Odie Henderson

Love Hurts is an absolute mess, but its hero almost saves the day.

Dicks: The Musical is a three-star movie with a midnight crowd and a two-star movie when viewed at 3 p.m. My star rating splits the difference.

Maggie” is Schwarzenegger’s “Cop Land,” that is, a feature designed to highlight and showcase that which an action movie hero could only hint at in glancing moments between explosions.

I prefer, and recommend, the original, but I’m on the fence about this one. Your mileage may vary.

If you can admire a movie’s technique (and its hotness) above all else, you’ll enjoy Passages. For me, it’s an intriguing near-miss.

I really enjoyed listening to Statham talk. His fight scenes have their predictable, violent payoffs, but his rambling monologues are unexpectedly, gloriously entertaining. This film’s tagline should be “Come for the stabbing, stay for the gabbing!”

Throughout the eight years covered by writer-director Davy Chou’s latest, Return to Seoul, Freddie will alienate the people around her and, by extension, the viewer.

In surveying this setting, one might think Almost There is a documentary about impoverished, elderly folks who have sadly fallen through the cracks in the system. Instead, it’s an uncomfortable journey through the later life of an artist, a warts-and-all look at the filmmakers’ process that fails to get past its most troublesome wart.

I’m on the fence here. I enjoyed the animated version of this movie quite a bit, so I’m torn between being happy this film was nowhere near as bad as I’d expected and being frustrated that I sat through a carbon copy. Your enjoyment will depend on whether your Toothless nostalgia has a full set of teeth.

I did my homework and watched the original "RED." It was just as stupid as this movie, yet I liked it a little more.

The look of the film is so spectacular that I almost want to recommend you see it solely for that reason. It wasn’t enough to save the film for me.

The screenplay tries to say something about female autonomy and male selfishness, yet the film plays like an overlong, 108-minute riff on the old reliable stand-up routine subject “girlfriends be crazy” that never subverts the trope.

Ahmed gives his all, but it’s not enough to elevate this version above near-miss status.

What I can say for sure is that Oppenheimer far too often feels like a three-hour Wikipedia entry than a compelling movie.

“A place is the people,” a closing screen credit tells us. It’s a lovely sentiment, but “We Grown Now” feels more like fleeting memories of those people rather than a fully formed reminiscence.

Hemsworth’s character has more action movie clichés than Carter’s got liver pills.

I must give credit to Reijn’s screenplay for including scenes where Romy and Samuel work out the kinks in satisfying this particular kink.

Mirren holds the film together with her narration, but she can’t save the film from Forster’s penchant for overdoing emotional scenes or from Thomas Newman’s intrusive score.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that Book Club: The Next Chapter was not only watchable but occasionally amusing.

Hippie-swooning temptations aside, I remained tethered to The Marijuana Conspiracy thanks to the excellent performances by the actresses playing the main roles. They transcend their thinly-drawn characterizations and display the convincing level of camaraderie shared by a group who have gone through trouble together and emerged victorious at the end.

It’s a mechanical exercise that lacks suspense, is too long (at 148 minutes, it’s the franchise’s lengthiest film), and is so chockfull of exposition that I took more notes than I’ve done in years.

Studio 54 is at its best when detailing the history of the New York City clubbing scene.

Though Courtney and Harrison give their all, this is a slick-looking yet routine exercise that wastes an ideal premise.

As a big fan of the franchise, I admit I had a good amount of fun watching “Ballerina.”

The lack of a deeper dive into its subject’s trials and tribulations is the biggest flaw of “Piece by Piece.” While the concept of making a documentary with Legos is an intriguing one, and it’s well executed, the film itself is a very shallow look at its subject.

Foster and the rest of the cast are so good, I almost want to recommend that you go just for their performances. After all, it’s the journey, not the destination, that counts. That is, unless you’re making a murder mystery.

