least, has genuine emotional resonance.

Never rising above the level of generic B-movie, Sleepless represents the sort of disposable fare typically dropped into theaters in January.

It’s all about as clichéd and predictable as it sounds, although the proceedings are mildly enjoyable in an old-fashioned, Andy Hardy sort of way.

Speed Sisters is an eye-opening doc that succeeds in its goal of shattering stereotypes.

The action is nearly relentless, only occasionally interrupted by humorless, tedious exposition, but despite the freneticism it’s almost all completely boring.

Alternately registering as an homage and rip-off of the countless slasher pics that have preceded it, Pitchfork is a strictly disposable affair.

The documentary raises important and substantial questions about an issue that has only become increasingly relevant in recent years.

Very little about what happens is very interesting, with the contrived situations and artificial-sounding dialogue giving the proceedings the strained feel of a mediocre off-Broadway play with a misjudged air of profundity.

Laughably inept on every technical level and representing the sort of badness that falls far short of being campy fun, Contract to Kill is strictly DOA.

Benefits from a fresh angle that will particularly appeal to blues aficionados.

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.

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.

Director Conor Allyn’s idea of enhancing a fight scene is employing such stale devices as freeze frames and split screens.

The film is engrossing, thanks to the director’s skill at delivering sustained tension, and the excellent performances.

There are some thrilling sequences, to be sure, but the whole is definitely less than the sum of its parts.

Despite its frustratingly wandering narrative, All We Had does manage to pull you in, thanks largely to its moving depiction of the mother-daughter bond at its center.

Incarnate, much like its central character at key moments, barely seems to have a pulse.

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

Although clearly intended to be brimming with symbolical meanings, Lost and Beautiful — which at least is visually striking, thanks to being shot on expired 16mm film stock — never finds sufficient cinematic poetry in its dreamlike storytelling infused with neo-realistic elements.

Compelling enough to anticipate the inevitable Hollywood dramatization of the story, On the Map will prove fascinating even to non-sports buffs.

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.

the film mainly advocates for the creation of the Behavioral Health Corps (BHC) as a division of the Defense Department that would consolidate mental health services throughout all military branches. The case it makes for its necessity feels impossible to refute.

The film serves as a concise biographical portrait and an excellent introduction to the writer's works.

Twenty years ago, this comedy might have been a slightly amusing diversion. Now it just exudes an air of sweaty desperation.

The action sequences and gun battles are staged with enough flair to satisfy genre fans who haven't gotten their fill with the recent Magnificent Seven remake.

As banal as its title, USS Indianapolis: Men of Courage lacks even the impact of the monologue about the subject delivered by Robert Shaw in Jaws.

The lurid and unconvincing Shut In should have lived up to its title.

Attempting to mix emotional pathos with broad farce, the film fails on both levels.

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.

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.

It Had to Be You ultimately demonstrates enough cleverness and inventiveness to make it more than a by-the-book entry in a genre that's become more than a little stale.

This timely film makes for highly compelling viewing and demands to be seen.

Although there's a long cinematic tradition of mixing comedy with scares to excellent effect — Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein being a prime example — this lackluster effort manages to be neither funny nor scary.

Michael Moore in TrumpLand earns points for ultra-timeliness and its admirable attempt to raise the level of discourse in this deeply polarizing election.

Infused with psychological complexity and nuanced characterizations, Ouija: Origin of Evil falters only in the final section.

As the stuntmen duke it out and we see close-ups of the two actors making silly faces, it's hard not imagine a Mystery Science Theater 3000 feature in the making.

The glacially paced film is ultimately more interesting for its ethnographic and technical aspects than its rudimentary storyline, although the marvelous deadpan performance by Nyima, an acclaimed Tibetan theater performer, provides a much-needed humanistic quality.

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

It's hard to imagine a dull film based on the infamous Kitty Genovese murder, but Danish filmmaker Puk Grasten's fictional take on the horrific, real-life crime manages the dubious accomplishment.

The Great Gilly Hopkins has its enjoyable moments — Bates' entertaining, scenery-chewing turn providing many of them — and its themes are refreshingly complex for a film targeted to kids.

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

Lead actor Johnny Simmons fits his role perfectly, his baby face giving him the suitable appearance of an overgrown adolescent. But the smutty, tired material with which he has to work is surprisingly devoid of laughs.

Ordinary World becomes raggedly enjoyable thanks to the unexpected charms of its leading man.

