Odie Henderson

Nouvelle Vague succeeds in giving you a feel for the films it’s documenting and paying homage to, without the pretentiousness and snobbery those films are accused of conveying. It’s a welcoming gateway drug for newcomers curious about its subject.

If only this movie weren’t as slow as a sleepwalkng turtle. The story is constructed like one big, dark joke whose punchline isn’t worth sitting through 110 minutes to hear.

By giving his actors a three-dimensional world, del Toro sparks their imaginations — and ours. The result is a beautiful, bittersweet, and occasionally horrific look at what it means to be human.

Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere has enough good material to make you wish it were better. Unfortunately, it owes debts to the biopic genre that no honest film can pay.

This is a film about a professional divorce, not a romantic one. The fallout is just as painful.

It’s a daring choice to force audiences to spend 2 hours with someone they won’t like, but “If I Had Legs, I’d Kick You” is more of an experiment than an empathy machine. It overstays its welcome by at least 30 minutes.

Good Fortune showcases the virtues of the goofball side of Keanu Reeves. With all that great John Wick action, it’s easy to forget just how charming and lovable Reeves can be when playing an average joe or a misfit.

Dillane is onscreen for the entire film, and he gives a performance that will stick with you long after the symbolism-laced last scene.

Nora Garrett’s screenplay isn’t concerned with fleshed out characters; everyone here is a stand-in for some issue designed to get a rise out of the audience.

Watching J.Lo make movie magic for the captive audience on both sides of the screen reminded me why I watch movies, and how revisiting my favorite films has kept me sane and happy in this bitter little world.

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.

If only this movie were as interesting as the truth. Tatum’s sparkling charm can only take him so far; the script, by Cianfrance and Kirt Gunn, spends way too much time on a romantic subplot filled with sitcom scenarios and uninteresting characters.

McConaughey and Ferrera have chemistry and serve their roles well. The endangered children all start to blur together, though Nathan Gariety stands out as Toby, a scared 7-year-old who bonds with McKay. But you’re not watching “The Lost Bus” for deep characterizations. You’re watching it for the action. On that basis, Greengrass and company deliver the goods.

Living up to her surname, Blunt doesn’t just chew and swallow the scenery, she regurgitates it and chews it again. Along with the bad writing given to her character, she singlehandedly torpedoes “The Smashing Machine.”

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

Contrary to Gil Scott-Heron’s song, the revolution of “One Battle After Another” feels more televised than live. After 161 minutes of it, I was tempted to turn the channel.

Eleanor the Great is one of the worst and most distasteful movies I’ve seen in a long while.

The History of Sound is even more repressed than its characters, and at over two hours, that’s far from entertaining.

I’m not implying that a horror movie needs to be coherent to deliver the chills — watch any J-Horror movie for proof that this concept can work. But “HIM” doesn’t even try to be scary. It’s too busy bombarding us with nonsensical, quickly flashed images that divulge nothing.

This time, director Rob Reiner and his cast take aim at comeback concerts and the documentaries they often spawn. In other words, “Spinal Tap II” is both a satire and an example of what it’s satirizing.

The script, by JT Mollner, does an excellent job streamlining King’s book.

The romantic love triangle dramedy “Love, Brooklyn” is more than just a visual showcase for the favorite borough of the average New York City hipster. It’s also an unabashed devotional to the interior design of the Brooklyn brownstone.

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.

Honey Don’t!, the neo-noir by director Ethan Coen and his wife, co-writer Tricia Cooke, is an unsatisfying mishmash of plot threads that neither intrigue nor coalesce.

This isn’t really for kids (I’d say it’s PG-13 level), and it’s so entrenched in its country’s myth-making that I wonder if sheer spectacle alone will be enough to entice American viewers.

This entertaining and informative documentary just might make you a fan as well.

Once again, Odenkirk is lots of fun as filmdom’s most unexpected purveyor of brute force.

This is one of the year’s best films. It’s also one of Lee’s finest joints.