John P. McCarthy

Gingerly pieced together, The Woman with the 5 Elephants has a delicacy and indirectness that's alluring and provocative at the same time.

Trapped inside the German film Vincent Wants to Sea there's an affecting father-son drama, an amusing road movie, a quirky romantic comedy and a non-patronizing take on mental illness. What we actually get - a homogenized movie-of-the-week set against the Alps and punctuated by anodyne English-language pop songs - brought out the cynic in me.

All you need to know about this low-budget farce is that Amy Sedaris costars (yippee!) and New York pol Anthony Weiner would feel right at home with the sexting subplot (eeeuw!).

The equally simple and profound take-away from One Lucky Elephant is that the best thing we can do is let Flora be Flora.

This ho-hum offshoot of Megan McDonald's book series earns negative "thrill points" as it chronicles the mirthless backyard shenanigans of a suburban Pippi Longstocking.

Mr. Nice is hampered by tonal timidity and the inability to find a sufficiently entertaining through-line in Marks' life story.

The price for an invite to Stu's (Ed Helms) Thai nuptials is fewer laughs and an air of menace and mystery that won't endear Part II to escapist-hungry audiences.

A conventional portrait of an endearingly unconventional sister act-with roots in music halls and the dairy farm on which they were raised (and became expert yodelers)-The Topp Twins is a piece of hagiography.

Even given narrative license, South African-born screenwriter Ann Peacock has trouble cobbling together a truly compelling plot that deals with Kenyan history, including tribalism, in a detailed way.

It's difficult to imagine a more fascinating case of sociopathic, obsessive-compulsive behavior, or a more disciplined, engrossing study of it. And yet a vital ingredient is missing.

With his (Herzog) idiosyncratic blend of serendipity, bluntness and mischievous irony, he's able to get at deep questions like no other documentarian.

It's easy to get depressed by much of the behavior depicted in Phillip the Fossil, yet the talents behind the picture are a cause for optimism. The last thing they appear to be is hypocritical.

The barely coherent Footprints seems bent on erasing any nostalgia one might have for Hollywood's heyday.

The bright spot-and what saves Greenspan's debut feature from being nothing more than a long tedious draft of an ordinary craft brew-is James Liston's cinematography.

Has a stirring elemental feel and constitutes filmmaking at its most basic and transfixing.

Cary Joji Fukunaga's romantic thriller Jane Eyre is to 19th-century literature what "Black Swan" is to ballet: a thoroughly cinematic, occasionally exhilarating reimagining of a repertoire standard.

Starved of humor and energy, the interminable Big Mommas: Life Father, Like Son could force Lawrence and co-star Brandon T. Jackson undercover for real.

A superficially provocative movie that tries way too hard to be memorable. Horror aficionados will be tantalized before walking away unsatisfied.

Carancho's noir vibe stems from the scenario itself, plus claustrophobic cinematography and art direction.

What's most memorable about this plodding thriller are the copious amounts of foundation and lip gloss.

The profundity to tedium ratio is around 1 to 3. Not bad for a micro-release slated to screen seven times in a museum (NY's Rubin Museum of Art) but it's a film more interesting in theory than reality.

Not quite the yuk-fest one was hoping for or as perversely alienating as "Observe and Report," Due Date shares the schizophrenic quality, though not the numbing length, of another Seth Rogen movie, "Funny People."

Compact if not cohesive, this is an Age of Aquarius-meets-"Mamma Mia"! distillation of The Tempest.

It has sufficient flavor to perform relatively well in markets with significant South Asian populations or amongst serious foodies who'll flock to anything remotely germane to their passion.

The absorbingly bittersweet result ranks as one of the best non-fiction films of the year.

Although its claims about Hildegard's modernity and relevancy should be taken with a grain of salt, one readily imagines Vision attracting a cross-section of the curious, not limited to feminist cinephiles and true believers.

Serves as both a sequel and a prequel, and the team Oren Peli has assembled deserves credit for beefing up and rounding out his original narrative without letting it mutate into something unrecognizable.

Kalamity is a real klunker.

With a premise better suited to comedy than drama, The Freebie is more somber and less stimulating than expected.

An entomologist's delight, Jessica Oreck's movie about Japan's insect mania is worth watching even if you're repulsed by creepy-crawlers.

As flat as the Carolina coastal region in which it’s set, Dear John features two gorgeous young actors playing denuded characters in search of more narrative garb.

The Father of My Children is a protean charmer just like Grégoire Canvel, the title character modeled on the late Humbert Balsan.

The romantic drama earns solid marks for atmosphere, moving shots of post-Katrina New Orleans and acting.

Further exploration of this psychological question might have made for a more substantial, less enervating artfilm. One less liable to be experienced as an approximation of cinematic waterboarding.

A beguiling cross between fiction and non-fiction, Alamar regards the relationship three Mexican males have with the sea.

How often can you see Cheech Marin nailed to a cross or Lindsay Lohan in a threesome with Trejo and the actress playing her mother?

Leon Gast's profile of the photographer is not devoid of entertainment value or unhelpful in understanding the history of photojournalism, however, the movie is as ephemeral as one of Galella's snapshots of a coked out, B-list celeb exiting Studio 54 circa 1975.

While in many respects Spoken Word is adequately specific, it's still not very deep.

Ultimately rather opaque. It lacks sufficient emotional and psychological clarity to cut through our disaster fatigue.

Warm, broad and uneven, City Island almost thrives in the lite entertainment zone where ethnic family dramedy meets mildly raucous farce.

Tirador ’s frenetic style and locale will remind many viewers of Fernando Meirelles’ much-admired City of God.

Mercy can be described as a moody picture that traffics in variations of only one mood or sentiment: self-pity.

There are a sufficient number of jolts thanks to quick edits and sound effects, plus the script's efficient structure.

After this bomb, Katherine Heigl and Ashton Kutcher may qualify as two of the most attractive and prematurely washed-up screen actors Hollywood has ever produced.

What transpires gives fresh meaning to ‘sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll.'

Most of its truth (and any irony) is undercut by director Vikram Jayanti's fawning approach.

Best Worst Movie is a must-see for students of film criticism and the philosophy of art.

Listen closely, however, and amidst the zingers and world-weary chatter, Chekhov's generous humanism comes through loud and clear.

The overarching lesson is twofold: environmental issues are never as simple or as cut-and-dried as we would like, and the first order of business is to get the science right.

The compellingly awful thriller, In My Sleep--in which Melrose Place meets imitation Hitchcock--is so unselfconsciously derivative that you have to admire it…or, if you don’t admire the movie itself, than admire the jejune chutzpah of writer-director-producer Allen Wolf.

There's nothing more irritating than a piece that strains to be kooky and eccentric, yet one reason The Living Wake ultimately gets to you is that O'Connell is not trying too hard.