Gregory Ellwood

What’s most disturbing is Jackson’s pedestrian direction has resulted in a film that barely recognizes how powerful this is in contemporary society.

For kids, the film is watchable because Black still finds ways to boost the movie with genuine charisma through his vocal talents alone (so much so you wonder why he isn’t working more in live action) and, for adults, something is reassuring in the glorious exasperation that accompanies everyone of Hoffman’s line readings. Still, it all feels a little too by the book.

Fogelman clearly gets a thrill in constructing a tapestry full of one random tragedy after another (seriously, almost nothing good seems to happen to these people long term). And he also appears to love manipulating the audience’s emotions with these subsequent tragedies.

The actors are game, but their connection is more cutesy than romantic.

The result, as hinted earlier, is a high-end B-movie that would have been in heavy rotation on cable television’s TNT or USA Network as a wallpaper movie in the ’00s. And there is something genuinely fun about filmmakers wanting to dip their toes back into those waters. But, for that genre to work, it needs to be less bloated than this and, more importantly, not end by teasing a sequel.

Apologies in advance, but for lack of a better descriptor the whole thing is a mess. It’s not even good enough to be a cult movie which is backhanded compliment anyway. But, hey, at least the actors tried.

Despite a “you can see it coming” final baccarat game in the third act, designed to crowd-please, it all somehow feels flat and generic. And, worse, decidedly not fresh.

Sadly, even with the contributions of four screenwriters and the still underrated talents of Byrne...it simply doesn’t work.

Thankfully, Drucker has enough charisma to hold your attention in even the most mundane moments.

Unfortunately, Southpaw descends into a tedious exercise of formulaic filmmaking that leaves you feeling worse for Gyllenhaal and Whitaker than the characters they play on screen.

There is a sense of exhaustive familiarity that permeates throughout Taylor Hackford’s new dramedy The Comedian.

The only aspect of the film that even makes it watchable ends up being Shannon’s portrayal of Westinghouse.

Despite a few too many storylines and Wilson’s comedic indulgence, the musical numbers are often inspired and pack a punch. Wilson proves she can direct the musical aspect of the movie, at least. And, boy, these Aussie kids, er, legal age twentysomething adults can sing.

All that being said, the songs are impressive enough that it’s not hard to envision “The End” becoming something of a cult musical. Five years from now, maybe less, some excited college freshman is going to convince the head of their college drama department to let them put on a stage version of this musical. And chances are, it will be a smash. This is material that, with some editing of its book (er, script), a spotlight on the songs, and natural physical intimacy, could flourish on the stage.

Along with some truly breathtaking visuals, the pint-size Ochi is the best part of Saxon’s long-in-the-works opus.

It turns out this endeavor is a manic mix of two different movies in one and the second barely redeems it enough to make you stick around for the end credits.

The problem with Dosunmu’s follow-up to the more compelling “Mother Of George” is that there is so little story — and what story there is moves at such a snail’s pace — that all you have to look at are Young’s impressive compositions and then you wait…and then wait some more.

Despite youngster Aksoy-Etaix’s commendable performance, not only will you not believe, you also won’t care.

It may be bloated, but Moonfall always feels like it’s moving at a somewhat brisk pace. And the filmmaker’s greatest talent is collaborating with visual effects teams to craft images that somehow get seared in your brain.

Despite the worthy efforts of stars Tom Hiddleston and Elizabeth Olsen, the Hank Williams biopic I Saw The Light is a shockingly bad movie.

Honestly, you almost wish Singer had the foresight to ensure everyone involved took the proceedings completely seriously. That might have resulted in a camp classic that would be more memorable than this often aimless and thematically thin endeavor.

If there is any saving grace to “Horses,” beyond Luc Montpellier‘s often painterly cinematography and Jeriana San Juan‘s superb costume design, is its commitment to chronicling this era of hidden queer love.

Beyond some obvious pot shots and on-the-nose metaphors, it begins to feel more and more like a missed opportunity than smart satire.

To say Farber’s screenplay is plot-heavy is an understatement.

Mielants and Porter end the film in a manner that is almost offensive to the audience. This isn’t about providing a spotlight for kids with behavioral issues or the professionals who commit their lives to them; it’s melodrama for melodrama’s sake, with an awkward attempt at a “happy ending” that is borderline cringe.

Despite the shootouts, some epic vistas (frankly, not as much as you’d expect), and a few fleeting moments of genuine tension, it all feels flat.

Hou and cinematographer Ping Bin Lee (“Renoir”) produce some stunning images on location (one conversation takes place as a fog beautifully emits from the bottom of a valley), but it’s hard to find a thematic connection between the directing style Hou has chosen and the story.

The result is a melodrama where any sense of tension fades the longer Nina and Tito speak.