Gary Goldstein

Salomé and co-writer Natalie Carter offer some explanatory psychology, but the complexities remain underdeveloped. Still, you won't be bored.

This brief, loosely-knit film never builds any empathy or tension.

Director Debra Eisenstadt, who also edited and co-wrote with Zeke Farrow, effectively draws us into Ken’s challenging world and conflicted psyche, aided immeasurably by actor-comic Dawes’ dimensional, empathetic performance.

Christensen manages his fairly dimensional antihero role with physical and emotional aplomb, but onetime A-lister Cage looks and sounds too silly to take seriously. Worry not, fans of Cage's over-the-top stylings: Scenery is reliably chewed.

The story...never comes together as a satisfying whole, even if it all proves relatively painless viewing.

Though it's a decidedly arty piece, Leviathan, named after the biblical sea creature, also lacks much in the way of traditional beauty or splendor. However, the immersive shots of those swooping and circling sea gulls are quite something.

In attempting to spin out its competing storylines, the crime drama The Forger never quite gets a handle on either one. Still, an array of strong performances, including a well-calibrated turn by John Travolta, and compelling emotional moments help counter the patchy narrative.

This well-intentioned, sumptuously shot tale of love and war, directed by Joseph Ruben, lacks the emotional depth and romantic grandeur to fulfill its epic ambitions.

Although Lovesick plays more like an extended sitcom episode than a full-fledged feature film, the script by Dean Young contains enough genuine laughs and amusing moments to keep this slight romantic farce afloat.

It all makes for a family therapist's dream scenario, but an otherwise choppy and predictable memory piece.

Unfortunately, writer-director Emma Seligman’s Shiva Baby, despite its thematic acuity, loopy vitality and committed acting, doesn’t add up to enough in its too-brief 72 minutes (plus end credits) to warrant all the cross-wired mayhem that gets us over the movie’s dubious finish line.

The filmmakers’ choice to focus so heavily — and, unfortunately, dully — on the odd-couple friendship between the tightly-wound, workaholic Hughes (Hilary Swank) and the brashly spirited Riese (Helena Bonham Carter) instead of on the bigger-picture legal wranglings and wider effects of the landmark lawsuit against a San Francisco hospital may point to the chapter’s cinematic limitations.

The result, directed by Mark Dennis and Ben Foster (not the actor) from Dennis’ script, is a handful of intriguing ideas in search of a more cohesive and dimensional narrative.

Snow is excellent, though, as she attempts to inhabit her murky character. If only we had a better sense of what the movie was trying to say about faith — or the lack thereof.

The movie's intended audience will likely be satisfied by its parade of gory mayhem, cheap thrills and groan-worthy dark humor. Everyone else: You're on your own.

Like the floundering filmmaker at its center, The Face of an Angel never seems sure of what story it wants to tell.

An action-packed third act gives way to a bit of an anti-climactic ending. But it all moves so fast, furiously and unfussily that genre fans should be satisfied.

Kid-Thing proves as disturbing for what it is as for what it's not.

The film is undermined by choppy editing and a penchant for hoary aphorisms and forced gravitas.

The product is more pop vanity project — and one that's a bit late to the party — than onion-peeling dissection.

Given that “Ghosts” runs a compact 80 minutes, there was room to further explore the many tentacles of the film’s intricate, delicate topic. Still, this is vital territory that will open less initiated viewers’ eyes to the deep commitment and dramatic lengths it can take for many gay couples to become parents.

That Hawke so closely aligns his cinematic style, inventive as it is, with the story’s disorderly, scruffily offbeat characters and settings is both a strength and a liability. His kaleidoscopic, at times ghostly, approach proves a valiant if studied effort.

The startling spike in anti-Semitism over the last two decades is certainly a vast and vital topic for documentary exploration, but director Laura Fairrie’s Spiral proves a largely underwhelming look at an overwhelming problem.

The film over-relies on blunt messaging, one-note villains (bullies, bosses, administrators, worst mall cop ever) and several stacked-deck situations to align us with David and Po, even if we’re inherently on their side from the start.

Courageous, proves a particularly clunky, tunnel-visioned vehicle whose overbearing, overlong script nearly smothers the movie's quibble-free message.

Sommer, who did fine supporting work on TV’s “Mad Men,” doesn’t prove a distinctive or charismatic enough presence to carry an entire film, especially one as uneven as this.

It's no great surprise how things end up for this tossed-under-one-roof bunch. How they get there, however, provides a largely fertile playground for the picture's talented comic ensemble.

It’s easy enough to take this brisk documentary at face value and enjoy it for the well-shot curio that it is. And Oppenheim, just 24, is a talent to watch. Still, this movie shouldn’t preclude — and, who knows, may even inspire — a more definitive documentary about this debatable slice of “heaven.”

Between lots of uneven acting, some embarrassingly bad dialogue ("How do you move forward when your soul is torn apart?!") and too many unconvincing, warmed-over moments, the movie, like its charisma-free characters, is a tough one to embrace.

What could have been a deep and rousing clarion call on the homeless crisis gets supplanted by surface characterizations and situations, us-against-them broadsides and weak story strands.