Delivers an easily digestible and amusing portrait of youthful hijinks that should well please its target audience.

Judging by the number of Nagels listed in the film's credits, ClownTown would seem to be some sort of family project. A trip to Disneyland's Haunted Mansion would have been a better choice.

Derivative to such a degree that it seems almost a parody of its genre that has lost significant box-office steam, Maximum Ride is so ineptly executed that it might as well feature its own Mystery Science Theater 3000 soundtrack.

The Best Democracy Money Can Buy certainly makes many valid points, but they tend to be lost amidst the overriding cutesiness.

Sky Ladder chronicles his life and career in illuminating fashion, beginning with his troubled childhood.

It features heartbreaking and horrific images that sear indelibly into your brain.

Despite some clever touches, the derivative film doesn't manage to live up to its clever premise.

Filmed in a gorgeous, dreamlike style and Infused with heavy doses of mysticism and allegory, The Vessel is an impressive effort that loses some of its impact, however, for being so derivative.

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.

Delivering a fully committed, moving performance, Thomas Haden Church makes you pay attention to a figure you would otherwise pass by without a second thought.

Tell Me How I Die doesn't even have the smarts to be snappily paced. By the time the seemingly endless film reaches its conclusion, the title will seem like wish fulfillment.

This overlong and amateurish effort only serves to demonstrate that noble intentions and sincerity aren't enough to make for compelling drama.

A bizarre mixture of black comedy and horror/suspense, Happy Birthday is a juvenile effort that at least has the decency to make its American and Mexican characters look equally bad.

Infusing its nightmarish scenario with bracing doses of satirical humor, Tunnel is smarter and more sophisticated than most Hollywood attempts at the genre.

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.

A predictable, whimsical exercise that only occasionally produces the sort of bittersweet emotion it seeks to elicit.

The film is certainly watchable, thanks to the elaborately staged action sequences and Statham's killer charisma.

Viewers will likely be as confused as the protagonist as to what is going on, and the vague, episodic proceedings ultimately prove repetitive.

Both informative and moving.

Diffuse and rambling at times, An Animated Life, which sometimes has the feel of a tribute film shown at an award gala, is not as compelling as such similarly themed docs as "Waking Sleeping Beauty" and "Frank and Ollie." But it nonetheless serves as an entertaining salute to an unsung figure whose considerable accomplishments well deserve recognition.

Unfortunately, Kampai! For the Love of Sake is more cheerleading than informative, concentrating largely on personality profiles of three figures—two of them Westerners--obsessed with the Japanese rice wine.

While lacking the technical polish necessary to lift it into a more elevated cinematic dimension, Philip T. Johnson's directorial debut earns points for its thematic ambitions and cheeky wit.

Its blizzard of statistics notwithstanding, the film consists mostly of true-life stories that, while undeniably tragic, stir up more emotion than thought.

Imperium traffics in familiar undercover cop thriller conventions while gaining resonance from its disturbing, timely milieu.

The film is emotionally manipulative, to be sure, but it's ultimately hard to resist, especially given the quality of the lead performances.

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.

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.

Kinnaman delivers a superb turn.... Holland and White also are excellent as the boys who still love their father even while becoming ever more aware of his failings. Their quietly terrified reactions to his escalating belligerence is far more emotionally wrenching than the tired thriller genre conventions to which the film ultimately succumbs.

Sketchy with biographical information, An Art That Nature Makes is sometimes frustrating in its lack of context and wandering focus. But the filmmaker serves her subject well with her excellent presentation of many examples of Purcell's work from throughout her long career.

For all the sloppiness of its approach, The Lost Arcade is an enjoyable and nostalgic portrait of a bygone era and a local institution that has now lost the pungent atmospheric flavor that made it so unique.

Embers strains for a philosophical profundity that eludes it. And despite its brief running time, so little actually happens in the plot that it feels much longer than it is. But the film has many resonant moments.

It's hard not to have mixed reactions while watching Ted Balaker's documentary Can We Take a Joke? about how political correctness is stifling free speech, particularly when it comes to satire and stand-up comedy.

While the filmmaking is crudely effective at best, it successfully showcases the physical, if not the acting talents, of its largely female cast.

Utterly lacking nuance and any sense of proportion, the irresponsible film depicts Democrats not as possessing misguided political ideas but rather as "depraved crooks" and "hateful people."

Although a bit too diffuse to fully realize its potential, the documentary is an evocative portrait of its subject.