To say that Oscar winners Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross go hard on the music would be an understatement. There were times when their beats vibrated through my theater chair, goosing me into thinking “Tron: Ares” is better than it is. Their contribution propels the action and makes you believe in the visual bedlam unfolding before you.

SuperFly is visually flat, relying too much on oft-repeated motifs of rap videos rather than the ingenuity I expected. By the fourth time someone “made it rain” around strippers or executed a gory shoot-out, I gave up on potentially seeing something new.

Ultimately, Joy Ride is an uneasy melding of “Girls Trip” and “Return to Seoul”; it’s two pieces that work well by themselves but clash when forced to collaborate.

The screenplay, by directors Jonathan Goldstein and John Francis Daley and co-writer Michael Gilio, tries to evoke the feeling that “D&D: HAT” is being written on the fly as the movie unfolds. While their attempt is valiant, it takes away from the task of creating a world that we’ll want to revisit or see again (you know there will be sequels).

Though Trolls Band Together mercilessly beats its familiar, tired message about the importance of family into the ground, it’s still surprisingly watchable with plenty of voice and singing talent.

The biggest problem I had with this visually unappealing cinematic version of “Wicked,” is that it can’t handle the tonal shifts.

I know that this type of culinary experience is in fashion nowadays, but I’m a fat guy who can’t muster much excitement for a $160 meal I can fit in my navel.

It’s the kind of movie my 2½-star rating was invented for; that is, a movie that’s interesting enough to put me on the ropes for several rounds before dropping its hands and getting knocked out.

Grudge Match belongs to a fast-growing genre I'll call "Senior Citizen Action Porn," or SCAP. Proud members of SCAP include "Red" and its sequel, "Red 2," the "Expendables" series, and the best of the 2013 crop, Arnold Schwarzenegger's "The Last Stand."

I suspect people want to be distracted by something that makes them stand up and cheer. “Beast” serves that purpose well-enough.

Elba’s skills as a helmer are not yet as refined as his considerable acting chops, but his firsthand knowledge of London’s Hackney borough gives the film a lived-in feeling, a sense of intimacy that registers onscreen in both quiet and violent moments.

Those looking for a courtroom drama or the emotional tugging that might result from a mother’s 30-year fight to get justice for her daughter will find little to chew on here.

Fast X is watchable, and its car chases are often exciting, but it’s not as satisfying as the best F&F movies (“Fast and Furious 6,” “Furious 7,″ and the extremely ridiculous “F9″). Part of the problem is Dante.

Twohy's script contains macho dialogue so ripe it's embarrassing to hear it.

Dope alternates between being shockingly tone-deaf and surprisingly on-point.

I cop to laughing out loud numerous times, and I was captivated by Vianne’s big “what’s good for the goose” style speech at the end. If “A Madea Family Funeral” is indeed the final “Hallelu-YUHRR” for Madea, it’s not that shabby an exit.

If only Blood and Money weren’t stretched so thin. More development of character, suspense and plot would have gone a long way toward making this stick to one’s crime genre-loving ribs.

It primed me for a deeper discussion on how “clothes make the man,” then disappointed me by devolving into a huge commercial for fashion designers past and present.

As they discuss "how much this strip meant to me," I got the sense that Dear Mr. Watterson was as uninterested in them as I was; they're not even identified.

There’s a nagging aura of “meh” encircling the proceedings.

Unfortunately, the film gets derailed by tonal inconsistencies and a clichéd plot that undermines the strength of its memorable outlier sections.

Pain plus impatience does not make for a favorable review, even if the film marks the return of one of our greatest living actors.

I’m tired of this stereotypical depiction of autism. It’s as if Hollywood has to assign superpowers to people on the spectrum in order for them to be accepted by mainstream audiences.

It’s refreshing that Lemmons focuses on the highs rather than the lows, even if it feels like buffing off the edges of her complex protagonist. But that won’t matter to Houston fans: They’ll get so emotional, baby.

Unfortunately, I didn’t laugh very much, and the story didn’t work as well as the movies that inspired it.

