R. Kurt Osenlund

It pairs modern attitude with John Hughesian tropes, and it's odd enough, in spurts, to boast originality.

One of its strengths is a knowledge of when to unfurl information, particularly for the strongest emotional effect.

Liberal Arts provides a peek into what makes Josh Radnor tick, and what he cares about outside his mainstream-targeted sitcom.

Succeeds as a satirical fantasy about writerly self-involvement, but it's worth celebrating as a testament to self-made greatness, particularly in regard to the efforts of writer/star Zoe Kazan.

This frothy 3D concert doc often plays like a Perry ad campaign, assuring viewers that their "Teenage Dream" diva is a good, fun-loving person, and that, by God, she's doing fine.

Its dolly- and crane-operated polish points toward an acquiescence to Tinseltown mores, which until now Baron Cohen hovered cheekily above.

The Hunger Games is more notable for the holes it doesn't fall into than the great heights it reaches.

With the foul-mouthed dramedy Friends with Kids, writer/producer/director/star Jennifer Westfeldt is juggling so much, it's a wonder there aren't more jokes about balls.

If Robert De Niro knew what was good for him, he'd certainly distance himself from this director and find a new path.

Nearly a year has passed since the release of Catherine Hardwicke's Red Riding Hood, and Amanda Seyfried is still crying wolf.

This Means War seems so concerned with being the best product, it doesn't even know how to be good trash.

One for the Money is like The Bounty Hunter by Andy Tennant, if you dipped it in self-tanner and strapped some Four Loko on it.

The wonder and terror of Meryl Streep's performance in The Iron Lady is her formidable ability to nail the disheartening talents of not just Margaret Thatcher, but so many conservative politicians like her, who have a tremendous knack for changing minds and beckoning cheers while underlining their own rigid ignorance.

Outside of Felicity Jones's work, the film, directed and co-written by Drake Doremus, usually feels like it's soullessly connecting dots, a far cry from the Before Sunrise-style substance its Yank-meets-Euro chattiness might suggest.