Martin Tsai

Since the rally ultimately proved ineffectual, the film could at the least serve as a sobering postmortem on where it fell short. But filmmaker Amir Amirani instead gives protesters a figurative pat on the back by insinuating that they helped inspire the Egyptian revolution some eight years later.

There's no characterization to the cartel members beyond freeze-frame title cards; they are interchangeable and expendable.

The personality flaws of the characters and the dysfunctions of the household are instantly recognizable from this very capable cast, yet they never come off as cliché.

The slow-motion close-ups alone should convince you these magnificent creatures are well worth the effort.

Writer-director Diane Bell suggests that these women are so steeped in low self-esteem and codependency that they would not be able to leave their men if they didn't have each other.

Who knew a movie seemingly meant to spread holiday cheer could be so off-putting in an almost sadistic way?

Demski and director Chris Kasick wrap up the story neatly — in both senses of that word — by suggesting that we can all feel better at somebody else's expense.

The cast and crew work like a well-oiled machine, delivering the quality drama we've come to expect from British TV imports.

Although the film qualifies as an advocacy documentary, director Fredrik Gertten has put in the time to capture how these cities' unique scenarios unfold to mount a compelling case against the powerful automotive, oil and construction lobbies.

Through a first-person narration, Bialis makes much of the film about herself. Her account certainly turns the daily travails of living in Sderot into something tangible for viewers. But at the same time, her life-experience narrative proves a distraction and a disservice to the promise of the film's title.

With the mixing of the sprawling family tree with geopolitical imbroglios already proving daunting for viewers, the filmmaker exacerbates the confusion by eschewing a linear chronology.

Director Bernardo Ruiz never manages to weave the multiple narratives into a complex but cohesive big picture.

Writer-director Jonas Carpignano glosses over much of the sociopolitical context in his depictions of the chain of events.

There's no shortage of political intrigue even with the outcome a foregone conclusion.

The documentary, far from a glorified making-of featurette, is fittingly cinematic, with spectacularly wide establishing shots and studio-portrait-like testimonials.

Writer-director Claudia Sparrow prefers to pay more mind to the abstract.

The film, unfortunately, treats the important and complex subject of post-traumatic stress disorder in an oversimplified and reductive way.

Sands' scripted narration sounds detached and dissociated from the grief, frustration and anger he sporadically displays.

Koutras admirably resists easy wish fulfillment by making the brothers' journey more important than their destination, but the scenario he presents inexplicably turns out to be fantasy.

This cautionary tale couldn't be more timely or essential.

Since his due-diligence efforts were rebuffed by the American Dental Assn. and the Food and Drug Administration in their declining of interview requests, director Randall Moore doubles down on the already ex parte narrative with heavy-handed editorializing.

It's tough to stomach in more ways than one.... A capricious, counterintuitive narrative also renders the film nearly unwatchable.

Seemingly meant for the stage, the film feels unnaturally theatrical with characters stiltedly reciting each line of dialogue even when supposedly conversing. But with Mahoney's pedestrian, shot-reverse-shot direction, these scenes play out like situational skits from an instructional video made for ESL students.

His runners' successes speak volumes, but the film never ventures outside of his inner circle to gain more perspective.

The Creeping Garden cultivates more style than substance.

While the gangsta lyrics and posturing are laden with cliché, there's still some novelty in sustaining a rap narration for nearly two hours. But whenever the music stops, the film can never stay in the game by landing on a figurative chair.

The pedestrian writing and acting prove even more cringe-worthy and dreadful than the special effects.

The Tainted Veil resists taking a stance, and both sides of the argument are compelling and persuasive.