G. Allen Johnson

Efficiently directed by Marc Webb (the Andrew Garfield “Spider-Man” movies) with an excellent production design by Kave Quinn, “Snow White” is everything you need it to be and nothing more.

It is, in fact, good: a simple, well told story, about an impossible love decades ago, and the collateral damage that results.

Raymond & Ray aims for the kind of gentle, offbeat wistfulness of a “Little Miss Sunshine” or “Sunshine Cleaning,” but with uncomfortable awkwardness instead of eccentric ingenuity.

Think of all the ways “Apartment 7A” could have slyly addressed these times, or, conversely, more fully explored the practices of the Castavets’ cult. Instead, it's just a retread, and that’s why it’s bad. The devil is in the details.

John Lithgow and Blythe Danner make an offbeat and winning combination, with total belief that they’re in a really good movie. Unfortunately, they’re not.

The Front Room becomes an exercise in psychological torture porn; it’s a movie you endure rather than enjoy.

Nattiv, working from a sharp script from Nicholas Martin, expertly mixes in documentary footage to convey a sense of the times and the war.

Shows how Tinseltown sensibilities can be well thought out even on a low budget.

The Hill is meant to be inspiring, of course, and to some, it might be, but the vibe is more reassuring in the way that it does not deviate from the standard-issue formula of such movies. It is a cinematic case of confirmation bias, designed to fulfill preexisting values and beliefs.

Superpower, one of several documentaries about the war in Ukraine, doesn’t break any news, but Penn, a two-time Oscar-winning actor and director of several feature films, is a skilled storyteller. He and Kaufman do an excellent job of providing a contextual overview of the conflict, from its origins — the trajectory of both Russia and Ukraine in the post-Soviet era — to its political stakes, the mood of the Ukrainian people and the fascinating man who is leading them.

It succeeds because of the frenzied, kinetic direction by Mike Newell, one of the most interesting big-hit directors.

The only thing that keeps Wish afloat is DeBose’s voice, who elevates so-so songs such as “At All Costs” and “This Wish” with a powerful lilt.

Spoof both of P.I.s and independent filmmakers is languidly paced and not very funny.

Even worse, Deerlaken, Wis., is supposed to be the “real” America, but Stewart has little interest in depicting an honest version of Midwesterners, or their problems. No actual issues that affect the town are discussed. (I have no idea what the economy of the town is, if people are struggling or what.)

The Nun II has some interesting ideas and some thrilling sequences.

Halfway through, the humans recede into the background, with Dr. Andrews and crew reduced to narrating monster shenanigans instead of participating in the action. Unlike “Godzilla Minus One,” humans are expendable in gargantuan Hollywood creature features.

Yes, there are funny lines, but nearly all of them are familiar to fans; it’s almost like a greatest hits of “Addams Family” quotables.

Reminiscence is never not interesting, but Joy leaves a lot of the intriguing issues unsatisfactorily explored.

Salinger, who died in 2010 at age 91, probably would have hated this movie. If Jones doesn’t quite pull it off, it is at least a film of many pleasures and a thought-provoking look at American literature’s most famous loner.

How can you screw up a movie that has Lady Gaga? Here’s how: Make it claustrophobic, with the first half a brutal prison picture and the second half an excruciatingly dull courtroom drama.

Wonder Park, frankly, isn’t very much fun. It becomes so enslaved with its nonsensical plot that it forgets this is supposed to be about coming to terms with the possible loss of a loved one. It gets lost in its own Rube Goldberg machine.

It seems Joris-Peyrafitte can’t decide what film he is making, and as a result we’re left with a jumbled mess with a slapped-together resolution that will satisfy no one.

The dialogue is hip, natural and observational.

It’s a train wreck, but certainly a watchable one that almost plays like fan fiction.

A play-it-safe film, with its chaos a little too controlled. But Bell’s examination of the institution of marriage has it insights, and there are laughs.

The Art of Racing in the Rain, a sure-handed but predictable adaptation of Garth Stein’s best-selling 2008 novel, is a sloppy wet-kiss of a movie that demands nothing more from its viewer than to engage and empathize. Awww!

Scooby-Doo, where are you? The real one, I mean. The rest of this mess is just a series of nonsensical action sequences.

Seinfeld’s over-the-top, throw-in-everything-but-the-kitchen-sink approach makes for an uneven film, with some gags inspired, others groan-inducing. But its 1960s period detail and constant parade of familiar faces keeps things rolling.