Mike Scott

Also helping to sell it all is the fact that these films, goofy though they may be, feature a consistently high level of acting. In addition to Pegg, we get Martin Freeman ("The Hobbit"), Paddy Considine ("Red Riding"), Eddie Marsan ("Sherlock Holmes") and Bill Nighy ("Love Actually"), all of whom have appeared previously in the trilogy.

Niccol's film won't likely achieve the high-flying box-office success of "Top Gun," but it is similar to that 1986 film in that it will likely get people talking after the closing credits roll.

Watching it, one gets the feeling that Coppola knows these vampiric types all too well. What unfolds feels like a cross between "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" and "Natural Born Killers," and a film that is far more disapproving than glamorizing of the go-go-go Los Angeles lifestyle -- but fascinating nonetheless.

Roenning and Sandberg never dig deeply into the real, underlying motivating force behind Heyerdahl's voyage aboard the Kon-Tiki -- the name of his visually unimpressive but ultimately seaworthy raft -- other than relying on the fact that he wanted to prove his theory correct.

This newer installment is every bit its predecessor's match as far as action goes. Where it exceeds it, however, is in the between-the-fights moments.

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.

It is funny at times, it is scary at times, it is downright silly at times, and it is action-packed at times. In its best moments, it's all of those things at once.

They're fascinating characters, to be sure, with back stories ripe for development. But Whedon doesn't commit here, and the results are shrug-worthy.

Granted, Elysium could be more clever as it goes about its business. This is smart sci-fi, but it's not as smart as it could have been -- or as many "District 9" fans were probably hoping it would be.

Oculus is a time bomb of a psychological horror film.

Just as importantly, though, is the tone of Melfi's film...which blends humor and emotion into the proceedings, to heartwarming effect.

The bottom line is that, while Kidnap isn't without its hiccups, it's another fun bit of Berry badassery -- and certainly better than the film's rocky history to this point might suggest.

Unapologetically raw -- and very funny.

It tickles both funnybones and eyeballs.

Consequently, while it's stocked with moments of heartfelt appreciation for the craft, it plays more like a 17th century soap opera than anything else.

Age of Ultron -- for all the eye candy and mindless entertainment it has to offer -- stays safely within the franchise's established parameters. Here, there are no real surprises.

In the final analysis, that's the real endgame here: to get people into theaters and build a film franchise. For all of their film's flaws, Hood and company do that well, as Ender's Game shapes up as a decent franchise starter -- and a film that makes it hard not to be intrigued by what will come next.

Unlike most enforcers in the movies, Jacky isn't just a brainless slab of meat.

We've seen unhinged Nicolas Cage before. For the most part, we like unhinged Nicolas Cage. But in the darkly comic horror satire Mom and Dad, Cage gets the opportunity to take things to a whole new level. Of course, he takes it.

Stand Up Guys becomes something not only enjoyable but memorable and emotionally layered at the same time.

This is a jazz movie, both in style and in substance, and so, rather, his goal is to try to capture the fog-like essence of Miles.

Easily the most enjoyable animated film of 2013 so far.

Granted, it takes a while to get to that point. Nearly an hour, in fact. That's owed to Zvyagintsev's penchant for long, lingering shots, which emphasizes mood over kinetic energy, and which also at times creates a drag on the narrative. That mood, however -- tragic, hopeless, heartbreaking -- is expertly created.

This is a movie purely for grown-ups, with its enjoyment coming not from its explosions or attacking aliens but from spending time with these characters and savoring its optimistic, "never too late for happiness" message.

Tyldum's "Twlight Zone"-tinged action-romance is a mass-appeal crowd-pleaser, the kind of made-for-the-holidays movie that holds a little something for everyone. Even better, being neither a sequel nor a remake, it's got something few sci-fi films do nowadays: originality.

Is all of that to say that Oz the Great and Powerful comes even close to matching the timeless, iconic stature of 1939's "The Wizard of Oz"? No, of course not. That's not just a once-in-a-lifetime cultural phenomenon, but a once-in-many-liftimes one.

You might love it or you might hate it, but you won't soon forget it -- and you won't be able to say you've seen a movie quite like Swiss Army Man before.

Yes, Apatow's film has its peaks and valleys -- just the way life does -- but it stands alone nicely on its own, a satisfying comedic riff on life and all of its absurdities.

As it is, it's little more than an artful rehash -- which means that anyone who wants closure to the story, or to see justice truly served, will have to wait a little longer.

Nicole Kidman as wife Patti (shows nice, subtle touches in her limited time on-screen).

