Mike Scott

Half-written, halfhearted and half-witted, it is characterized by the film’s marketing team as an homage to the best of 1980s cinema. Instead, it plays like an empty-calorie parody of the worst of the era, a rudderless cinematic pastiche that passes off random 1980s references as punchlines and which — in spite of its “Frankenstein” concept — never quite comes alive.

In Quiz Lady, the sum total is a heartfelt but uneven shrug that probably should have been better than it is.

As telegraphed by that inexplicably vanilla title, Domont’s film spends much of the previous two hours vacillating between unembraceable and downright boring.

What we’re left with is a well-crafted genre thriller that is ultimately tripped up by its art house aspirations.

While Nattiv’s film is a heartfelt tribute, it feels like a mere Polaroid snapshot of a woman who deserves a full panoramic portrait.

It has its scares — but it all also feels exceedingly familiar, right up to the obligatory set-up for what the studio clearly hopes will be a sequel.

In short, this version of Barrie’s classic tale — which is all about the joy of childhood and the pitfalls of adulthood — feels awfully grown up at times.

Tempting though it might be, it’s not fair to say Ritchie’s film gets lost in translation. But by the same token, when it’s all over, it doesn’t quite feel as if it has entirely lived up to its covenant with audiences.

An oddly inert and even old-fashioned yarn, one that sleepwalks for long stretches, defusing much of the drama of what is an undeniably fascinating true-crime story.

Jordan manages to squeeze a decent amount of drama from the obligatory third-act showdown, but even then, his reach exceeds his grasp, with a display of misplaced arthouse ambition.

The result is an exhausting and ungainly mish-mash of a movie that pretends to have something to say but doesn’t really. Similarly, it doesn’t know what it wants to be or — consequently — who its audience is.

To be fair, del Toro’s “Pinocchio” does, indeed, get a lot of things right. It’s got a nice sense of humor, for example. It is ambitious. It has heart. Where it falters, however, is in its near-total absence of charm.

it plays more like a drama kid’s fever dream. Overly self-aware, unfailingly melodramatic and very, very pleased with itself, it’s not half as clever — or a third as entertaining — as it seems to think it is.

If your definition of a good story is one that keeps you on the hook, wondering where the heck this particular journey will take you, then French Exit certainly qualifies.

If nothing else, Cherry proves Holland has a lot more to give us when his web-slinging days are over.

If there’s a knock on the first Coming to America, it’s that its two-hour running time often felt a touch padded. But that’s better than the entirely forgettable Coming 2 America, which is pretty much all padding.

Raya isn’t without its formulaic plot points, predictable turns or lazy dialogue. Still, on the whole, it’s a reasonably diverting family-friendly showcase for Disney’s characteristic blend of humor, heart and artistry.

Palmer is a tiny film, but it’s got a big heart, and that helps make it a pleasant and uplifting diversion at a time when many of us could use one.

It’s a movie with the sort of resonance, thoughtfulness and universality that audiences of all descriptions will enjoy — and, more importantly, connect with.

There’s more than enough deranged originality there — and Christmas spirit, when all is said and done — that it gets the job done, in a cheap thrills, guilty pleasure kind of way.

Frustratingly, whenever it begins to get going and pulses begin pounding, Harper brings things to a screeching halt by introducing flashback sequences to tell us the backstory of Jones’ invented character.

It does enough things right, and generates enough powerful moments, to make it an effective social-justice drama.

A freshly drawn slice-of-life drama inspired by Perrier’s own real-life experiences as an online “cam girl,” it deals with decidedly uncomfortable subject matter — the introduction of a 19-year-old young woman into sex work — but it doesn’t approach any of it with judgment or shame.

An admirably full portrait of a film that reflects, with thrilling discomfort, the darker recesses of our minds.

As pleasant as the Downton Abbey movie is, it’s hard not to wish for something more substantive, more memorable.

Don't get me wrong: Gyllenhaal is a great actor, one who exhibits a rare blend of strength and pathos. But not even he can elevate that kind of lazy writing.

An amusingly meta B-movie send-up that -- largely thanks to its deadpan sensibilities -- manages to offer an entertaining riff on the zombie comedy, even if it doesn't particularly contribute anything ground-breaking to it.

Yes, it's flashy. But it's not flashy enough. It's got its moments of humor, but it's not funny enough. And it flirts with cleverness, but -- you guessed it -- it's nowhere close to being clever enough.