Mike Scott

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

What he ends up with is a film that boasts undeniably intriguing parts, but that -- unless you've just eaten some magic mushrooms of your own -- just doesn't gel as a whole, unified moviegoing experience.

In the end, Carpenter offers a reasonably nice payoff to this whole misfire.

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.

Local viewers will be tickled by the wealth of New Orleans details in the production. One of the best just might be in the film's music.

Killing of a Sacred Deer -- which most assuredly couldn't have sprung from the mind of any other filmmaker -- will deliver a moviegoing experience that is impossible to forget.

This is a movie to be experienced on a more visceral level. As long as you don't expect anything more, you won't be disappointed.

This is an affecting and emotional drama about the strength of the human spirit.

Michell's is a film with somewhere to go -- and that journey is one well worth taking.

The result is an often-screwball jaunt that isn't without its fun moments.

What we're left with is something sobering but searing, muscular but compassionate.

What you won't find amid the clashing cutlasses and flashing foils, however, is anything resembling a rapier wit.

It's great, gruesome fun, a well-written and fantastically cast romp.

It does double duty, working equally well as a superhero movie and as a teen comedy.

The end result feels like only half a movie. That half -- the technical half, with Wong's stylistic flourishes and the film's lush technical elements -- is a heck of a film. The rest of The Grandmaster, however -- the storytelling -- is anything but grand.

Much of Sweet Virginia suggests a deep Coen brothers influence. But when it is pulled off as well as it is in Sweet Virginia, there's no shame in that.

Witching and Bitching -- though perhaps a bit overlong, and prone to meandering -- is unapologetic about what it is: a crazy, just-for-fun film that revels in its own bad taste.

It is classless, it is tasteless, it is idiotic, it is juvenile and it is something your mother totally wouldn't approve of. But it also is flat-out hilarious, a go-for-broke comedy that not only is the best laugher released so far this summer, but one of the best so far this year.

In addition to being a fast-starting and smartly cast sports drama built around picture-perfect period flourishes, it's also a movie with an undeniably timely message to deliver.

I wouldn't expect many people to remember Cold in July come September, when the movie-award season gets underway. But as a guilty-pleasure May release? You could do far worse.

Niccol and Meyer -- who co-produces this, her first post-"Twilight" film -- choose to trade away any shred of the ripe social subtext that has made other body-snatcher films so rich. In its place: the kind of supernatural, star-crossed romance that generates so much swooning from Team "Twilight."

Only one of a number of recent immigrant tales to hit theaters, but with its blend of sweet humor and topical relevance, it's one of the more compelling -- and surprising -- in some time.

Straight Outta Compton doesn't shy entirely from the uglier side of the N.W.A. story, including the claims that their music and their lifestyles glorified thug life, perpetuated gun violence, advocated drug use and reveled in misogyny. Instead, Gray's film owns it.

Even if its stumbles a bit with its less-than-satisfying conclusion, the blend of humor, horror and grotesque whimsy on display throughout Tale of Tales combine to create what often feels like some sort of grown-up, far darker cousin to "The Princess Bride."

The greatest movies, the ones that stick with us, are those that hold up a mirror to the human condition and reflect something back at us that we too often manage to overlook. Boyhood is one of those movies, and with it Linklater proves he is among the best practitioners of that art.

So while J. Edgar ends up feeling like a mostly complete portrait of the man, and as fascinating a story as it is, it still falls just short of being something entirely memorable.

McGlynn's film clocks in at just a shade under two hours, which normally would be a little long for a documentary. In this case, the length not only is warranted but welcomed.

A beautifully uncomplicated story, really -- about the love between daddies and their little girls.