With a bigger budget and a longer runtime, Cell could easily have been elevated above its current station as a worthy 2 AM viewing on cable — not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s cursed with some really cheap CGI, but blessed with actors who are game for, and respect, the material.

This The Other Side of the Wind has a haphazard “well, he shot it, so we better include it” vibe. One wonders just how much of the existing editing Welles got to oversee himself; the answer is: probably not much. There’s a tight, 80-minute feature trapped in The Other Side of the Wind, one that Welles most likely would have exhumed had he not run out of money while filming.

It’s a fable that ties up too neatly to be believed, and it’s a story I’m tired of hearing.

Unfortunately, Durkin’s script is so shallow that every character is reduced to a simple sketch.

Uncle Frank commits the unforgivable sin of giving us one evil character whose demise suddenly unleashes a wave of understanding amongst family members who were, until this point, perfectly happy to enforce the harmful status quo that traumatized one of their own.

Driver and Cruz are perfect surnames for actors starring in a movie called “Ferrari.” That was just one of the many thoughts I had as the minutes slowly ticked by. At least the loud sound mix kept me awake.

There’s a lot more nonsense here, all of which starts out intriguingly before overstaying its welcome.

The result invites confusion and ultimately indifference on the viewer’s part. When one character makes a joking reference to Alec Guinness’ brilliant Ealing comedy “The Lavender Hill Mob” the comparison does this film no favors.

Big Ass Spider! wants to serve two masters, the ones who unabashedly enjoy this type of movie without shame, and the ones who openly mock it with false senses of superiority.

Because Disney wants your money, of course. I don’t begrudge their need for greed; I just wish they hadn’t given us yet another movie built on the pseudo-psychological cliché that adults need to reconnect with their childhoods in order to be better adults.

Alone gives us little reason to care if our hero makes it out alive, but I have to give credit where it’s due: Jessica isn’t written as some damsel in distress. Though she does make a questionable choice or two, she’s more crafty and engaged than a standard victim.

Basically, “Avatar: Fire and Ash” is the same movie as “Avatar: The Way of Water,” the franchise’s prior installment. The only difference is that fire is the primary element, and the new villain looks like a gigantic, enraged chicken.

Thank goodness for Method Man, who understood the assignment and made the film watchable and fun whenever Jordan showed up. When he isn’t on screen, “Bad Shabbos” is a mediocre movie.

As tedious as Set Fire to the Stars gets, it remains watchable courtesy of the stunning black and white cinematography by Chris Seager.

Fatherhood is at its best and most watchable when it’s just Hart and Hurd onscreen. Matt and Maddy’s undeniable and reciprocated love for one another radiates from the actors, even in their broadest scenes of comedy.

Gemini Man never pretends to be anything but a time-wasting contraption hoping to entertain its viewer. I can’t reasonably be mad at its honesty, and despite the horrendous dialogue its actors are often forced to speak, I found myself enjoying a fair amount of it.

Once again, Fastvold and Corbet have crafted a movie I admired more than I liked.

Fans of Lanthimos’s works outside his Emma Stone movies will find “Kinds of Kindness” worth watching. As for the rest of us: You’ll start out clapping along with “Sweet Dreams,” but by the end, you’ll be singing Peggy Lee’s immortal question, “Is That All There Is?”

You need a blackboard full of X’s and O’s to keep track of the petty plays this movie's running.

Unfortunately, “The Roses” is a toothless take on the material. The stakes are never as high as they were in the 1989 movie, and the film takes too much time trying to humanize these people. By the time they’re actively trying to sabotage and murder one another, the movie has completely lost its nerve. The end result feels rushed and weak-willed.

Coming 2 America is like attending your high school reunion: You’ll enjoy seeing the familiar faces of those with whom you once shared such fond experiences, but then you’ll realize that the nostalgia of that past is far more fulfilling than the harsher realities of the present.

