Joe McGovern

Despite the silly and sentimental nature of his dialogue, Bridges, in this wondrous emeritus phase of his career, sells every single line. Well, almost every.

Too much of the plot is spun with vanilla, especially tacked-on scenes of Walls’ starched careerist life in New York City with her Banker Boyfriend (Max Greenfield), presumably to engineer more screen time for the lead actress.

Director Gaby Dellal (On a Clear Day) admirably avoids the trap in which transgender characters are portrayed as victims, but she way overcranks the “movie” neuroses of her three characters, muffling any human spark.

Shirley MacLaine’s well-deserved reputation as a salty, snappy grand dame — forged from later-career work like "Terms of Endearment," "Steel Magnolias," "Postcards from the Edge," "Bernie", etc. — unfortunately precedes her in this sloppy, saccharine drama costarring Amanda Seyfried.

Land of Mine is essentially bomb porn.

The directorial debut of actress Katie Holmes, starring herself as Rita, a drunk single mother living out of her car, is the latest well-intentioned yet lousy-with-clichés treatment in the hard-luck-woman subgenre.

The weirdest and rarest misfire in Lee’s illustrious career.

The movie’s premise has trouble sustaining a feature-length running time, getting mired in repetitive jokes and a third-act swing into harder-core suspense that never really connects.

This arena, unfortunately, is no Thunderdome. The chariot race is sloppily framed, choppily edited, and droopily choreographed, with special effects that look like they needed another few passes through the CGI machine.

Despite fine intentions and four lovely performances from the female leads, Our Little Sister is simply too light to be felt. It floats away in the wind—and the memory — like a paper umbrella.

Ross wants to shake up the format­—notably with a few scenes set 85 years after the war—but like so many directors who have tackled ­historical social issues before him, he confuses noble, cornball sermonizing for art.

A twisted helix of "Memento" and "Munich" without either of those film’s craft, depth, or thematic murkiness.

The visual effects are excellent, but director Roar Uthaug, who’s been tapped to reboot the "Tomb Raider" franchise, splashes in the clichés of big, dumb American action movies.

Once again, the shaky handheld camerawork in the battle scenes don’t portray chaos so much as a sense that the cinematographer was being attacked by desert bees

The movie’s silly-arty aesthetic is regurgitated Polanski, and there’s a shameless script steal from "Presumed Innocent."

The film disappointingly ditches the cartoonist’s modest visual formula for a photorealistic 3-D playground courtesy of the animation studio behind "Ice Age."

The big draw should be 3-D, which enhances the visual intimacy, though only in shooting a male orgasm does Noé go gonzo with the format.

Hugh Jackman gives the movie a bit of twinkle as a pirate who breathes pixie dust to stay fresh and relevant. Maybe the people behind Pan should have snorted some.

It’s a decent critique of romance in the digital age—until you realize how boring it is to watch people break up on Facebook.