Unlike in some of his other recent films, Shyamalan never overreaches this time. Instead, he keeps things simple and focuses on the story at hand.

A giddy blend of style and attitude that plays like a lightweight cross between a Guy Ritchie and Wes Anderson film.

Even though it's a strictly no-frills, straight-forwardly shot affair, it feels overdue.

Even if Demange has a tendency to go on too long about details that don't really matter to the narrative while shortchanging those that do, he peppers White Boy Rick with enough resonant moments, and flashes of humor, to keep it on the rails, chugging forward to the inevitable train wreck.

Making it even more intriguing is the fact that the whole thing is, extraordinarily, inspired by a true story.

The music, of course, is the engine that makes the whole exercise go, tapping into a genre-spanning collection of tunes, but every bit as important to the film's success is its unexpected humor, which flirts with raunchy but stops juuuust short of crossing any lines that would have earned it an R rating.

There's a chance Black or White just might offend some, but it's more likely to get them thinking and talking. In this day and age, and given recent headlines, it's hard to ask much more from a movie.

The result is an artist profile that doesn't feel like the standard, stuffy artist profile. Instead, Beauty is Embarrassing is an entertaining whimsy that, like White, never takes itself too seriously, doesn't overstay its welcome and never, ever underestimates the value of a chuckle.

Black Sea gets the job done, accomplishing all that it sets out to do -- and better than most January thrillers.

Ends up being foreign but familiar, artful and honest, as well as beautiful and believable.

A well-conceived superhero romp in its own right, and one that stands nicely on its own six legs.

While those flaws might conspire to keep A Fantastic Woman from being unassailably fantastic as a whole, there's no denying that it is fantastically timely, and touching to boot.

A Most Violent Year harks back to the cinema tradition of the 1970s, with its deliberate pace, its simmering tension, its gritty cynicism and its central moral dilemma. At the same time, it has something to say about the way business is done in 2015.

The Birth of a Nation is ultimately involving as a cinematic history lesson. It is its flashes of modern relevance, however, in which it scores most effectively.

What we get is a an intriguing relationship drama, one that is at times darkly funny, at others thought-provoking, but mostly piano-wire tense.

It's interesting to ponder how well Roman J. Israel, Esq. would have worked had Washington passed on the role. Thankfully, we don't have to ponder too long -- because Washington, indeed, took it, and he is terrific.

A solidly intense creepout. Granted, it doesn't do anything to rewrite the horror rulebook in any significant way. This won't be remembered as a horror classic by any stretch. "The Exorcist" it is not.

A rewarding, moving and satisfyingly original film.

Delivers a rare perfect ending to a perfectly likeable trilogy.

Calvary is most assuredly not a comedy. It is a weighty, powerful drama -- albeit one with comic moments -- that dabbles in weighty, powerful themes.

The resulting slowdown, as well as a significant narrative shift, gives Looper a slightly sprawling and ungrounded feel at times, almost as if the first and second halves are two separate movies.

He was a charismatic leader and the greatest salesman the industry ever saw. He also was a very vocal spokesman for the graying counterculture -- crediting his high-tech success to Zen Buddhism, Dylan songs and acid trips.

Can it be considered a comic masterpiece on the same level as "Animal House," that mother of frat-house comedies? Not by a long shot.

Imbued as it is with a sense of discomforting truth, it is a worthwhile examination of human nature -- and one with a message well worth heeding.

Without Hardy, The Drop would be in danger of becoming just another crime drama. With him, though, it's something else entirely -- something alive, tightly wound and irresistible.

It's in the film's Africa-set scenes -- at the film's start and again in its closing 25 minutes or so -- when The Good Lie is at its best. This is where the story is at its most moving and rewarding.

The sum total is no more filling than the popcorn you'll overpay for upon entering the theater. But, like that popcorn, Sing has empty-calorie, crowd-pleasing appeal.

A satisfyingly fresh take on a character we all only thought we knew well.

A low-energy drama, but the kind that has a way of holding your attention -- and keeping you smiling -- for the entire time you're watching it, lifting your mood in the process.

It's also a touch tedious at times, as it's not always clear where Oppenheimer is going.

Gilroy -- who earned writing credits on all four "Bourne" films -- doesn't miss when it comes to the most important task at hand: He takes a well-worn concept and makes it feel new, and without sacrificing its sense of familiarity.

No, it's not a perfect movie, given how dangerously close it comes to running out of quality third-act punchlines before you're liable to have run out of Sno-caps and Raisinettes. Also, some of the biggest names in the supporting cast -- John Lithgow and Dan Aykroyd, specifically -- are all but wasted.

