Roger Moore

If the movies are going to talk about labor, human rights, cruel “leaders” and love in the world Gen Z is growing up in, the raw deal facing Mickeys 1-17 is a good place to do it.

A tale that touches and tickles and exposes us to the trials of other lives in a very different part of the world, it’ll make you glad you showed up to read the subtitles.

The shootouts are first-rate, in that “bad guys mostly miss, good guys never do” way.

Riff Raff lives down to its title, a trashy movie with a gilded cast — a cast a tad tarnished thanks to the addition of this to their resumes.

The sex and romance elements are more abrupt, perfunctory and charmless in this take. But they go for the same upbeat, heartwarming feel in the finale, which plays about the same.

Parkinson knowing this story backwards and forwards means he’s become an expert on how to tease out the suspense and tug at the heartstrings.

The film’s second half more than atones for its drifting, muted early scenes cataloguing many a romance novel/movie cliche.

Perhaps only an Iraq War combat vet would dare to tackle Post Traumatic Stress Disorder with the sort of sarcasm and gallows humor of My Dead Friend Zoe.

It’s pretty enough and just engaging enough to suggest it might just become a series pilot.

The entire deadpan affair is more reasonably amusing than hilarious, but the pauses in the action, with the screen going to black and “users” of this Amazon streaming movie commenting their complants– “That’s it?” “That’s not a movie” and “On this budget, this is what you get” — are laugh out loud funny.

Three great performers committing to their parts will always be a pleasure, and the fact that each was beloved by generations makes this dramedy an easy sell for most film buffs.

The animation is lovely, if perhaps a tad Pixar 2.0 in texture, color palette, complexity and “realism.”

Everyone is Going to Die is a generic home invasion thriller that clumsily struggles with the #MeToo “message” grafted onto it.

Hard Truths is reminder that filmmaker/artists/observers of his stripe are once-in-a-generation, one-per-culture talents.

A tale told under a cloud with unreliable witnesses, it’s a slow and soft spoken drama that too breaks the chilling spell Tøndel is trying to cast.

The world Sakamoto brings back to life . . . is as vivid as any saga of samurai, shoguns, ronin and clans.

Broome (of TV’s “The Buccaneers”) carries himself like a convincing insolent rich lout. And the car chases and brawls pass muster, even if the plot turns too-predictable-to-tolerate early on.

Director Scott Derrickson ensures the action beats are solid enough, that the production design is CGI-assisted gloomy and that the stars looked good in whatever light, fight choreography or romantic interlude they were placed.

There isn’t a laugh or light moment in this unwieldy beast of a movie. As a political allegory, it doesn’t play. As Marvel action pic, it’s sorely lacking. At least they spared no expense in the cherry blossoms dept.

A lot of the charm is still here, much of it coming from the innocent, well-mannered bear abroad, perfectly voiced by Ben Whishaw.

Make no mistake, “Soundtrack” is a real work of art, an historic film painted with extant footage, a fresh interview or two, sound from many sources and thoughts, facts and opinions from a wide range of people with a stake in not just events back then, but the urgent need to have those facts preserved and honestly served up to those of us trapped in the present.

For a movie about a tragedy and the struggle to cover it with professionalism and compassion, September 5 is more historically intriguing than compelling and in the end, an emotionally hollow experience.

The Monkey has no pace, no rising sense of urgency or suspense, no real path it’s following and little or nothing that amounts to a message.

Writer-director Wang isn’t splitting the atom or reinventing the wheel here, and the film’s variations from the tropes for this genre aren’t unique or all that revelatory. But “Didi” makes a most relatable tour guide in helping us remember what running straight into a wall as you hit your teens was like.

Succubus, a supernatural thriller re-titled “The Demoness” for video distribution, is a show reel of nudity and horror sex, of looped, disembodied voices reading lines from a “doesn’t really understand English” translation of a screenplay that was already bad at plot, suspense, action, character and dialogue.

Torres is so subtle at portraying a mother unable to show panic or righteous rage that when Eunice finally does let her guard down it’s almost shocking. It’s a great performance.

It’s too bloody, too depressing and infuriating, and Andrews makes it his business to not give the viewer much relief or satisfaction with any of it. But it’s also quite good, even if it denies us much that would give the viewer some sense of relief or justice.

If Led Zeppelin’s place in the culture outlives them, later films will plumb the depths of their “real” experience of fame, success, sex, drugs and rock’n roll. This is the coffee picture table book version.