Under the stilted direction of Alex Ranarivelo, it's all as clunkily melodramatic as it sounds, with the climactic trial sequences proving particularly slow going.

The Love Witch is an expertly executed homage that works brilliantly on its own original terms.

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.

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

It's all about as dreary as the constant rainfall featured as part of the Portland, Ore., setting, and the director, when he's not leeringly photographing his leading lady's naked body in the shower, vainly tries to up the scare ante by periodically raising the soundtrack volume to intolerable levels.

Slow and talky but suffused with insight and intelligence, the film is another noteworthy effort from the writer/director of such intriguing if unfortunately little-seen dramas as Glass Chin and Sparrows Dance.

The dynamic ski chases are the most exciting, not to mention novel, element of this medieval epic, although there's plenty of fighting with swords, axes, crossbows, and bows and arrows as well.

Serving as a gentle reminder that enduring love is still possible, My Love, Don't Cross That River is practically the cinematic equivalent of marriage counseling.

Although it feels all too familiar with its storyline about a bullied 15-year-old, King Jack boasts an immediacy that makes it compelling throughout.

A thoughtful and illuminating examination of a provocative subject.

Traded features nary an original element but nonetheless registers as a solid if minor oater.

Visually stunning if dramatically logy and willfully enigmatic.

It's in the more personal moments — such as when the artist enthusiastically describes her painting of an elderly Marilyn Monroe — that it becomes most interesting.

Whatever social commentary is intended in this cautionary tale, it is lost in the overall thematic murkiness, and the film is reduced to being a series of increasingly silly, ultra-violent episodes.

It's So Easy and Other Lies makes for a tedious cinematic experience that will only be appreciated by McKagan's hard-core fans. And even they're likely to come away less than enthusiastic.

Gurukulam succeeds in its goal of immersing the viewer in its gentle and spiritual setting. Whether you'll achieve enlightenment watching it is another question.

Directed and scripted in boring, incoherent fashion by Francesco Cinquemani, Andron brings new meaning to the word "derivative."

Sluggishly paced and featuring lengthy voice-over narration by Strong in which his character ponders his role in the universe like a graduate philosophy student, the film never achieves liftoff.

As a film, Victor Kanefsky's documentary about the iconoclastic painter Robert Cenedella makes a great art exhibit.

The film fares best when it slows down a bit and allows the Turtles' personalities, which are quite engaging, to shine through via their amusing comic banter.

Popstar is filled with the sort of sly jokes whose targets music fans should have no problem recognizing.

The film's strength lies in its honest and realistic portrayal of mental illness and the toll it exacts on those in its sufferer's orbit.

Uneasily blending familiar horror tropes with forced attempts at slapstick humor, Crush the Skull doesn't fully succeed in either genre, although it does provide occasional laughs along the way.

Queen Mimi registers as little more than a minor curiosity.

Director/co-screenwriter Pearry Teo succeeds in investing the silly proceedings with spooky visual stylishness, providing enough scary demons and possessed mannequins to deliver the requisite jump scares. Unfortunately, the film also features sound, which results in the audience being able to hear the inane dialogue accompanying the familiar horror tropes.

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.

Addressing its serious themes with subtle and insightful humor, Divine Access is a quiet gem.

A thorough knowledge of Israeli history and politics would be helpful for viewers, as Rabin in His Own Words is sometimes sketchy and scattershot in its narrative. But its subject emerges as a thoughtful and articulate chronicler, and the wealth of footage presented, including rare home movies, is consistently fascinating.

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.

Despite the occasional jolts, Phantom of the Theatre is not particularly scary. But as befitting its milieu, it looks fabulous.

For a film that's presumably intended to convey the rich emotional rewards of motherhood, it's not terribly convincing.

There's nary a single B-action movie cliché missed.

An evocative portrait of strained friendships and creative turmoil.

Fortunately, the terrific lead performances by Jonathan Pryce and newcomer Jerome Holder are enough to help Dough rise above its formulaic ingredients.

Although stronger on atmosphere than narrative clarity, its gorgeous visuals and sensuous evocation of the exotic setting render it a hauntingly poetic cinematic experience.

The uneven collection is guaranteed to permanently tarnish at least one of your favorite days.

Although based on a true story, this drama directed by Bob Yari about the relationship between a young journalist and the aging Ernest Hemingway never rings true despite the authenticity of its setting.

While the performers are appealing, 3rd Street Blackout is a too determinedly quirky affair to fully mine the comic potential of its clever premise. Much like its setting, the film could have used more energy.

