Matt Fagerholm

There are no thrills in this western yarn, just a mounting series of tragedies that are by turns frustrating and numbing.

Many of the film's backdrops are admittedly breathtaking, yet the foregrounded people never seem to be actually populating them. The character animation is so flat and uninspired that it causes Dilili and her fellow humans to resemble stickers grafted onto postcards, with the subtle use of shadows and reflections doing little to add dimension.

What Hammond and Markiewicz are most gifted at is cinematography. I’d gladly watch this film’s entire B-roll again just to bask in the gorgeous Mexican landscapes and vivid snapshots of the cities, outdoor markets and parking lots where various matches occur.

The irony is that as Gallner’s performance gets stronger, the film around him grows weaker.

Landsman’s film is enraging for all the right reasons, and more than a few wrong ones as well. It comes off as more of a puff piece than an exposé.

These behind-the-scenes factoids are the most interesting aspects of the film — and, regrettably, the only interesting aspects, as well.

Fallen fuses its one good idea with countless bad ones generated not from life experience but from recycled formulas.

By the time Margo finally announces that she’s ready to leave, I was eager to gather my things and join her in escaping this would-be comedy.

Endgame tries to be about many important issues, and ends up doing none of them justice.

Had the filmmakers put forth the effort to view the story through Jamal’s eyes, they may have had a worthy cinematic counterpart to their noble off-camera achievements.

Its star, Jeremy Irons, certainly appears to be relishing his role as an unapologetically bad-mannered actor, savoring each profane syllable of his dialogue like a fine wine.

I came to McGuckian’s film knowing nothing about Gray and left feeling frustrated that I hadn’t learned more about her, apart from the boorish chauvinists in her life.

Perhaps die-hard fashionistas would find this reasonably diverting, but to everyone else, it is guaranteed to grow tiresome very quickly.

A better title would’ve likely been “121 Minutes in Purgatory,” since that’s essentially where audiences will find themselves residing during the entirety of this dreary slog down a familiar road paved with painfully good intentions.

I fully endorse the message blatantly expressed by Beemer’s picture, but as a work of cinema, it drove me nuts in how its style was antithetical to the principles its numerous subjects were championing.

It’s not a film so much as a lecture punctuated by a patronizing moral, and more importantly, it’s not much fun.

Though the picture is admirable on a conceptual level, its execution is incoherent, interminable and a colossal strain on the eyes.

It may not be as brazenly offensive as “God’s Not Dead” or as spectacularly inept as “Kirk Cameron’s Saving Christmas,” but it’s still awful, offering all the forced humor and superficial substance of a half-baked homily.

This movie is, in essence, a product of fame and money without the slightest tangible shred of effort.

Elizabeth Allen’s generically titled thriller, Careful What You Wish For, plays like a painfully stilted high school production of “Fatal Attraction.”