Marc Mohan

Wiig, following the big-screen breakthrough of "Bridesmaids," has dipped her toes into dramatic waters, but for Hader, The Skeleton Twins is a revelation.

The movie is well-crafted and finely acted (including by the non-actors László and András Gyémánt as the creepy, affectless twins), but it never comes up with a new way to communicate its sadly familiar themes.

Fonda gets some of the movie's best moments as the sexually frank, silicone-enhanced mom who got rich off a best-selling memoir that exposed her children's intimate habits.

The actual video footage of some of the incidents recreated in the film, which play with the end credits, makes it clear that sometimes reality can be as hokey as fiction.

The resulting documentary is a fascinating meditation on the different ways nature can be experienced, as well as a fatalistic take on the process of our planet's seemingly inevitable change in climate.

The period details are unconvincing, the cinematography is flat, and the performances are surprisingly one note considering the talent involved.

Everyone on screen looks like they'd rather be anywhere else than under the control of novice director Dustin Marcellino, whose first (and hopefully last) feature this is.

It's not a five star film, but it's no Motel 6 either.

As is, it's a pleasant but unremarkable retelling of a story as old as the Dead Sea itself.

A second helping of a satisfying dish.

Makes good, unobtrusive use of its European locations, and has a couple of well-orchestrated urban chase scenes. But, even in these days of renewed U.S.-Russian tensions, its Cold War demeanor feels anachronistic, and its simple cynicism comes off as recycled and cheap.

Israeli director Ari Forman, whose 2009 "Waltz with Bashir" earned a Best Foreign Film Oscar nomination, is a master at exploiting diverse animated styles, and draws a brave starring performance from a performer who, in her mid-40s, seems to be just hitting her stride.

The movie's biggest flaw, from a local perspective, is its unconvincing use of Vancouver, B.C., to represent Portland, Oregon.

William Shatner, it must be said, comes off as an insufferable, pompous jerk. Maybe he's jealous. After all, at age 75, Takei is an openly gay Asian American with an overwhelming social media fan base, making him the one who has really gone where no man has gone before.

First-time director Jeff Baena struggles with framing, editing, tone and casting, leading to an unimpressive entry in the ever-burgeoning zombie comedy genre.

Katz, who has been saddled with the deadly label "mumblecore" in the past, and Stephens ("Pilgrim Song") combine sensibilities of dry wit and warm earnestness in precise proportions. It's also further proof, if it were needed, that smart, funny, entertaining films are always around, even in the dog days of summer. You just have to know where to look.

The actions of both these vilified parties are so seemingly irrational that you're left feeling there must be some explanation, one that director Todd Douglas Miller either couldn't or wouldn't ferret out.

He's an engaging, profane interview subject, and a complex guy, self-described as both a "pervert" and a "romantic," sexually omnivorous, a Goldwater Republican before being drafted and sent to Vietnam, a McCarthyite peacenik afterward.

Tries to pretend that its premise isn't timeworn, and thanks to charming lead performances, it almost succeeds. But not quite.

A good test of a movie like this is whether it would be more or less stimulating to hang out with people you really know for 82 minutes. If Happy Christmas is the time better spent, it might be time to find a new crowd.

If the film had been trimmed to 45 minutes of crazed storm-chasing and storm-fleeing, it might've been worth a matinee ticket. But as is, it's the sort of lazy late-summer idiocy you'd be wise to huddle beneath an overpass to avoid.

Canadian director Richie Mehta ("Amal") based Siddharth on his own random encounter with a father searching for his missing son, and the film never feels less than utterly real in its depiction of both everyday Indian life and the hopelessness that comes so naturally in this sort of tragic situation.

Stage magicians often depend on sleight of hand to succeed at their art, but Woody Allen's new movie, Magic in the Moonlight, is just plain slight.

A perfectly irreverent counterpoint to movies that take their superheroes a bit too seriously.

Eventually the chemistry between Collette and Church wins out, and Lucky Them makes for a diverting, if forgettable, romantic comedy.

Thought-provoking, making this a solid date movie science geeks and philosophy freaks alike.

What Johansson does in Lucy won't win her any prizes, but it establishes her ability to carry a movie that has some ideas, however half-baked, and has nothing to do with her obvious sex appeal.

As usual in Le Carre's world (and the real one), a measured, rational approach faces an uphill battle against the philistines who really run the show. That predictably weary attitude is both the best — as embodied in Hoffman's performance — and worst — in its weary predictability — things about A Most Wanted Man.