One of the film's most poignant moments occurs at the end, with a brief shot of Hesse's gravestone. It was designed, we're informed, by Sol LeWitt.

The American Side is a loving homage that should be of particular interest to film buffs who can play spot the references.

This lame effort represents international collaboration of the most mediocre kind.

The documentary will nonetheless strike an emotional chord with anyone who's grown up eating the product it celebrates. And over the course of 100 years, that's a lot of matzos.

Featuring hilarious yet acutely observed performances by Michael Shannon and Kevin Spacey as the titular characters, Elvis & Nixon, receiving its world premiere at the Tribeca Film Festival, is a hoot.

Although it's hard to avoid the feeling of invading their privacy at times, the viewer becomes thoroughly invested in the fate of the film's subjects.

The First Monday in May should prove catnip to fashionistas.

Despite its promising set-up, Hostile Border lacks narrative tension, with the screenplay by co-director Kaitlin McLaughlin never quite coming into dramatic focus. The characterizations feel sketchy, and the paucity of dialogue proves more frustrating than atmospheric.

Puts a human face on the issue of income inequality.

Barbershop: The Next Cut, the third installment in the film series, brings the laughs while injecting a serious topical theme that gives it a welcome edge.

Vita Activa: The Spirit of Hannah Arendt wrestles with its unwieldy subject with only sporadic success.

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.

On the surface, the doc makes some compelling arguments, although most of its power is emotional rather than informational.

That it all works to the extent that it does is due to its undeniably sweet depiction of a close-knit extended family whose members truly care for and help each other. It's cinematic wish fulfillment in this era of broken families and far-off relatives who keep in touch via social media.

Beautifully captures the distinctive wit of its subject.

Delivering some genuinely creepy slow-burn moments before devolving into baroque excess, Emelie delivers a nasty twist on an all-too-common scenario.

The story moves along in fairly predictable beats, including the inevitable denouement in which Jack's deception is exposed. But it's effective nonetheless, thanks to the authentic-feeling depiction of the physical and emotional toll of caring for an autistic child.

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.

This overstuffed, witless and bloated stillborn $140 million epic is unlikely to spawn the studio's intended franchise — unless, as is so often the case, international audiences come to the box-office rescue.

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

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

Risen is fairly engrossing in its thriller-like section, with Fiennes' restrained performance providing a solid dramatic anchor and the Maori actor Curtis being a nice change from the usual blonde-hair/blue-eyed Jesus. But when the film shifts into inspirational territory it ironically becomes far more prosaic, depicting the miracles in a low-budget, low-key fashion that will hardly win any converts.

Much like its characters' romantic lives, How to Be Single is more enjoyable when it's being casual.

It's Goldstein's performance that truly impresses.

Southbound should well please genre fans nostalgic for the likes of Tales From the Crypt and Creepshow.

Wearing its multiple influences heavily on its sleeve, Monday at 11:01 A.M. is too déjà vu for its own good.

The Choice is the cinematic equivalent of staring at a Hallmark Card for two hours.

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

The funniest bit involves a particularly sadistic brand of torture that he inflicts on Hannah.... She quite rightly screams in protest, as should anyone forced to watch this movie.

Exposed mainly serves to expose the often torturous process of moviemaking and distribution.

The creepy evocativeness of its superbly utilized setting...and the well-realized creature designs make it a more than respectable horror effort. The haunting final shot alone makes it worth the price of admission.

Stacey Menear's screenplay doesn't manage to sustain its clever premise, with the final act featuring a banal and formulaic revelation that unfortunately takes what had been a spooky haunted house tale into familiar slasher movie territory.

It can be definitively stated that Dirty Grandpa is utterly unfunny.

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

Few films feel as cathartic as James Solomon's documentary The Witness.

Deviating from the original in some key respects, this version of Martyrs doesn't make much of a case for its inspiration, but it may attract those hardcore horror fans averse to reading subtitles.

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

While the screenplay by T.J. Cimfel and David White eventually proves unsatisfying in its plot revelations, the film certainly holds your attention thanks to Schindler's tautly paced direction and Riegraf's emotionally nuanced performance.

Norm of the North is mildly diverting, although Pixar needn't be overly concerned.

An eccentric comedy likely to be best enjoyed by those steeped in the original novels, Band of Robbers doesn't quite spin its imaginative conceit into comic gold, but it offers some minor pleasures along the way.

