Rene Rodriguez

The Neon Demon is a voluptuous provocation, a stylish free-fall down a gonzo rabbit hole that is as entrancing as it is maddening. Here is a rarity in this season of summer movie doldrums: A film that is guaranteed to elicit strong reactions.

The movie generates suspense by keeping its focus on the detective and the attorney, two professionals trying to do their jobs the best they can. They just happen to be required to confront unspeakable evil, try to understand it, stare it in the eyes.

The scale of Finding Dory is bigger than that of "Finding Nemo," but I started missing the smaller, more intimate excitement of the fishing tank inside the dentist’s office in Nemo.

The Warcraft hardcore can rejoice. Everyone else can move along. There’s not much to see here.

Another strange, sometimes harrowing exercise in absurdity that resonates despite its weirdness.

Weiner tells a different story — a riveting portrait of a man so consumed by hubris and confidence that he is utterly blind to his failings.

The emotional connection we develop with her as the movie unfolds pays off in the final 20 minutes, which is about as happy of an ending as anyone could imagine, except this one really happened.

This is more of an exercise in experiential cinema, as well as a blistering critique of a society that drives its poorest to unimaginable acts for mere survival.

Set almost entirely in one location and shot in widescreen to accommodate its ensemble cast, The Invitation seems tailor-made for a talented filmmaker who wants to show off skills within the constraints of a small budget. But the script, by Phil Hay and Matt Manfredi (who somehow still find work after having written The Tuxedo, R.I.P.D., and Clash of the Titans), is flimsy and nonsensical in the manner of cheap, straight-to-video-not-even-VOD horror pictures, and Kusama’s direction is clumsy and uninspired. She also telegraphs too many of the plot’s twists.

In its last half-hour, A Bigger Splash becomes a specific kind of story, and it’s not as pleasurable or strange as what preceded it.

The Nice Guys never lives up to the promise of its hilarious first 10 minutes, but Crowe and Gosling are good enough to leave you hoping for a sequel.

After the nihilistic deconstruction of Deadpool and the flattening self-importance of Batman v. Superman, Captain America: Civil War reminds you how funny and exciting these pictures can be when they’re done right — you know, like comic books. The summer movie season has barely begun, and already the remedy for superhero film fatigue has arrived.

The movie has been smartly built to satisfy hardcore fashionistas and red-carpet gawkers in equal measure.

Viva is "Rocky" in drag and sequins, transplanted to Havana. The movie is pure formula, but it’s surprisingly effective anyway, because director Paddy Breathnach and screenwriter Mark O’Halloran don’t sugarcoat the reality of life on the island.

The most intriguing character in the movie is the confused, tormented Conrad, who initially comes off as the kind of troubled adolescent who will end up riddling his classroom with bullets.

Played by Adrian Sparks in a style better suited for dinner theater or a Key West tourist attraction, Hemingway comes across as a complete cypher. Everyone in the film keeps talking about his genius, but other than a scene in which he writes a short story on the back of a napkin, the movie doesn’t try to humanize or explore his talent.

The movie has an exhilarating energy that is never exhausting, and the filmmaker’s trademark excesses, although toned down, are still at play. The meek should be wary; for everyone else, it’s party time.

The Jungle Book has its moments — the panther Bagheera voiced by Ben Kingsley, the python Kaa voiced by Scarlett Johansson and a funny porcupine voiced by the late Garry Shandling are all memorable creations — but the overall film feels cold and mechanical, befitting a movie that was made primarily because technology made it possible.

Demolition is so busy trying to be profound, the film doesn’t have much use for humor.

One question in particular hangs heavily over the entire film, a plot hole so distracting it becomes the only thing you can think about.

This is a smart, wise and compassionate movie about young people in the act of finding out who they are and not always behaving properly but never crossing the line into cruelty or crassness. If you happen to have been around during 1980, the soundtrack is just a bonus.

This huge, unwieldy movie is busy and overcrowded.

The Wave builds up a nice bit of genuine tension and hits some surprisingly dark notes.

No, it’s not all that sophisticated. But compared to glib junk like Zoolander 2, The Brothers Grimsby is practically high art. Unlike Ben Stiller, at least Cohen is trying.

Dark, nasty fun that gets better when you play it over in your head. But the plot holes seem even larger in hindsight, too. Just tamp down those expectations, then tamp them down some more.

Race never delves under the skins of its characters, because they’re intended to be used only as symbols — reminders of an important chapter in history rendered quaint by this noble but patronizing movie.

The Coens feel out of step this time; they’ve lost their rhythm the way they did in The Hudsucker Proxy, where the style consumed the entire picture, turning what should have been humorous and snappy into a grating chore.

The movie is filled with small, loaded moments that resonate like gunshots in an echo chamber.