Marc Mohan

Langella is solid as always, but his haunted, bitter character is pretty two-dimensional, and having to share all his scenes with Bentley doesn’t allow for much interplay.

With barely a hint of trippy visuals, it captures the highs and lows of one mind-expanding surfside day.

As storytelling, it's extremely effective.

The movie's fast pace, and the three gleeful central performances, keep I'm So Excited! mostly painless. But the rest of it has a whiff of the sort of desperation that can make an exclamation point in a title seem like a good idea.

The movie's a solid fish-out-of-water thriller that just happens to be populated by a few folks with adamantium skeletons or poison saliva on their résumés.

Bening and Dillon both play roles they could act in their sleep, though it's still moderately fun to watch them do so.

Co-directors Nat Faxon and Jim Rash, who won an Oscar for writing "The Descendants," are smart enough to mostly stay out the way and let this talented crew bring their script to life.

Idris Elba exudes the requisite militaristic authority as Raleigh's commanding officer, and Rinko Kikuchi is his determined partner in mecha mayhem.

Miller, who's still trying to find her way as an actress, isn't bad, and the Iranian-born Farahani is convincing, but their characters are blandly angelic, in stark contrast to the vast majority of men they encounter.

20 Feet From Stardom spends time as well with Claudia Lennear, Táta Vega and Lisa Fischer. None of the three ever found much success as a solo artist, but you probably can't listen to a classic-rock radio station for a half-hour without hearing one of them backing up Joe Cocker, David Bowie, Tina Turner or the Rolling Stones.

A Band Called Death is more effective as a chronicle of the intensely close relationship between three musically ambitious brothers than as proto-punk archaeology.

It's just a shame that the search for the missing formula ends up feeling so formulaic.

The ferociously misguided new rendition of The Lone Ranger has no legitimate reason to exist.

The central figure in The Attack is the very picture of a tolerant, integrated future for the Mideast. When a horrific blast kills 17 people and sends dozens of wounded to his hospital, he's elbow-deep trying to save the victims, even the one who refuses help from an Arab.

For most of its running time, How to Make Money Selling Drugs is a cheeky, moderately interesting look behind the curtain of the trade in contraband substances, from the corner dealer to the cartel-topping drug lord.

Disco scholars convincingly analyze lyrics and fashions as presenting bold expressions of sexuality and democratic hedonism, while Kastner doesn't skimp on the vintage clips, which range from unintentionally hilarious to surprisingly impressive.

It's probably not a good idea to examine the political content of a film in which the leader of the free world proves that the pen is mightier than the sword by stabbing someone in the neck with one.

It's a pleasant, engaging version of probably the closest thing to a sitcom the Bard ever penned.

The Bling Ring still feels more like a magazine article overstretched into a feature length film.

World War Z manages to be scary without descending to in-your-face gore -- it wants to frighten its audience, not disgust them.

The East never goes as deep undercover as it should.

Man of Steel has too many characters and too much plot, resulting in a movie that feels overstuffed and overlong.

With less intelligence behind it, this could have easily been one of those films that seem like they were more fun to make than to watch. Instead, it's a thoroughly good time at the movies, from humble beginning to cosmic, surprise-cameo-featuring end.

When a film like Stories We Tell comes along, you're reminded how powerful and universal even the most intimate and individual lives can be when captured with intelligence and perspective.

For most of its running time, it's a riveting rendition of a stranger-than-fiction tale.

The plot is simplicity itself, and Jaden's quirk-free character and bland performance don't add anything. It's actually a little sad that M. Night Shyamalan has descended to this sort of vanity-project work-for-hire, but at least he didn't insist on some absurd twist ending.

Although the filmmakers reportedly worked with David Copperfield and other renowned real-life illusionists and tried to minimize the use of CGI, you're still left wondering how much of the magic is merely the kind Hollywood spits out by the terabyte.

It's visually appealing, but embodies the movie's (and Frances') problem: wanting to be taken seriously without putting in the real work required to prove you're actually serious.