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.

A solidly entertaining and largely engaging film that, even with its faults, functions as a singular -- albeit melancholy -- tribute to a tragic American icon.

Spencer makes sure few people will ever forget Ma. She’s the primary reason this genre exercise works to the extent that it does, taking what easily could have been an early-summer eye-roller and turning into a genuinely enjoyable guilty-pleasure thrill ride.

The surrealist and decidedly bizarre humor of Tim Heidecker and Eric Wareheim is, to put it mildly, an acquired taste -- and there's no guarantee you'll ever actually acquire it.

Wiig is so enjoyable to watch that it rescues Johnson's film. She's the best reason to see it.

Where the original was a goofy, campy bit of stylized storytelling, Lowery's becomes a nicely realized, feel-good love song to fantasy and magic, buoyed by solid, updated visual effects, a strong cast (including two wonderful child actors) and a throwback sense of wide-eyed wonder.

Southpaw has at least one thing its predecessors don't: It's got Jake Gyllenhaal in the lead role, and that makes a big difference.

A sweet, harmless bit of big-screen fluff, and one of the more enjoyable, and cuddly, animated films to hit theaters so far this year.

Guggenheim's film makes it clear that she is funny. She is humble. And, beneath her extraordinary sense of purpose, she is an ordinary kid.

It's a heck of a cast, although the hands-down scene-stealer is John C. Reilly, in a gem of a comic-relief role that, in the interest of remaining spoiler-free, is probably best undescribed here.

As she tells that story, Asante gets a little lost in the weeds here and there in the political machinations, which don't always make for a riveting narrative and tends to slow the film's forward momentum. Even as it does, the love story between Seretse and Ruth serves nicely as the film's foundation.

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

It's also both intense and entertaining enough to leave audiences hungry for the inevitable sequel so clearly set up by its cliffhanger ending.

An imperfectly executed but still perfectly enjoyable film.

It feels very much like part of a big-screen franchise. Couple it with such films as "Donnie Darko" and "Nightcrawler," and you've got a series that collectively could be titled "Inside Jake Gyllenhaal's Head."

Yes, it's a nature documentary, so it includes predatory behavior, but it's mercifully brief and generally tastefully photographed. Plus, it doesn't involve any of the film's main monkeys, so little hearts won't be broken.

Enough Said isn't without the occasional minor formulaic element or the odd narrative contrivance here and there (starting, it must be said, with its very setup). It is, after all, a romantic comedy.

It is a reasonably clever, fairly high-concept 'toon that boasts a satisfying emotional component.

The resulting coming-of-age story isn't necessarily an uplifting one. It is harsh. It is melancholy. It is sometimes uncomfortable to watch and predictable here and there. But it also boasts a feeling of authenticity.

Not only does Franco entertainingly capture all the attendant insanity -- as written about by "The Room" co-star Greg Sestero in the 2013 book on which The Disaster Artist is based -- but he has fun with it. He also, however, takes the opportunity to dig a little deeper and find the humanity at the root of it all.

This is a film your preschooler will sit through, and attentively. Better yet, parents who appreciate the artistry of a well-made animated film also stand to be swept up in what is a delightful little tale.

If nothing else, True Story is the kind of movie that will spark spirited discussion among moviegoers prone to digging and searching for the truth -- whatever that might be.

Fuqua's storytelling here isn't as expert and efficient as McCall is when he's forced into action, but it's good enough. Bottom line: He and The Equalizer 2 still deliver on their promise of a badass Denzel doing badass things for all the right reasons.

Big Eyes is not dissimilar to the Keane paintings at its center. That is, it's by no means flawless, but there's an odd attraction there, something intriguing that draws you in and makes you want to find out if there's anything worthwhile there. You can say what you will about Keane's work, but in the case of Burton's film, these "Eyes" have it.

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.

Most normal people will not see this as a "pleasant" film -- I hope that's the case, anyway -- but it certain makes you feel something.

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

Is Premium Rush a two-wheeled "French Connection"? No, not by a long shot. (Although it does include a racing-beneath-the-el-train homage.) But when it comes to lightweight, synapse-free action fare, Premium Rush delivers.

Far more often than not, Lee's talented ensemble -- who really do look like they're having a blast together -- generate more laugh-out-loud moments than lulls, all of which help make Girls Trip work nicely as a mood-elevating mid-summer diversion.

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

The result is the kind of movie that can be counted on to put a smile on the face of even the casual Beatles fan. In other words: a good laugh.

