Gary Goldstein

An unconvincing, late-breaking tragic turn; several dubious, go-nowhere supporting characters; and a blurrily provocative ending don’t help.

Unfortunately, it overdoes — and overplays — the strident litany of he said-she said recriminations and reprisals until the lovers get to some key truths and unexpected reactions.

The jaunty, neo-noirish crime outing Lying and Stealing has its moments — chiefly the engaging performances of sexy leads Theo James and Emily Ratajkowski — but is too short on depth and logic to prove much more than a glossy, forgettable trifle.

Several engaging main characters and warm cross-generational relationships can’t quite offset patchy storytelling and uncertain aims in Back to the Fatherland.

It’s a workable fantasy setup that’s undermined by a seemingly deliberate lack of detail about the characters, the Club and the world at large. Midway, the story takes a potentially intriguing turn but becomes more muddled than masterly.

A lovely closing story about Wyman and his idol Ray Charles speaks volumes.

To have the towering Morrison, now 88, willing to face your cameras — head on, in fact — and tell her story as candidly, heartily and humanely as she does here, is a singular gift that keeps on giving throughout the film’s two captivating hours.

Directors Sheena M. Joyce and Don Argott could have easily ditched the stagy narrative bits (and behind-the scenes chats with the actors) and relied entirely on the vast amount of fascinating, well-assembled archival footage that, along with recent interviews with the late DeLorean’s children, co-workers, lawyer and other observers, nimbly recount the renegade’s complex, tabloid-ready adult life.

Smith has crafted a visually and artistically compelling portrait about a distinctive figure in a pivotal and exciting time.

The quasi-credible friendship that develops between Emily and Harry gives way to a less plausible romance. But the winning, sympathetic Keaton and an enjoyably puckish Gleeson largely sell the contrived setup.

The film is a tough, vital lesson in love, valor and compassion.

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

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

The film, which adeptly touches on then-apartheid South Africa’s thorny intersection of religion, politics and racism, smartly eschews lurking melodrama and easy outs for subtle tension, tender symbolism, stirring musical bits and effective flights of fancy.

An exceptional tribute.

With its overly arch dialogue and characterizations, airless gentility and forced period trappings it seems that the harder writer-producer Karen R. Hurd and director Barry Andersson strive for authenticity — on what’s clearly a deeply limited budget — the less convincing the film feels. The often stodgy acting doesn’t help.

Listening to the film’s gorgeous renderings will make you a believer.

[An] entertaining, if straightforward documentary.

The movie, which comes off strangely wide-eyed about such “outré” things as marijuana and same-sex attraction, evokes some 1970s-era George Segal vehicle as it struggles to pair hip defiance with come-to-Jesus-style pathos, the latter of which provides a few of the film’s more compelling moments.

It’s a heavy lift that, to do her efforts justice, required a more dimensional, broadly contextual and, for a movie about art, visually adept depiction than first-time filmmaker Rynecki has managed.

A lovely, charming and gently transporting journey.

It’s a one-day-at-a-time kind of portrait that’s dispiriting, unsettling and undeniably authentic.

This frequently fascinating, frustrating study in naiveté, personal turmoil and self-discovery leaves the viewer stranded in process.

[An] engrossing, propulsive film.

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.

Unfortunately, the film, costarring Erik LaRay Harvey, Robert Ri’chard and Ian McShane, turns overly violent, raw and showy, undermining the glorious music (written, arranged and performed by Wynton Marsalis), superb period re-creation and Carr’s powerful lead turn.

Director Ben Masters’ compelling, gorgeously shot, super-timely documentary The River and the Wall should be required viewing of anyone charged with making a public case for or against a border wall between the United States and Mexico.

Masterfully directed by Martín Rodríguez Redondo, who wrote with Mariana Docampo and Mara Pescio, this brief, if deliberately paced picture, features far more silence than words: Dialogue is doled out “as needed” while those silences, which simmer with loaded looks and pointed observations, speak volumes.