Gary Goldstein

That Kasbe, who also shot and co-edited, so firmly embedded himself in this distant, hardscrabble world results in a wealth of candid, you-are-there moments that highlight the complex intersection between the fraught state of wildlife preservation and the desperate scramble for human survival.

Guitarist-composer Bill Frisell's wall-to-wall, bluesy-jazzy soundtrack beautifully reflects and unifies the visuals while also helping to personalize this distinct endeavor. It's a terrific achievement.

Rise scores as first-rate family filmmaking and a worthy reminder that some dreams can and do come true — big time.

Ultimately, if Miller and Pollard don’t paint a particularly warts-and-all portrait of Ashe, they don’t set him up as some sort of saint either: just a certain man of a certain era with an amazing talent. It’s a fitting tribute.

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.

Although enjoyable, the movie is perhaps best suited to cinéastes already intimate with Bergman's venerated body of work as well as with Ullmann's many acclaimed screen roles.

Director Paolo Virzì, who co-wrote with Francesca Archibugi, keeps the jam-packed film moving apace with a whirlwind of high-wire emotionality, memorable set pieces and vivid location work.

It's predictable, painless, occasionally amusing fluff perked up by a clever visual interplay with the book text and John Cleese's avuncular narration.

The punk and metal music-infused soundtrack belies the film’s largely gentle approach to a series of small, evocative and well-played moments that combine to slowly heal the Lunsfords and prove that you can go home again.

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.

The documentary Fiddler’s Journey to the Big Screen is as wondrous, buoyant and heartwarming as the film it celebrates.

Jalali peppers this darkly funny, often absurdist piece with enough socio-political messaging to add heft but not didacticism. It all makes for a singular, well-observed balancing act.

The documentary The Russian Woodpecker is provocative, spooky and just a little nutty.

Director Ozon... infuses the picture with a provocative array of themes, imagery and moods. But it's French film heartthrob Duris' fluid, finely measured, physically deft portrayal of the blossoming David that sets the movie apart.

Although Gruber's personal life and latter accomplishments are mostly addressed via a few closing sentences, "Ahead" remains a fleet and fitting tribute.

Equine fans: Gallop, don’t trot to Ron Davis’ winning documentary Harry & Snowman, which recounts the inspiring story of an underdog show horse, his tenacious trainer and their rise to fame in the late 1950s.

Michell, working off a jaunty script by Richard Bean and Clive Coleman, keeps the action bubbling along with little room to ponder the stranger-than-fiction improbability of the steal, one that, with the plethora of security measures and protocols in place nowadays, feels quaint — though in a fun, nostalgic way.

Bold and unsettling, Eastern Boys is a long, strange trip of a film that touches on myriad social, economic and sexual themes.

The film could have used more social, cultural and geographical context. Still, this is such a moving, evocative and rare assemblage of souls, we’re grateful for its existence.

That Ferrer and Schöner play their roles with such understated grace and charisma goes far to bolster the credibility factor.

That the film is animated, yet feels so thoroughly real, is a testament to its vivid use of rotoscoping as well as a solid script by director Ali Soozandeh, an Iranian expatriate.

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.

A vivid, disturbing and rousing picture of specious government intrusion at its worst.

It's exhausting, exhilarating, riveting stuff that fans of high-octane filmmaking should not miss.

[An] absorbing, entertaining and lovingly crafted documentary.

Ultimately, and perhaps most beautifully, the film makes a case, à la the musical “Rent,” about how, in the end, we must measure our life in love. On that score, Eli Timoner left the world a very wealthy man.

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.