While it's enjoyable enough to watch, there's no slam-dunk takeaway here.

It's that sort of singular imagery that ultimately rescues Lowery's film. Yes, it's a flawed movie, but it also is a downright lovely one.

Aesthetically, Helgeland's film -- while highly polished -- is straight-forward stuff, hewing so closely to the prescribed genre conventions as to border on unimaginative.

It's a dark, troubled world that O'Brien has created, and one that's not without its occasional predictabilities. (As soon as you see Christopher Lloyd in the cast, you know he'll figure into the plot at some point. And you'd be right.) Still, it's one that -- like "Stranger Things" -- proves hard to resist.

Despite its adoption of that trendy (and more than a little tired) shooting style, there's an old-fashioned charm to Earth to Echo.

Once Learning to Drive gets up to speed it hums along nicely.

Against all odds, Gifted nicely accomplishes what it sets out to do.

Dawson, who to this point has largely built her career playing supporting characters, seizes the opportunity to stand center-stage, all but taking over the film.

It's no "Das Boot," but Battleship is a boatload of popcorny fun.

Concussion is at its best when it's digging into the science of Omalu's work, chronicling his discovery and his subsequent David-vs.-Goliath fight to get people to acknowledge that he was right. Less effective is the portrayal of the personal toll his fight cost him.

Drama is one thing. Resonance is another. Without digging deeply enough, "The Finest Hours" seems content to capture the former while ignoring the latter.

It's an uneven but fairly enjoyable ride, one that benefits from Statham's cool, capable presence.

It keeps you guessing, it keeps the tension ratcheted up, and it offers a dose of breathless -- if sometimes brainless -- suspense.

Few of the characters feel fully fleshed out. McKay's Big Short also lacks a certain nuance in its third act, when McKay's agenda becomes abundantly, ham-handedly clear. Still, it's hard not to be outraged by what is learned.

Flaws aside, the journey will be largely worth it for audiences, particularly for fans of the genre.

12 O'Clock Boys is reminiscent of the Ross brothers' far more lyrically shot 2012 film "Tchoupitoulas," which tagged along with three New Orleans boys for a night of exploration and boundary-testing in the French Quarter. The setting is different in Nathan's film, and Nathan doesn't commit as fully as the Rosses did to visual artistry. But there are thematic similarities, to be sure.

As with everything in which he appears, Schreiber is one of the best things about the movie.

Thanks to Gere -- and occasional flashes of gaudy but well-deployed visual style from Cedar -- those contrivances never threaten to overtake the rest of the film.

So here's what moviegoers can trust from the Russo's Captain America: Winter Solider: They can trust it to be a brisk ride. They can trust it to be entertaining. They can expect it to be suspenseful.

Even when it is at its most esoteric, The Dance of Reality is always brimming with passion and a daring originality. That helps smooth over the flaws, such as its general staginess and his self-indulgent tendencies.

There's a good reason why the true-crime film The Imposter is a documentary: If someone tried to pass off this bizarre Texas tale as fiction, nobody would believe it.

Here's the crazy thing, though. Against all odds, it works.

Does The Wind Rises represent Miyazaki at the top of his game? No, not really. But it could be Miyazaki at the end of the game, and that alone is reason enough to appreciate the film for the things it offers rather than hammer it too hard for the things it lacks.

Another feather in the cap of Saulnier, who -- now with two impressive features under his belt as director -- is emerging to become one of the more intriguing new voices in Hollywood.

That's no small thing: to leave viewers with unanswered questions but still make them satisfied they've gotten a full movie experience. But there it is.

Granted, "intelligent" might be too generous a word to describe Oblivion, which flirts with big questions, but never answers them. What's left is a story that doesn't quite go where no man has gone before.

Even if it doesn't provide all the answers, "The East" asks some pretty darn good questions.

Camp's handsomely shot new Benji manages to find that sweet spot between wholesome and enjoyable. It is cute without seeming desperate, nostalgic without feeling dated, values-based without being preachy, and sweet without being (too) cloying.

Although Epic isn't quite an animated masterpiece -- or as enchanting as the vastly underrated "Guardians" -- it's still a fun, sweet-hearted kid-pleaser that boasts some downright lovely animation.

John Wick: Chapter Two is still an exceedingly dumb guilty-pleasure film, with its high body count, shockingly bloody violence and creative comic-book carnage. But that hotel, known as The Continental, and the structure it provides the film, goes a long way to helping John Wick: Chapter 2 become its own distinct, ultraviolent thing.

As a modest bit of feel-good entertainment, Vaughn and Delivery Man mostly deliver the goods.