With a storyline less challenging than that of a typical CBS crime procedural, Ride Along 2 is little more than a repetitive rehash of the original.

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.

This faith-based drama "inspired by true events" (a phrase that hereafter has lost all its meaning) manages to be dumb on so many levels that, well, it simply has to be taken on faith.

The proceedings too often smack of melodrama and, with the profusion of characters, some inevitably come across as stereotypes.

Exploiting the serious issue of homelessness for the purpose of cheap romantic melodrama, Other People's Children squanders whatever potential it might have had.

You need more than a little faith to endure Carl Lauten's stylistically ambitious but hackneyed faith-based film that infuses its treacly love story with heavy doses of CGI animation and even heavier doses of Christian moralizing.

As spooky as The Shining's Overlook Hotel and Rosemary Baby's Bramford, the location -- actually multiple locations -- of the atmospheric horror film The Abandoned is spectacular. It's too bad that the same can't be said about the story.

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

It has all the flaws of the recent Bradley Cooper vehicle Burnt, only without the sex and the charm.

The charismatic performers — who include Angelababy as a woman at the center of a past love triangle with the two male leads — are engaging from start to finish.

The film is the product of the same production company responsible for such previous Willis duds as "Vice," "The Prince," and "Fire With Fire." Either the Die Hard star enjoys working with them, or he's being blackmailed.

Director Beth Harrington packs enough drama, music and history to fuel a miniseries in her thoroughly entertaining and comprehensive account of the Carter and Cash families and their enduring contributions to American music.

American Hero, which intermittently uses a faux-documentary style to awkward effect, never quite decides what it wants to be.

Refreshingly free of the tired human-interest personality profiles that afflict sports documentaries on both the big and small screens, director Eryk Rocha has created an impressionistic, visually stunning cinematic essay.

For every emotionally resonant scene, there's another that seems to drag on pointlessly, although the filmmaker once again displays a talent for delineating the emotional tensions that develop when disparate characters are thrown together.

Although the film directed by Jason Moore (Pitch Perfect) mostly concentrates on over-the-top comic mayhem, it's actually funniest in its quieter, subtler moments.

If a film's opening credit reads "Presented by Larry King," run screaming for the hills. The venerable talk show host and his wife, Shawn King, are among the producers of this cinematic trifle that proves yet again that Christmas is responsible for more bad movies than any other holiday on the planet.

Lamb proves itself a deeply intriguing psychological drama that should inspire much spirited debate. Let the controversy begin.

For the most part the film is compelling, with Jones' riveting performance as the alternately sympathetic and nasty protagonist anchoring the proceedings.

While the violent sequences are very effectively staged, the results are a strange hybrid that doesn't quite work. Lacking the antic, witty humor of something like the similarly conceived Gremlins or the full-out gore of a traditional horror flick, Krampus never really finds it niche.

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.

At once comical and poignant, this offbeat, true-life show-biz tale deserves instant cult status.

Although undercut at times by self-indulgence that includes navel-gazing narration by the filmmaker, Rock in the Red Zone delivers a moving portrait of a musical community that's managed to survive under far greater pressures than worrying about the next gig.

Infusing its generic horror tropes with vaguely satirical aspects, the film doesn't really work on either level. Unintentionally campy (or purposely, it's hard to tell) and marred by ridiculous plotting and dialogue, #Horror is mostly just a horror.

Be prepared to be emotionally devastated.

Other than undeniably looking good, Harding is unable to bring much depth to his role that, if the film had been shot closer to the period in which it was set, could have been knocked out of the park by a young Pacino or De Niro.

What should have been a tautly paced B-movie thriller instead comes to feel like a mini-series, leaving the viewer too much time to ponder the silliness of its narrative contrivances.

Using a cinema verite style to explore this little-known subculture, the filmmaker presents a tender portrait of his subjects who have little place in their country's society.

Heist nonetheless has a B-movie appeal thanks to its strong ensemble and wacky commitment to its overcomplicated, wildly absurd plotting.

One of the most egregiously awful horror films in recent memory.

It may be Hot Sugar's Cold World, but that doesn't mean we have to live in it.

Unfortunately, Sex, Death and Bowling is as ungainly and overstuffed as its title, filled with enough dysfunctional family drama and quirky indie comedy tropes to fuel an entire film festival.

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.

