Kerry Lengel

The many battle sequences, though carefully detailed, are lacking in energy and originality. There is some ambition here, but the results fall short.

It is intended for an audience that is willing to take a journey without knowing the destination.

Not that inarticulate characters can't be compelling if they are written with subtlety, acted with insight and, most of all, framed by a directorial vision, but Hellion, despite a promising debut from Wiggins, falls short in at least two of the above.

The characters are clichés and the plot is assembly-line predictable.

Representing the 78-year-old writer and director at his perfunctory worst, Magic in the Moonlight is an unfunny, unromantic comedy.

As cultural criticism, this commentary on life in the age of TMZ and the "Real Housewives" is hardly insightful, but it is executed to dizzying, Fellini-esque perfection, a miniature masterpiece amidst more modest amusements.

Unfortunately, while the swami taught his disciples to explore the depths of their very souls, the film barely scratches the surface of his life and teachings.

OK, maybe they cut a couple seconds out of that scene where Deadpool gets ripped in half, but the movie's sardonically gruesome sensibility remains intact.

An ever-changing obstacle course does sustain its own kind of tension, but it’s not like there’s a real puzzle to solve, nor any arc to the plot. The movie is just a succession of scary stuff happening, haunted-ride-style.

Ma is one loony little horror film, and Octavia Spencer has a grand old time being the craziest thing in it.

The best thing about the film is neither the top-notch CGI nor the shallow moral lessons but the performance of Will Poulter ("Son of Rambow") as Lucy and Edmund's insufferable cousin Eustace Scrubb.

It's an engaging, accessible documentary that explores the (truly) eternal questions, "Does hell exist? If so, who ends up there, and why?"

Kartheiser brings some zip and smarm to the proceedings as the villain with a million years in his vault, but it's not nearly enough to make In Time worth your time. Or your money.

For an R-rated romance about a young writer's affair with a sultry French siren, 5 to 7 generates all the heat of an Easy-Bake Oven. It aims to sizzle but quickly fizzles.

Insidious: Chapter 3 is almost more a spoof of a classic like "The Exorcist" than it is an homage. It's not scary horror, it's silly horror, and the audience is in on the joke.

Despite his roots as an over-the-top stand-up comedian, Williams long ago proved himself to be one of those rare actors who can truly inhabit a role, and “Boulevard” is no exception. But that’s not always enough to keep the viewer’s eyes glued to the screen.

Under the perfectly paced direction of Ry Russo-Young (“Before I Fall”), Shahidi and Melton develop an easy chemistry on the way toward a satisfying denouement that’s neither tear-jerking tragedy nor fairy-tale wish fulfillment.

Arlo & Julie is a comedy, a mystery and a romance rolled together, yet it barely adds up to one movie.

It never feels contrived, never panders to our illusions. When the ending comes, it is neither expected nor a twist. It’s just what happens.

By the time the film reaches its implausible climax, it is far too late to rescue the story from the limbo that lies between ugly history and slick entertainment.

While it is a perfectly serviceable placeholder in the larger series, its contributions to the Potterverse are disappointingly minor.

Beautiful Creatures rises above the rabble thanks to an eminently watchable cast and a sharp screenplay by writer-director Richard LaGravenese.

Muscled and ruggedly un-manscaped, Stapleton is an intimidating presence based on physicality alone, but the actor ratchets up the menace factor with a gripping portrayal of a man driven by emotions more complex than mere anger.

Even though Trial by Fire is less than a masterpiece, it still came as a gut punch that forced me to examine my own complicated feelings on the issue. In short, it taught me something, and that was a surprise.

Character development, dramatic tension and emotional resonance all get short shrift in the checklist exposition by writer-director Gavin Hood.

In the movie version at least, efforts to render the hero larger than life result in a story that is less than convincing.

It's a style of storytelling that leaves the audience guessing, but it also gives the actors room to breathe, to inhabit their characters without having to explain them away in terms of biography or pop psychology.

You'd expect the sequel to be an improvement based on production values alone, and you would be right, but not by much.

The plot is ingeniously engineered, but the narrative is like a low-res image. It gets the idea across, but without the kind of details that make it memorable.

If it doesn’t have the family drama of “Walk the Line” or the psychodrama of “The Doors,” Bohemian Rhapsody does deliver what any music biopic must: convincing characters and some kick-butt simulated concert experiences.

Despite the silly-sounding premise, it's a wistful, bittersweet meditation on aging and death.

Surprisingly, the movie doesn’t bear much of the stylistic stamp we’ve come to expect of Lee, who’s in his generic journeyman mode here. But aside from a satisfyingly clever new direction in the denouement, what distinguishes the remake from the original is its cartoonishness.

At least it could have been fun-bad, not just boring-bad.

The narrative feels undercooked, its life lessons just a bit too glib.

Journalists deserve to be heralded — just not in this holier-than-thou cinematic cri de coeur. So, on behalf of journalists everywhere, I have to tell Mr. Reiner thanks, but no thanks.

Freeman is back in Reiner's latest, The Magic of Belle Isle, which has all the pathos and saccharine of "The Bucket List" but little of the humor. It's earnest, predictable and disposable.

Unlike, say, Val Kilmer's Jim Morrison in "The Doors," Thomas makes no attempt to create a convincing facsimile of Hank Williams, which is just as well, since he bears little resemblance to the sinewy singer.

Offers valuable historical, social and political context, particularly if you aren't an international-news junkie.