What we end up with is a sweet, feminist character study that shows off Weitz's deft hand as a writer while doubling as a perfect showcase for Tomlin.

While Lone Survivor is presented as a piece of hero-focused entertainment, it is a suitably sobering one in the end, and a film that is bound to stick to the ribs of audiences longer than, say, your average Superman movie.

An uplifting and colorful crowd-pleaser, it's built on a wealth of cinematic contrivances -- all designed to make sure things, indeed, turn out all right in the end -- but the result is just too good-natured to begrudge.

The good news: This is Goldthwait the writer-director, not Goldthwait the actor -- so there's no schticky voice to endure. But his exceedingly black comedy does speak loudly -- and it turns out he's actually got something worthwhile to say.

Not, in other words, a happy story. It is not a story of redemption or healing or finding happiness amid the despair. It is about reaping what one sows. But, damn, those performances. Damn, that dialog. Damn, that's good stuff.

Even a flawed Spike Jonze film is a thing of beauty in its own way, and even the uneven but admirable Her is a journey well worth taking.

It's a film that benefits greatly from Clarkson's well-seasoned chops, given that the first act of October Gale -- while illuminating with regard to her character -- boasts precious little dialog.

It all adds up to weave an engaging story, and not just for its wealth of titillations. Many of the sex scenes, in fact, feel more clinical than anything else.

The real point of This is The End, however, is to make people laugh -- and it accomplishes that. Often, in fact -- and satisfyingly.

There are a number of laughs to be had in what ends up being an uneven but surprisingly likeable dose of low-calorie nonsense.

A fast-moving, fascinating and at times even fun documentary residing squarely at the intersection of sports, geopolitics and history.

Few of the film's secondary characters feel fully developed, with the possible exception of Nelsan Ellis' portrayal of Brown sidekick Bobby Byrd.

Foxcatcher isn't a film many viewers will clamor to rewatch. It's too chilly a film for that. At the same time, it's one that will suck them in -- and it will hold them while they're there.

This isn't a movie that pretends to be profound. It's meant purely as B-movie entertainment, and -- also like the "John Wick" films -- it's fully aware of that.

It also includes the elucidating, offering a rare glimpse at the architecture of Spinney's elaborate Big Bird costume.

John C. Reilly provides the voice of Ralph, and he's every bit as good as you'd expect in the role. It's Sarah Silverman, however, as his unlikely sidekick, and rescue subject, whose considerable charm threatens to steal the show.

In other words, Iron Man 3 -- once more delivering a satisfying combination of humor, action and dazzling set pieces -- provides everything fans of the franchise expect.

Still, it's all enjoyable enough, playing out like a cross between "Pride and Prejudice" and "Amistad" -- and a welcome change of pace for those trying to avoid the radioactive spiders and time-traveling mutants that have otherwise invaded the summer movie season.

Granted, it's not a movie that will stick with many viewers for any extended time after the closing credits roll. But, sort of like Pop Rocks and Coke, it's enjoyable while it does its fizzy, burbly thing.

Hitchcock purists will certainly take issue with some details, but Gervasi's film shouldn't be taken as an ironclad factual film docudrama. Rather, it is fact-inspired fiction -- a film based on real events but one that isn't shy about taking creative liberties. As long as viewers keep that in mind, Gervasi's stands to be a nice bit of murderous fun.

Vol. 1 functions reasonably well as a standalone film in its own right, playing out like a dose of mass therapy, an interesting, Von Trier-led sexploration of humankind's conflicted approach to sex: We love it, but we also fear it and are often thoroughly ashamed of it.

This is solidly a genre picture, and one that follows all the necessary conventions -- but it's also one that does it all very well. That means lots of big, dumb and loud action -- but it also means good, popcorny, summer fun.

As far as 'toons go, it's probably most reminiscent of Pixar's "The Incredibles," given that both are stories about superhero teams. There are also echoes of "How to Train Your Dragon" in the flying scenes, featuring little Hiro perched atop Baymax's back. But even then, Big Hero 6 still feels like its own, distinct creature.

Visually stunning.

Vinterberg's Far From the Madding Crowd is a lovely adaptation. What's more, it's downright entertaining.

This is a movie that, to its detriment, takes itself very, very seriously for most of its running time.

The problem is that the film must re-establish a great deal of mythology, much of which is already familiar to most moviegoers. Unfortunately, Webb's film never quite makes usshake the feeling that we've done all this before.