I cop to not being a fan of Lynn Shelton’s work. Her films fall apart in their third acts. Rather than simply crumble as they have in her prior work, the third act of Laggies implodes in grand fashion, spewing contrivances, bad clichés and an ending that is simply unforgivable.

Despite an impressive pedigree in front of and behind the camera, “Shirley” fails to convey just how remarkable the career of Shirley Chisholm really was. The problem isn’t the narrow focus on one of her accomplishments, it’s the even narrower depiction of who she was as a person.

“Axel F” is a joyless affair, a mediocre simulacrum that made me long for the original.

Fiennes has an excellent rapport with Lewis-Parry, making their scenes as compelling and moving as anything “28 Years Later” had to offer. It’s too bad that every time the Samson-Kelson plotline gets good, we’re yanked back to dopey Jimmy’s goofy gang and its religious mumbo jumbo.

Dern is excellent, as usual, and her scenes with Arnett feel realistic. The screenplay by Cooper, Arnett, and Mark Chappell is really thin, however, and I didn’t find any of these people compelling.

I can’t recommend Mega Time Squad but it does have a few things going for it.

Seeing the Ghostbusters in the Big Apple where they belong put a smile on my face, at least until I realized I was watching a sitcom about wiseass teens and their dopey parents.

It runs out of story about midway through, and spends more time attempting to make these guys look cool than showing us the importance of their acts of linguistic civil disobedience.

The “Cowabunga” dudes have become “Cowa-boring.”

Akilla’s Escape is undone by its own lack of faith in the viewer, opting to explicitly tell rather than rely on its fine actors to show us who their characters are.

Though “Red One” is a bit of a slog, it’s still better than about 98 percent of the Christmas movie junk flung at us by the studios and streaming services every holiday season.

Despite the return of director Steven Soderbergh (who also serves, as usual, as editor and cinematographer), writer Reid Carolin, and star Channing Tatum, this installment pales in comparison to its superior predecessors. Dare I say, it lacks — magic?

I generally love noir, gore, kick-ass women, the 1980s — but “Love Lies Bleeding” ladled out a visual stew I did not enjoy consuming.

I wish the filmmakers had shown as much faith in the audience as its characters have in miracles.

As per sequel rules, everything has to be bigger. But bigger doesn’t always equal better, as Extraction 2 proves.

As a documentary about Lorne Michaels, “Lorne” isn’t much; it’s more of a look at “Lorne Michaels,” the character his mysterious nature created.

Champions wants to be a clone of the 1976 sports movie classic “The Bad News Bears,” right down to giving us a Tatum O’Neal-style toughie, Cosentino (Madison Tevlin). While Tevlin is very funny and convincing, Harrelson fails to plumb the depths of unlikability in his character that Walter Matthau brought to Coach Buttermaker.

The climax of The Amateur is one of the least satisfying meetings of hero and villain I’ve seen in a while.

Like its predecessor, Wicked: For Good benefits greatly from the fact that its two leads are fantastic singers, and its director knows how to stage a musical number.

Thumbs up for Denzel; send the rest of this movie to the lions.

While the visuals are often stunning, and the first hour has a loose, raunchy charm, “Mickey 17″ wears out its welcome long before its overlong, nearly t2½-hour runtime ends.

Cut out thirty minutes, and this might have been a lean, mean Eighties-thriller throwback blessed with a killer lead performance.

Unlike the first two installments, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 ultimately feels tethered to the MCU in ways that mute the uniqueness of the series. Unlike its predecessors, its familiar beats feel like a bridge back to the MCU rather than a divergence off the beaten path.

Hinds and Manville do a credible job of portraying a marriage that has run its course, and their best work occurs in the silences that pass between their characters, Gerry and Sheila.

Bob Marley: One Love opts to print the legend, but it will just make you want to listen to “Legend.”

Daldry’s latest, Trash, co-directed with Christian Duurvoort, not only pitches the same Academy woo, it shamelessly mimics Best Picture winner “Slumdog Millionaire.”