Mike Scott

This isn’t just a film. It’s a cultural treasure – and, given its unlikely journey – a minor miracle.

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.

Uncut Gems boasts a kinetic energy that, by the time the closing credits roll, will make you feel like you went to the gym rather than the movie theater.

It’s an impressive cinematic accomplishment and a dandy bit of storytelling to boot.

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.

Burning Cane is all about Youmans and his uncommon vision, which would be impressive coming from a filmmaker of any age. Making it all that much more exciting is the fact that this is just the beginning.

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.

It triggers a sense of awe, for the pure, natural beauty it allows us to witness; for the raw, ruthless power it captures; and for its towering display of artistry.

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.

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.

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.

It's an oddly inert film that suffers from its lack of focus on the stories that stand as Tolkien's chief literary contributions.

What we end up with is a film that contains many fine moments -- the young Bolden's discovery of rhythm, an imagined discussion on musical improvisation between Bolden and clarinetist George Baquet, a look at racial politics of the day -- but those moments don't quite coalesce into a consistently satisfying whole.

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.

As an unapologetic genre exercise, it's also fairly harmless, painless stuff. Thanks largely to the work of its cast, which does more with Tracy Oliver and director Tina Gordon's decidedly uneven, underdeveloped script than anybody has a right to hope for, Little ends up being mostly enjoyable in its own lightweight, empty-calorie and entirely unexpected way.

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.

I'm not sure how much of The Dirt is good, old-fashioned hyperbole. Good lord, I hope a lot of it is, although I'm sure the band -- the members of which wrote the book on which the film is based in addition to serving as co-producers -- would swear everything in it is true.

Any character study must also bring us, and its main character, on a journey. And that's where Gloria Bell, for all of its assets -- and for all of the critical acclaim being heaped upon it -- ultimately stumbles.

While director Rupert Wyatt's film has a handful of things going for it -- alien invaders, bursts of action, sociopolitical subtext, a stern-faced John Goodman -- it is missing one key element: a soul.

It's not that Climax is a poorly made movie. It's that it's an abjectly mean movie. Some would try to excuse it as arthouse cinema. In reality, it's frighthouse cinema. And that's not meant as a compliment. The ultimate message, at least in this case: Just say no -- to Noé.

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

Like Paddleton itself, Romano's performance isn't flashy. It isn't dripping with self-awareness or desperation. Rather, it's quietly, subtly beautiful. And it deserves to be seen.

Director Robert Rodriguez and his crew do a magnificent job of world-creating, thanks to impressive technical wizardry. Actress Rosa Salazar also brings the lead character to life with sweet (though lethal) charm...It struggles under the weight of the rangy, multi-pronged narrative before effectively cheating moviegoers by leaving them with a cliffhanger ending.

Jon S. Baird's lovingly crafted film is much more "fine" than "mess."