If viewed as a literal narrative, the post-war German drama Phoenix, with its implausibilities and contrivances, works only so well. If viewed as an allegory, on the other hand, it ends up as something else entirely -- something intriguing, complex and altogether moving.

Beneath all that genre eye candy, though, resides a smart and moving story that, after a somewhat slow-moving first hour, builds nicely to become an emotionally engaging drama.

Even when Laggies strains against its contrived conceit, his (Rockwell) chemistry with Knightley goes a long way in classing up the joint and making Shelton's film feel just deep enough to pass muster.

It wasn't until Gibney's film was already largely shot that the truth caught up to Armstrong.

The result is a film that feels breezy at times, but also grounded in a sense of emotional honesty.

Here's a movie that is far from perfect, far from seamless and far from unassailable. But it manages to be a fun diversion anyway -- and one that will likely leave audiences hungry for more.

Not all of the stand-up scenes in Obvious Child are quite as funny. At least one is meant to be bad. Another is meant to be poignant but just ends up coming off as a touch weird and emotionally false.

It's undeniably a B-movie in disguise, leaning heavily on formula and well-established movie tropes to tell a familiar story.

Sometimes the nuts-and-bolts of the story threaten to snag, most often on conversations about the very specific details of Locke's largely humdrum job. It's those moments in particular that keep Locke from ever quite shaking the feeling that it's a gimmick film.

Free Fire frequently becomes a messy blur of ricochets and one-liners. Fortunately, the cast is appealing enough -- and the characters interesting enough -- to use those one-liners to maximum effect, thus holding things together reasonably well.

What the Cairns brothers have created is something rare for a horror film: Not only does it get the job done without making you want to shower after it's all over, but they've created multi-dimensional characters who inhabit a believable and expansive environment. In so doing, they've also created a bloody good bit of twisted fun.

While Infinitely Polar Bear makes an admirable argument that mental illness is something to be managed rather than dreaded like a death sentence, it's hard not to feel as if Forbes' film perhaps paints too rosy of a portrait of what can be a devastating condition to families.

Trumbo isn't monotonous, but it falls short of genius.

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.

It's a difficult watch, with its scenes of robbery, rape, murder and assorted other personal assaults, as well as a downright agonizing portrayal of an abortion procedure. This is not a story of hope or of redemption. It is a story of cruelty and despair.

What Anderson's talky and willfully opaque film doesn't have, however, is an unfailingly compelling story to tell.

It's an uplifting, even enchanting, smile-inducer.

Ends up being the kind of movie we don't see a whole lot anymore: an emotionally grounded and quietly meaningful crowd-pleaser that functions as a lovely antidote to the recently ended summer blockbuster season.

At worst, though, the film's faintly sleazy bait-and-switch tactic robs the film of its biggest asset -- its sense of fun.

While the film is ostensibly about nutria, the real stars are the locals who help tell the story -- and who, by displaying their grit, their smiles, their dialect, their pride -- transform the film as much into a South Louisiana ethnography as an environmental call to arms.

Thanks to Rochefort and Folch, as well as Trueba's delicate direction, it still manages to be an embraceable journey, one with its own quiet -- and artistic -- rewards.

One gets the feeling that Thompson left a lot on the table with The Jeffrey Dahmer Files, that it could have been something more, something bigger, something elaborate. And that may be true. But the film that Thompson did choose to make - one that is both simple but effective -- is fascinating in its own right.

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.

Billed as a dramatic comedy, and it lives up to that billing, even if it tends more toward chuckles than guffaws. In other words, one thing it's not is "It's Complicated," Streep's previous -- and often riotous -- relationship dramedy.

Seizing the role, and the screen, Gelber actually makes us care what happens to his surly, thoroughly unlikable character.

The result is a satisfyingly gritty tale, more grounded in reality than many entries in the franchise.

But even if moviegoers' eyes will roll from time to time, Aftermath is so nicely acted, and so handsomely shot, that those eyes won't likely look away.

An unapologetic B-movie, Dylan Dog: Dead of Night tries mightily to cover its flaws with a peppering of humor -- much of it supplied courtesy of Dylan's zombie sidekick, played by Sam Huntington -- and an at-times fun "Buffy the Vampire Hunter" vibe.

What we're left with is a thoroughly mediocre, shrug-generating disappointment -- and one that certainly doesn't feel like it should have cost more than a third of a billion dollars to make and market.

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.

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

Rather than "Greased Lightning," we get a holding pattern -- which is better than a crash-landing, but still ...

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.

She could stand to learn a lesson herself, from another magical governess -- you know, the one about the spoon full of sugar.