The movie works best when it focuses on the senses and the specific connections between hearing, language (both ASL and oral) and music.

Despite its singular star and bursts of audio-visual vibrancy, the film may prove more ponderous and patience-testing than enlightening or involving for all but the most intrepid viewers.

The movie contains enough warmth, humor and nostalgia to prove an affable if unremarkable snapshot.

The result is a cinematic curio in search of a more conclusive theme and emotional payoff.

Although the meta-style conceit is fun, it doesn't fully kick in until the film's midpoint. Until then it's a sluggish, fairly dour ride.

Du Welz, despite a strong assist from cinematographer Manuel Dacosse, rarely musters the requisite tension or propulsion to immerse us fully in the story's wickedly wild ride.

It’s a little dumb (OK, maybe more than a little), but No Good Deed is an otherwise brisk, efficient thriller that won’t punish audiences who drop in.

Smith is certainly a worthy advocate for the mainstreaming and acceptance of “outcasts” or “others.” Unfortunately, Zevgetis doesn’t dig deeply enough here.

Fascinating stuff is at play here amid the heady theorizing and arcane references (panspermia, anyone?). But it’s blunted by Herzog’s clipped, Bavarian-tinged narration that’s by turns logy, deadpan and florid. Maybe his trademark voice-overs have simply worked better in the past.

There are enough curiously deadpan, cringeworthy bits in Laerke Sanderhoff’s loopy script to keep you hooked, even as you search for the point of it all.

Cailley never truly builds a narrative head of steam, resulting in periods of logy pacing and diffused focus. Still, the strong leads, several amusing moments and a clutch of intriguing character bits sketch what might have been.

It's no "E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial." (What is?) But on its own modest terms, the alien adventure Earth to Echo is a lively and likable knockoff that should divert, if not exactly enthrall, tweens and young teens.

Recently deceased master filmmaker Claude Chabrol's 50th and final feature, Inspector Bellamy, proves a sadly bland footnote to an illustrious and influential career.

Rothe and Shum Jr. have such nice, authentic chemistry that they should put it to good use again. Perhaps there’s a jaunty rom-com out there with their names on it.

Despite sincere efforts, it too often plays more like a glorified home movie than the kind of polished, fully dimensional work the subject deserves.

Only the Young rarely coalesces into anything more meaningful than a casual collection of moments. Maybe that's the point.

Producer-director Markus Imhoof tackles a hugely vital subject, but the film's loose structure and lack of a specific through-line don't make for the clearest intake of its, well, swarm of information.

There’s much to admire about this alternately tough and tender film, including a fine turn by Caton, some striking outback scenery, and many resonant thoughts about living — and dying.

Input from a broader range of chefs and food experts, as well as sociologists and scientists, could have better fleshed out this brief study.

What emerges is a vague, often chilling impression of an unpredictable opportunist and provocateur who may not even be sure himself.

Despite many fine moments and a valuable story to tell, “Golden Voices,” directed by Evgeny Ruman, feels like a missed opportunity.

Writer-director and co-star Taika Waititi ("Eagle vs Shark") never builds much momentum for his largely uneventful if sometimes inventive story.

That writer-director Jessica Hausner moves things along at such a glacial pace and fills her velvety frames with the equivalent of museum-quality oil paintings instead of with living, breathing humanity, only adds to the film's turgid quality.

The result is a kind of quiet Scandinavian cousin (OK, twice removed) to "Home Alone," in which patient viewers will find sporadic rewards.

The largely improvisational approach as well as the limited settings and story arc also undercut the picture’s deeper dramatic potential — despite a powerful, beautifully performed finale.

As it stands, "Terms" proves too uncertain.

Unfortunately, there’s not enough story here to warrant the film’s more than two-hour running time; 90 taut minutes tracking a week in the ruined tunnel would have sufficed. Still, it’s a vivid and relatable tale.

As for the so-called "food compositions" seen here, like the film itself, they're more impressionistic and artistic than enticing. For a far more satisfying cinematic meal, check out the similarly themed "Jiro Dreams of Sushi."

Unfortunately, Dylan Mohan Gray's slow and steady exposé never quite manages the propulsive gut punch its incendiary subject demands.

Saville too often skims the surfaces of his characters, substituting traumatic concepts and plot devices for narrative logic and truly authentic, compelling emotion.

The movie’s energy, ebullience, vivid scenery and pizza porn keep us watching, even when it loses its thematic way — which is often.

The young filmmaker rarely digs beneath the harsh environment's many fraught surfaces. He simply lets his cameras be his guide.

While often affecting and absorbing, the film proves intellectually and contextually light. This is especially true given a leisurely running time that could have easily accommodated more dimensional probing.

There’s a potentially smart and sexy lesbian dramedy at the heart of “Anchor and Hope” that gets lost amid idiosyncratic filmmaking and a lack of narrative discipline.

Tom at the Farm is strange, idiosyncratic tale that straddles a fine line between homoerotic camp and spider-and-fly thriller.

Smartly, the filmmakers minimize their topic's punchline potential. But even though the running time is short, the movie feels stretched out.

