Sara Stewart

Lee may not want to let anyone in, but it’s hard to engage fully with a film that doesn’t seem to want to, either.

Even the most extreme punishments are softened by hilariously neurotic dialogue. Vive la Delpy!

Ultimately, all signs point to Going in Style having been overcooked by too many chefs: You know you’re in trouble when multiple scenes in the trailer never show up in the final product.

What begins as a clever action-comedy a la “Pineapple Express” or Eisenberg’s earlier “Zombieland” devolves into a standard shoot-’em-up, with gore splashed around to distract us from the dearth of wit.

Comparisons to “Slumdog Millionaire” are inevitable, but the kinetic Trash has a rhythm all its own.

Tremblay is charming as an eccentric kid marching to his own tune, but the film’s attention wanders like a goat separated from its herd.

None of these seemingly plot-rich questions are explored; instead, we’re stuck with a greasy-haired Mark Ruffalo, as his detective character flounders along in their wake, muttering that he doesn’t have time for this magic crap.

Mostly, though, it all ends up feeling like a lost, minor episode of “The X-Files:” A little scary, a little silly and catnip for those who want to believe.

Wilson doesn’t have the emotional heft, or the narrative arc, of Johnson’s last film, but it does remind you how much fun it is to watch Harrelson. In real life, Wilson would just be a straight-up a - - hole.

Patton Oswalt makes an amusing cameo as a Klingon-speaking cop, and Toni Collette is her usual graceful self as Wendy’s harried counselor, but in all this is a half-baked effort at humanizing autism — at its best when Wendy’s at her computer channeling the Vulcan voice of Mr. Spock, that intergalactic hero who was always so puzzled by human emotions.

No personal revelations surface in “This Is Us.” Also, no narrative, no conflict — no differentiation between band members, even, besides the designation of dark-eyed Zayn as “the mysterious one” (he likes to paint).

Andy Goddard’s feature debut is shot stylishly in black and white, but deals in themes that feel equally retro.

Seeing as Krampus is about the Alpine demon who punishes Christmas a-holes, this is a promising start — but alas, it’s all downhill from there, making a murky and humorless hash out of a pretty great piece of

It may fall into some conventional paces as a triumph-over-adversity story, but Desert Dancer does manage to movingly convey the chilling, ultimately triumphant experience of Ghaffarian’s struggle for creative expression under a regime that tried to crush it.

With the exception of “Tape 49” — the Simon Barrett-directed segment about the PI — the films are ridiculously shaky, their camerawork so determinedly guerrilla-style that it’s difficult not to look away, sometimes at crucial moments. Found footage is all well and good, but if it’s unwatchable, it might as well have stayed lost.

There are a lot of casualties in this stylish, unoriginal thriller, but James McAvoy’s knee was the only one that moved me.

Given its obvious parallels with modern-day events, it’s a shame Felt’s ensuing story is so wanly told.

As actor pairings go, you couldn’t hope for better than Oscar winner Sam Rockwell and nominee Taraji P. Henson. So why is The Best of Enemies such a slog?

Son of a Gun, from first-time feature director Julius Avery, begins with an enticingly dark first act in jail, but descends steadily downward into a mass of clichés.

Teen Lisa Johnson (Abigail Breslin) is trapped in a kind of undead, unfunny “Groundhog Day,” living one particular 24 hours with her family over and over.

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.

By the last battle, you may find yourself hoping that at least one person escapes without being macheted to death.

This Disney sequel to 2013’s “Planes” is a lot like flying coach: serviceable, but not trying that hard.

Are Some Girl(s) like this? Yes. But I left this movie with no additional insight on why.

Despite the film’s wispiness, though, there is always something compelling about Waterston, who is usually the best part of any film she’s in (see also: “Inherent Vice,” “Alien: Covenant”).

Would it have been tacky to visually play up the connection between Tolkien’s harrowing experiences on the WWI battlefield and his depiction of Mordor in the books? Perhaps. Beyond the briefest of allusions, Karukoski tastefully leaves that to the imagination. But this — like much of the film — is a tastefulness that induces sleepiness. Tolkien’s estate was not supportive of this film, understandably: The legendary author’s work is memorial enough.

With seemingly no understanding of how tone-deaf it might be to cast a straight, white, able-bodied blonde like Schumer as victimized by society’s judgment, the lazily written I Feel Pretty takes a talented comic and casts her in the worst possible light (and I don’t mean that literally — she looks fine).

It often seems like an acting workshop: Behave as if you are the parent of a dead child.