The only thing missing from the film -- which is frequently amusing but too bleak to be consistently laugh-out-loud funny -- is a genuine connection with its audiences, or at least those audiences not raised in 1960s Jewish suburbia.

There are entertaining moments along the way, and some likeable characters.

The ending of Dear John feels manufactured and patently false. Seyfried tries to sell it, but you can tell that she's having a hard time believing the words coming out of her mouth.

More than just corny. Eclipse is boring.

An uneven story that tries too hard to be meaningful and not hard enough to be funny.

Parnassus is a cold film that delights in dancing along that fine line separating "fantastical" and "nonsensical." Then, when a movie is supposed to hit things home -- in that all-important third act -- it lands with a thud on the wrong side.

The quietly moving drama Martha Marcy May Marlene must be thought of as an "arrival" film. That is, for all that it has going for it (and, it must be said, against it), if it is remembered for anything it will be for introducing a 22-year-old newcomer named Elizabeth Olsen.

Normally a reliable screenwriter, Sayles probably gives his audience too much credit with regard to its knowledge of what is one of the lesser-known chapters in America's military history. As a result, even with its modern parallels, Amigo makes for dense, slow-going viewing.

It's not really a Disney film. Rather, this is a product of Starz Animation. It's a key distinction, because -- well, because Starz Animation is no Disney, and it's certainly no Pixar. It proves that here.

McDonald's film never really finds its footing -- and The Eagle never takes flight.

As well-intended as it is, writer-director Max Mayer's film lacks focus.

This is even worse than a repetitive rehash. These "Fockers" are just lazy, limp -- and lame.

While this nouveau Fright Night does a reasonable job of maintaining the fun spirit of the original film, between the blood splatters and vamp stakings, it never builds on what the original had to offer -- and thus never quite makes a convincing case for its own existence.

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.

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.

A better title: "Coco Before She Was Interesting."

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.

The result is a film with sporadic outbursts of wackiness, but one that (Oh, Fortuna's Wheel!) never gains traction from a storytelling standpoint.

Unfortunately, on the way to delivering that message, it becomes weighted down by its own dreary self-importance.

A movie that offers exactly the kind of bittersweet drama you'd expect from something called White Irish Drinkers.

You want a change-up? Here's a change-up: How about if Hollywood stops spoon-feeding us this uninspired pablum and comes up with a fresh idea or two?

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.

Bill Condon returns fans' love and gives them exactly what they have shown they want. That is: uneven storytelling, maudlin dialog and decidedly one-note performances, even from the big names in the cast.

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's neither a good movie nor a bad movie. It's just a movie.

Ritchie is simply trying to buy a good movie here -- and forgetting that a little brainpower is also required to complete the job.

When making a film for 10-year-old boys, it doesn't have to be good, necessarily -- just good enough. And that's exactly what Real Steel is: good enough.

I love a good, brainless action flick as much as the next alpha male, but this time I had a whole lot of trouble laughing along.

Built on spasms of explosive summertime action interspersed throughout a vacant shell of an origins story, animator-turned-director Jimmy Hayward's first stab at directing a live-action film ends up feeling like one great, big missed opportunity.

Unlike it's "Transformers" cousin, the story is appealingly straightforward, and the movie is chock-a-block with breathless action sequences.

Sure, it's an interesting scene as he (Stone) chews the fat with Raul Castro, and coca leaves with Bolivia's Evo Morales. But his South of the Border can't be taken seriously, muchacho -- and if you think it can, well, I've got a primo cigar factory in Havana to sell you.

If there's a breath of fresh air in it all, it's in the form of the young actress Jessica Barden playing a smoking, swearing, Tom Sawyer-flavored teenage delinquent determined to add some life to her excruciatingly boring rural existence.

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

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.

By the time The American is finished, it feels like one great big pointless exercise. With George Clooney on the poster.

As ridiculous as it is, Man on a Ledge isn't a movie that requires suspension of disbelief. It requires the absolute absence of it.

A Dangerous Method still feels as if it's based on a rather pedestrian narrative --and so, in the final analysis, Cronenberg's film bores.

Clearly, Brevig's past as a visual effects maestro had him focusing more on the look of Yogi Bear than on crafting anything resembling a clever narrative.

Even at its worst moments, it's better than "awful." But at its best, it's never comes close to "incredible."

It feels like a desperate attempt at edginess -- and desperation is never becoming, whether in real-life romance or in a romantic comedy.

It is raw, it is searing, it is honest.

Many scenes, like Another Year itself, don't actually go anywhere.

