Sara Stewart

Fanning has little to do beyond grasping her prosthetic stomach, but James is a decent foil for Gere, who gives form to the highly topical subject of how pain meds destroy lives.

Jeremy Allen White (“Shameless”) and Maika Monroe (“It Follows”) shine in this dramedy.

Though deeply well-intentioned, director Kasi Lemmons’ film never really breaks free of conventional biopic mode.

Superfly escapes superficiality thanks largely to strong performances from Jackson; Jason Mitchell as Priest’s workmanlike partner, Eddie, and Michael Kenneth Williams as Priest’s mentor, Scatter.

It’s a sprawling plot that consistently teeters on the edge of unwieldiness, but Affleck’s assured directing, gorgeous cinematography by Robert Richardson and a who’s-who of Hollywood’s best character actors keep it mostly on track.

It’s basically a narrative spin on Alex Gibney’s 2013 documentary “The Armstrong Lie,” only with less cycling footage. This is a plus for those of us easily bored by such things (so many interchangeable mountain passes and neon jerseys!), but there isn’t a ton of new material here.

Jenkins is a master of cinematic portraiture, but he’s so captivated by the magic of a moment — even a single image, like cigarette smoke swirling around one of Fonny’s carved-wood sculptures — that he sometimes forgets he’s got an audience expecting a plot.

Even with a cast this lovable, The Dead Don’t Die falls short of the killer zom-com it could have been.

It's sort of like last year's "Blue Valentine" on Prozac -- the giddy highs and the despairing lows are muted, and a well-known side effect of that antidepressant pops up, too: Palpable lust is all but nonexistent.

As an addiction memoir, it works well enough; there are a handful of deeply felt moments.

The facts (including Protess’ eventual resignation) still make this a worthwhile examination of a narrative that actually may have been too good to be true.

The best thing about the film – which is true of most of his roles – is Rockwell.

The dark side of pregnancy and motherhood has long been fertile filmmaking terrain; this queasy, quiet horror film tips its hat, inevitably, to the genre’s standard-bearer, “Rosemary’s Baby,” but comes up a bit short.

Chastain and Wasikowska take center stage while Hiddleston flutters around like one of Allerdale’s huge black moths. Watching the women square off within del Toro’s eye-popping, painterly palette is a feast for the eyes, if not particularly substantial fare for the mind.

Ultimately, I found the story surrounding Equity — that it is a movie about women on Wall Street, financed largely by actual women on Wall Street — more interesting than the movie itself, but it does contain its share of memorable moments.

Farrell feels like a weak link here, never quite as masterfully manipulative or brutish as the role calls for.

As About Alex moves toward its conclusion, it devolves into some plot resolutions that were a lot less predictable back in the ’80s.

A trove of home videos, vintage commercial and propaganda footage and black-and-white animation dress up this energetic if somewhat unfocused look at the birth of skateboarding in the German Democratic Republic.

Finally, someone took the source material at its terribly written word and stopped treating the whole affair so seriously.

The journey to this foregone conclusion features several dance-offs mashing up contemporary and classical styles, which director Michael Damian (“Love By Design”) shoots with gusto. Sure, this is all a familiar tune — but it’s still catchy.

Still, the proceedings move so quietly and thoughtfully as to be occasionally somnolent, though they’re punctuated with spasms of the violence that marked the Troubles.

“It’s a little self-congratulatory and light on story,” says one student of another’s film project in Dear White People, which feels like director Justin Simien getting out ahead of inevitable (and accurate) criticism.

Seth Rogen’s raunchy Sausage Party contains occasional flashes of satirical brilliance. But in true stoner form, it also thinks a lot of stuff is funnier than it actually is.

Scored by Bruce Hornsby, Lee’s film veers all over the place tonally, juxtaposing scenes of spurting gore with soothing jazz. Hess’ WASP-y mansion, with its huge photo portraits of African warriors, is an interesting study in mashing up race and class stereotypes, though the film’s rambling plot may leave your brain feeling a little mashed, too.

Unfortunately, you could probably improve Split by editing out everything around McAvoy and making it an experimental one-man show.

There are a lot of parallels with “Breaking Bad” here: the Southwestern setting, the dorky husband turned criminal, the blond wife and the scene in the carwash. But if you can avoid dwelling on its derivative qualities, After the Fall has its own case to make about how far the middle class has fallen — and continues to slide.

Personal Shopper doesn’t have much of a plot, but if you can tune into its languid frequency, it will get under your skin.

At best, it’s a fairly enjoyable hate-watch of a farewell to DDL, charting the course of a twisted love affair between a real pill of a guy and a woman who inexplicably adores him.