If it weren’t for his voice, Kutcher would have been the ideal choice to star in Jobs, a well-meant but ultimately unsurprising biopic.

Among the many historical documentaries on Israel there are to choose from, this one is tantamount to two hours of footnotes.

Screenwriter Jon Vitti and first-time directors Fergal Reilly and Clay Kaytis certainly give it a try, but their bag of tricks is mostly recycled and their sense of humor is aimed squarely at 12-year-old boys.

The final resolution of the plot is actually rather intriguing, but the journey to it is so slow and predictable that most moviegoers will have long since lost interest.

With “Maleficent’s” feminist message suffering a relapse, the sequel looks more like generic film fantasy than a fresh take on an old story. The cuddly creatures and razzle-dazzle action are enough to make two hours disappear, but it’s only Jolie’s bat-winged charisma that will rattle on in your memory.

Inevitably, embroidering upon a fairly simple idea saps some of its impact, and Glass ends up tipping more toward the self-conscious genre-riffing that “Unbreakable” offers an antidote for.

Not that there’s anything wrong with raunch. But in the Judd Apatow era of raunch-coms, Anders’ version is pretty weak tea.

Under the Electric Sky is a bedazzled (if not quite dazzling) 3D documentary.

Yes, The Family has skills. They’re like “The Incredibles” — except they’re heroes for sadists and sociopaths only.

While Below Her Mouth is no doubt some classy-looking porn, it’s a pretty lousy movie, because all that sex leaves precious little time to develop character, plot or thematic depth.

The Purge is one of those unimaginative horror flicks that depend on skreeky music and sudden appearances to startle, but never actually frighten, the audience. The characters are undeveloped, the twists clumsily telegraphed and unsurprising.

Kidman and Firth both deliver compelling performances, although this kind of plot-driven fare is no real challenge to their considerable acting talents.

In the end, this may be a case of a pop-culture icon being dragged down by the weight of trying remain relevant past its prime. It’s not woke, but you can’t call it racist. Maybe racist-ish. Misogynistic-ish. Entertaining-ish.

Fans of fancy period costumes and supernatural effects both get plenty to gawk at, but the story offers no real surprises, and that includes the big plot twist.

Sarah Burns steals scenes as a seemingly prim social worker, and Melissa McCarthy (Sookie on "The Gilmore Girls") does the same as a pushy neighbor. The supporting cast serves up enough small moments of surprise to keep this formula flick from falling flat.

This well-intentioned buddy-road-trip flick lacks the danger, the drama and the sex appeal that most moviegoers will be looking for.

It’s formulaic. It’s predictable.

It’s an enjoyable ride, but probably not one you need to take twice.

Genisys is more entertaining than the last two installments, although it's not nearly as good as the first two.

There's a great film hiding somewhere in the wreckage of "Love Ranch."

It’s not that overwrought violence and human depravity are unfit grist for art, but without a compelling plot and a modicum of character development, all this film has to offer is a repugnant prurience and heavy-handed atmospherics.

Will anyone really believe in this GQ-perfect big man on campus who lacks the courage to ask her out on a date?

It’s a maudlin, meandering bit of moviemaking that sheds little light on the loyal opposition in the North.

Annie has never been the most sophisticated of children's stories. The latest version is formulaic and predictable, but it has its charms, not the least of which is Wallis' easy smile and sassy screen presence.

It aims to match the mythic gravitas of “The Lord of the Rings” — even throwing in a nod to the Book of Exodus for good measure — and the results fall paint-by-numbers flat.

I guess I was charmed in spite of myself. I’m reminded of a quote from Alexander Pope I had to memorize as a kid, which gave me fair warning about the likes of Andrew Lloyd Webber and “Cats”: “Vice is a monster of so frightful mien / as to be hated needs but to be seen; / Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, / We first endure, then pity, then embrace.” Did I tear up a little? Maybe. Do I ever need to see “Cats” again? Nah, I’m good.

May walk like a comedy and quack like a comedy, but despite the absurd extremes to which it takes the squabbling-family formula, it inspires nary a chuckle.

Like nine out of 10 faith-based films, it lets the message crowd out the other elements of good art: character development, thematic complexity, even basics such as a compelling conflict.

Seventh Son is recommended only for the most far-gone of fantasy addicts, for whom it will serve as a sort of methadone. It won't exactly satisfy, but it will tide you over until the next season of "Game of Thrones."

It’s cute and entertaining, in a Saturday morning cartoon kind of way, but this one is just for the kiddies.

I can give the filmmakers — director Dito Montiel and screenwriter Adam G. Simon — the benefit of the doubt on good intentions, but their approach doesn’t tug at the heartstrings so much as it pistol-whips the audience with its grandiose and (ineptly) manipulative storytelling.

A Madea Christmas, for all its narrative shortcomings, also has plenty of laughs.

The sequel's target audience may be too young to realize that the best punch lines are long past their expiration date, but at least they're learning the idea of the catchphrase. They can hear the exclamation points.

The Cobbler definitely won't please the audience for Sandler's mainstream blockbusters, and it's unlikely to win him new fans among the indie intelligentsia, either.

It is the cinematic equivalent of a greeting card: Both the sentiment and the laughs are plentiful, cheap and forgettable.

At once hopeful and melancholy, it won't necessarily leave you with deep thoughts to think, but rather a feeling that you can't quite name but sticks in your head like a wistful tune in a minor key.