The hard, cold truth is that the hard, cold For Colored Girls is just plain difficult to fall in love with, regardless of the amount of passion Perry poured into it or how much meaning he's freighted it with.

It's the same fine line that so often separates artfulness and "trying too hard" -- a line that Lebanon tramples all over.

A cast of American actors -- including Matthew Modine, Whoopi Goldberg and Wallace Shawn -- were hired to provide recognizable voices for the English version of the film. They fulfill that requirement, too: Their voices are, indeed, recognizable -- though little more.

The truth, however, is that for much of Soderbergh's film, it's all as yawn-inducing as its premise.

McNamara's relentlessly shiny, happy outlook crosses the line between believable and artificial by about the 10-minute mark.

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.

That it's all true might make it more heart-tugging, but it doesn't make it any more interesting.

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.

It's still darker, still grittier, still absent any shred of camp. Best of all, it's still got Daniel Craig.... So what's missing? How about a compelling story?

Not only does the largely disposable Terminator Salvation fail to advance the franchise's overarching rise-of-the-machines storyline (a better title: "Terminator Stagnation") but, worse, it never manages to distinguish itself from any other reasonably budgeted action film.

The world is a whole lot more complex than Shadyac seems to realize. If all we need is love, wouldn't we all still be wearing tie-dyed shirts and headbands?

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.

For the first time in its 25-year existence, Pixar has created an utterly ordinary film.

It has a sweet quality, and Forest Whitaker gets a chance to show off his comic chops.

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.

Unfortunately, there’s just too much missing from the film to make it feel like a complete, coherent vision.

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

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.

Doesn't boast enough universal meaning to make it truly sing.

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

While it's not really about football, it's not about sterling filmmaking, either.

And therein lies one of the film's most glaring problems. Perhaps that vilification of Big Agro will resonate with farm folk, but it's not the sort of thing that will have many city slickers -- even those who sympathize with the little guys on this issue -- exactly sitting on the edge of their theater seat.

As strong as that cast and those visuals are, however, they don't quite add up enough to guarantee a happily-ever-after for moviegoers looking for a memorable in-theater experience.

All aspects of this great story are drawn toward the middle ground of mediocrity.

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.

While the improvised interplay of the talented cast -- especially between Hart and Haddish -- help keep things moving along, watching Night School ends up largely being an exercise in waiting for something genuinely inspired to happen. It never does.

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.

This is what makes Anderson's film so infuriating. It's so damned irresistible -- until it becomes so damned insufferable, getting lost in a marijuana fog of poorly explained plot developments and indecipherable twists. Still, it's hard to look away for fear of missing some other equally inspired flourish.

"Second Best" might not be second-rate, but neither is it the match of the first "Best Exotic Marigold Hotel."

The problems here are more with the story, which, even at just 89 minutes, feels a touch repetitive at times.

It's still, however, a long way from the Hundred Acre Wood that most "Pooh" fans remember so fondly.

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.

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

This is not a feel-good movie. This is the frigid, hard-to-embrace cinematic opposite of a feel-good movie, in fact -- all wrapped in one long, dark metaphor for depression.

Still, while it wouldn't be correct to characterize Home Again as a formula film, it's generic enough that it somehow feels formulaic. Consequently, "Home Again" never distinguishes itself as anything but a predictable and thoroughly ordinary film, just with lots of fancy window dressing.

Najafi's R-rated London Has Fallen doesn't target the genteel viewer. Rather, it aims squarely for moviegoers who like their action bloody, their fights brutal, their body count sky-high.

As a result, while the film is certainly intense at times, it's not some sort of Sam Pekinpah blood-fest.

The wholesomeness and embraceable spirit of Their Finest will likely strike a chord with the sort of moviegoer who is drawn to such a film. But that doesn't mean it's as good a film as it could have been.

As for that murder scene, it's undoubtedly the part of the film that will get people talking the most. Clearly and meticulously taking its cues from the widely circulated photos of the crime scene, it is dramatic, it is attention-getting and it is memorable. It is, in other words, everything that the rest of Lizzie is not.

Still, as Death of a Superhero plays out, it's hard not to shake the feeling that this is ground we've trodden before.

Some of those detours are fun ideas - like Marty's O. Henry-esque tale of the Amish psychopath. Mostly, though, they feel out of place, like so much filler that distracts from the half-developed main story. Call me crazy, but I need more from my movie.

This is the sort of movie that Charles Bronson would have made back in the day, and indeed a shot of Johnson standing in a sporting goods store, contemplating a wall of shotguns as he gets ready to get busy, could have come from any "Death Wish."