Glenn Heath Jr.

Coming 2 America takes too long a road to get to a simplistic lesson: be kind to the person who threatens you the most and everything will work out. Only in Hollywoodland (and their version of Zamunda) does this feel remotely possible.

Daylight reaches an apex of terror that it never quite tops.

The film's interest in social themes remains background fodder within a far more generic good-versus-evil narrative.

Never distinguishes itself as engaging cinema apart from the main character's vile charisma and a few dynamic dialogue sequences.

The film's first act is wholly concerned with the juxtaposition of physical similarities and ideological opposites, and Tamahori spends entire sequences upending the balance between the two.

If Barkin and Grondin create a swamp's worth of deceptive intricacies in their moments together, the rest of the cast is regulated to expository mop-up duty.

Maybe the most surprising thing about Godzilla vs. Kong is Wingard’s uninspired directorial choices.

Nina Rosenblum's love letter never attains that essence of ambiguity that makes the best nonfiction films live on after the credits fade.

While Reversion sets up a complex communication platform for a universe being slowly ripped apart, it doesn't know how to relate this idea in human terms.

Unfortunately, like so many women have prophesized regarding the weaker gender's lack of commitment, there's just not enough follow through.

The bloat and heft of Marley's narrative scope leaves the viewer awash in a sea of historical "facts" with very little sense of the human experience behind the curtain of celebrity.

The film ultimately fails to treat history as anything but a string of melodramatic reference points for moody characters haplessly trying to find love.

Animation, motion graphics, and slow motion all pop up at some point, further splintering Sidewalls into a pandering pastiche of better films.

Exquisite looking but substantially hollow.

The film gives seasoned actors like Foster and Cumberbatch just enough room to flex some scene-chomping muscle, while relegating poor Shailene Woodley to the background in nearly every scene as Hollander’s dopey inexperienced associate. Rahim, on the other hand, knows this is his film even when Macdonald doesn’t. As with his star-making turn in A Prophet, there’s something burning inside that always threatens to boil over.

Can’t decide if it wants to be a countryside farce, magical realist parable, or eccentric romantic comedy. So it tries to be all three at once.

Do we really need another cautionary tale about an ambitious drug dealer dramatically falling from grace?

End of Watch is pure frat-boy fantasy, the video game to Southland's great American novel.

The film grows increasingly tiresome the more it flirts with melodrama, unraveling themes of jealousy, regret, and ambition in broad strokes.

There's absolutely no fresh perspective here; just more juiceless samplings of what's already been cooked to death.

The women of the film certainly deserve better, as they're often relegated to the role of victim, harmed or murdered simply to propel the plot along.

Ruben Fleischer's film is a perfect example of Hollywood hypocrisy, something to be ignored diligently.

There's nothing inherently flawed about this nomadic and potentially life-affirming narrative, but Rosenbaum manages to instill every moment on the road with a sense of shrill conventionality.

Isaac Florentine's film is maligned with gaping plot holes, terrible expository dialogue, and obvious moments of foreshadowing.

Angels Crest opens with the laughter of children at play, but that's the only hint of happiness you'll find in this unflinchingly manipulative and pointless morality play.