Neil Genzlinger

Has some delicious moments, but you never quite shake the feeling that it’s documenting a tempest in a teapot.

It lacks focus and adds little to the awareness of the subject that even a casual follower of the news has already acquired.

The dancers are prone to feel-good sound bites, but Ms. Berinstein also takes the time to draw out their back stories, making for a sweet group portrait of ordinary folks who found a late splash of fame.

When a movie aspires to be gay pornography but can't even manage that, well, you know you've got a bad movie.

The guy's not much of a filmmaker, but he certainly gets your attention.

Cess Silvera, the film's writer and director, doesn't find any of the humanity or inner demons that would allow the characters to rise above B-movie exploitation.

Dismayingly, bad filmmaking isn't really to blame for the lack of punch in Ever Again. Perhaps it's the familiarity of it all.

Mr. Yudin keeps dragging things back to the restaurant and bathroom humor. He sabotages his own story, as well as the creditable work being done by Mr. Qualls and Ms. Reed.

It’s like choking down 72 minutes of a stranger’s unedited home videos, only without the occasional cute kiddie or pet to lighten the tedium.

How do you know you're looking at a pretty good piece of filmmaking? When the director and actors can make you care about the central characters even though they exchange almost no dialogue.

For $600, it turns out, you can make a short documentary about aging recreational swimmers that has just enough winning moments in it to let viewers forgive that it's little more than a glorified home video.

Sprinkled with moderately amusing comic moments, but basically your enjoyment of this film will be proportional to your tolerance for the one-joke phenomenon of air drumming.

John Waters is darned entertaining as he delivers a monologue that annotates his scandalous movies and encompasses assorted other subjects that interest or annoy him.

It's beautifully played and will hit home with anyone who has had to struggle with the most difficult aspects of aging.

Several varieties of creepy run through As Good as Dead, a gruesomely alluring tale of long-simmering revenge.

Starts out feeling a little too “inside Hollywood” and only grows more so as it rolls along. By the end, this small film about scriptwriters ends up being mostly for scriptwriters, despite appealing performances from the two leads.

Mostly Mr. Jun's script is sharp, and Laurie Metcalf, James McDaniel, America Ferrera and Raymond J. Barry in supporting roles help keep the tale mesmerizing, in a small-scale sort of way.

It’s a boilerplate plot like one you might find in any morning cartoon.

If "Wall-E" pushes the boundaries of what can be done in an animated movie, Space Chimps proves that the old formula is still pretty effective when executed well.

Do they have date movies in China? Probably, and Hot Summer Days, an enjoyable concoction of loosely intertwined stories of love and obsession, is just right for that purpose.

Someone really needs to take away Patrick McGuinn’s camera equipment. A few years ago he made a spectacularly bad gay-sex movie called “Sun Kissed,” and now he has made another, Eulogy for a Vampire.

Generally speaking, bird-watching is a pastime that is extremely interesting to a few people and not at all interesting to anyone else. But Scott Crocker has turned a bird-watching tale into a multilayered story that will fascinate practically everybody in Ghost Bird, a witty, wistful documentary.

The premise had promise, but Baghdad, Texas, a clumsy comedy directed by David H. Hickey, quickly disappoints with an inconsistent tone and painful overacting.

It is Mr. Akhtar whose understated performance holds together this far-ranging, cameo-filled film.

Snow Blind calls itself a documentary, but it's really all about selling the product of snowboarding; it never stops feeling like the in-house channel on a ski-lodge television.

The director, Josh Appignanesi, has a nice sense of comic timing, slipping in some of the best jokes when you least expect them.

Dazzling to look at of course. But such ponderous, cliché-heavy narration.

Those whose tolerance of Greatest Generation war stories isn't exhausted, not to mention those who still thrive on them, will find the group of men who called themselves the Ritchie Boys good company.