Although the whole thing’s a bit of a jumble, the L.A.-set film becomes more immersive as we slowly adjust to its ambitious conceit and unique rhythms. A solid third-act twist helps square the preceding puzzle pieces and takes us out on a satisfying and moving note.

There’s much to explore and dissect about the intriguing world that directors Michael Palmieri and Donal Mosher spotlight in their documentary The Gospel of Eureka, but the film, strangely flabby at just 73 minutes, leaves us wanting.

That Rabe (daughter of the late Jill Clayburgh and playwright David Rabe) proves so intriguing to watch is more a testament to her acting focus and stirring, lovely presence than to the dreary role she inhabits.

Although affecting and well acted, the family drama Bad Hurt is too airless and depressing to fully engage.

Despite his cogent finger-pointing, nifty graphs and succinct highlighting of recent climate change history, longtime followers of the hyper-partisan topic may not find much terribly new or revealing here.

Even if this largely contained movie remains more low key than frantic, it features enough well-executed bursts of tension and strong emotional beats to hold interest.

For all its flaws and missteps (more nose growing antics, please), the movie gets under your skin and holds interest, if only to find out not if, but how Pinocchio will reunite with his devoted Babbo (dad) and what the future might have in store for Geppetto’s lovingly crafted creation.

Unfortunately, there's a lack of structure, context and point of view to the largely gray, grim, hardscrabble world presented here.

The elder Makhmalbaf, who wrote and directed, puts many spins on this ethereal mood piece — it is by turns poetic, impressionistic, metaphorical and even a bit trippy — without satisfying such genre basics as structure, depth and resolution.

Writer-director-star David Thorpe attempts to probe the whys and wherefores of what he calls the stereotypical "gay male voice," but he ends up crafting a naval-gazing self-portrait that's unflattering, inconclusive and, at times, a bit specious.

Honest and unadorned though the film may be, it's ultimately just not that involving.

Chittenden and Tzu-yi are expressive actors, but, like the film itself, are hamstrung by the project's self-imposed confines.

Deeper socio-historical context and a more electric approach could have helped us better appreciate the far-flung impact of this visionary artist.

It ultimately seems as if there was a more economical, propulsive and entertaining way for a master such as Bellocchio to recount this explosive and pivotal chapter of Mafia history.

To its credit, the script, by director Sara Zandieh and Stephanie Wu, works hard at inclusivity. Unfortunately, while a lesbian couple is fun, the gay men feel like a throwback and Alex’s bisexuality, which could have provided an intriguing and credible complication, goes nowhere.

Modern dance devotees and fans of legendary choreographer Merce Cunningham will find much to appreciate in the lovingly crafted documentary If the Dancer Dances. For others, the film may prove too repetitive and narrowly focused.

[It's] too bad Cindy Kleine, the documentary's producer-director-narrator — and Gregory's wife — didn't better organize this rangy survey of the eclectic actor, theater director, artist and raconteur.

A melodramatic third act strains to reconcile the film's disparate parts, and the feel-good ending is not quite earned. Still, the film offers a few lessons for those inclined to hear them.

Ultimately, this grueling, overlong picture — think a chamber piece but with multiple characters and locations — never zeroes in on what it wants us to think or feel about Willis or John. But if it’s sympathy, it doesn’t get there.

It’s watchable and intriguing stuff, yet also silly and inconsistent.

Involving as the film is, it is decidedly short on propulsion and significant conflict.

Specific as Ozon’s approach here may be (nothing feels accidental or arbitrary), his lovingly made curio, which often borrows verbatim from its predecessor, comes off a bit tired and trifling.

For a movie about art and artists, it's not a particularly visually inspired or vibrantly crafted work. Still, Foulkes... holds interest with his off-kilter narcissism, obsessive creative process and frank views on his place — or lack thereof — in the art world.

Bram, who also narrates (and writes, with co-director Judah Lazarus and Adam Zucker), may be earnest in his desire for enlightenment. But his approach feels overly self-serving; too much "Me," not enough "Kabbalah."

Koechlin gives such a remarkably warm, expressive performance (she and Gupta are non-disabled) it’s hard not to be captivated by much of this tender, if choppy film.

The largely engaging class-reunion dramedy 10 Years allows audiences to pretend they went to high school with the likes of Channing Tatum, Justin Long, Rosario Dawson, Anthony Mackie and Kate Mara.

Although it’s anchored by a deeply felt performance by the wonderful Emily Mortimer, with a marvelous supporting turn by the always-welcome Bill Nighy, the film, scripted and directed by Spanish filmmaker Isabel Coixet (“Elegy,” “Learning to Drive”), is at times a bit too mustily mounted and told to keep us as fully immersed as we might like.

The cast does what it can with — and clearly self-improves upon — the essentially thin, at times choppy material.

Loving Highsmith is a well-intentioned effort; a respectable start. But perhaps a more definitive and dimensional documentary — or even narrative feature — about this singularly intriguing talent will still be made.

Ambitious, sometimes clever but largely sputtering, The Mafia Kills Only in Summer works better as a childhood memory piece than as an adult tale of love and larceny.