Director Bafaro shows little aptitude for the driving sequences which are stunningly dull in their repetitiveness and lack of visual flair. Shot largely from the driver's perspective and rarely bothering to show both vehicles in the same frame, Wrecker feels like an endless ride to nowhere.

The film seems more appropriate for a testimonial dinner than theater screens, with virtually no voices heard from outside Larsen's colleagues and acolytes.

While the pictures have a stark power undiminished by the passage of time, it's the photographer's eloquent commentary that provides the film with its most moving moments

Meyer, whose credits include co-directing and co-editing the classic Grey Gardens, largely employs a fly-on-the-wall approach here that sometimes makes for less than compelling viewing. Nonetheless, the film earns points for the importance of its message.

Exploring the issue of whether being pro-life and pro-gun are mutually compatible, The Armor of Light puts a human face on the perpetually divisive topic.

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.

Reduced to a teen girl empowerment vehicle that trots out every show business cliche about sacrificing your values for stardom, the film is a non-starter.

The film largely succeeds in achieving its modest goals, delivering a feel-good, real-life inspirational story in a mostly engaging fashion.

The Boy From Geita is a harrowing depiction of ignorance and superstition run amuck.

Lacking much in the way of narrative and not quite succeeding as a character study — Irene remains an opaque character throughout, and we learn little of her backstory — Homemakers nonetheless exerts a certain fascination with its spirited atmosphere and often quirky humor.

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.

All Things Must Pass approaches its sad subject with a well-balanced mixture of dispassion and sympathy.

More trick than treat.

Boasting the canny use of suitably atmospheric, futuristic-looking locations, Narcopolis is far more impressive visually than narratively, with its tangled film noir plot making Raymond Chandler seem straightforward by comparison.

Even for those younger viewers who won't succumb to nostalgic reveries, Taken by Storm is a fascinating music doc that showcases the artist behind those memorable images.

A bit too rambling and diffuse to be fully educational, We Weren't Just Bicycle Thieves nonetheless serves as a valuable introduction to its subject.

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

This example of the rape-revenge film genre (who knew?) serves up its raw meat for its target audience with reasonable efficiency, although the surplus of ultraviolent fantasy sequences quickly proves wearisome.

Featuring a stellar cast apparently seeking to prove that they're interested in being popular in red states as well as blue, Big Stone Gap goes down relatively easy, but it contains lots of empty calories.

An intriguing, offbeat surprise.

Becoming Bulletproof is as enjoyable as it is inspiring.

An engrossing real-life adventure that brings much-needed attention to an important environmental issue.

Whatever you have to pay, it's too much.

It's Smith's eccentric oldster who is the film's driving force, and the 80-year-old actress doesn't disappoint.

While both plots work reasonably well separately, they're unnecessarily padded and don't tie together strongly. As a result, the film doesn't achieve its goal of its sum being bigger than its parts.

To paraphrase a famous line from an old political debate--I've seen Carrie, I love Carrie, and Some Kind of Hate is no Carrie.

Substitute a cat for the bunny (no spoilers here about its fate) and you have the ironically titled, generic thriller The Perfect Guy that somehow wound up on the big screen instead of on Lifetime.

It's certainly a moving tale.... Unfortunately, the film tells the story in the most prosaic fashion imaginable, missing nary a single faith-based film cliché with its one-dimensional noble characters, banal dialogue and requisite sermonizing.

Director/screenwriter Khalil Sullins makes an auspicious feature debut with his audacious sci-fi thriller that's as engrossing as it is thought-provoking.

Grippingly depicting the ensuing tensions that constantly threaten to spill over into violence — even while raising discomfiting questions about the scope of First Amendment rights — the film is a nail-biter from start to finish.

Meet the Patels is home movie-style filmmaking at its most boisterously entertaining.

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.

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

A deadly earnest polemic whose good intentions are smothered by its inept execution.

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.

Schilling the director proves even less adept than Schilling the screenwriter, bathing the melodramatic proceedings in an overbearing musical score more appropriate for a daytime soap.

Making the most of its limited budget, Blood Punch is an audacious, gruesomely violent and darkly funny thriller that enjoys messing with its viewers' minds.

This B-movie, reminiscent of '70s era grindhouse fare, is a reasonably proficient and professional debut that fulfills its modest aspirations.

Pod has a hallucinatory quality that makes up in ferocity what it lacks on cogent storytelling.

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

Co-scripted by a slumming Bret Easton Ellis, The Curse of Downers Grove is all over the place in tone, never managing to decide what kind of film it wants to be.

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.