Sara Stewart

The awkwardly titled Unfreedom clearly waves the flag for acceptance and nonviolence — but it would be more effective if it invested as much in some cinematic nuance.

Aloft is less like a story than a dream, populated with gorgeous people and symbolism you can interpret any way you like.

Subtle, sometimes really sad and honest about the struggles of adolescence, Marnie is a worthy last entry from Ghibli before the studio reportedly goes on hiatus.

Niccol’s film may not be perfect, but it shines a light on a subject many viewers will know vaguely by name — and not much more.

The film fails to represent how singular and influential the late Giger is in popular culture.

The trope of horror-suffused female friendships is a fertile one, but despite a screenwriting credit from the very capable Nicole Holofcener (director of “Enough Said,” among others), Every Secret Thing comes up short.

Witherspoon’s charge, Sofía Vergara as a recalcitrant witness in need of police protection, is an adept slapstick comic likewise hamstrung by director Anne Fletcher’s sluggish pacing, which reliably stays with a scene for three beats beyond the punch line.

Ultimately, though, Saint Laurent is beautifully dressed with little substance, which doesn’t do much to subvert a prevailing stereotype about the industry as a whole.

Marie’s Story will feel familiar, which is mostly a tribute to the enduring power of Helen Keller’s biography.

Vinterberg aces the metaphor-heavy scene in which Troy demonstrates his swordsmanship for an inexperienced, dazzled Bathsheba.

Pollak obviously had fun, but you get the feeling the best bits never made it in.

Crowe makes the most of his own quiet presence, and this ode to the world’s never-recovered soldiers and their families is a fitting meditation on the insanity of war.

It’s his home movies with Love and baby — some playful, others drugged and drooling — that fans will find the most emotional viewing. As the credits roll, it’s hard not to just root for the sensitive, progressive, fiercely creative Cobain and wish that he’d lived long enough to find a little peace of mind.

Is it never funny? No, it’s not never funny. It’s just not funny nearly often enough.

Antarctic Edge will make good viewing for science classes of all levels, and ideally inspire a new generation to continue this hardy mission.

On the whole, though, you couldn’t do much better than Monkey Kingdom to get kids invested in learning about, and protecting, the natural world.

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.

The bloodshed is artful, at least.

This ponderous drama from director Kazuaki Kiriya quickly gets weighed down by its own blood-drenched armor.

Though Valderrama gives a standout performance as the avenging Angel, brother of the late Jesus (Kareem Savion), two smaller roles are also worthy of note: Paz de la Huerta as a spacy bartender at Pianos, and J. Bernard Calloway as Dre, a bouncer who’s seen it all, and who can be reliably found eating a healthy salad as he sits outside his nightspot.

Despite James Wan’s capable direction and very game cast, the whole thing goes increasingly wobbly like a bad axle, until it’s just a tangle of metal and bullets and yelling.

Many of the images — and Salgado’s accounts of taking them — are as soul-shattering as they are breathtaking.

It’s refreshing to see a nonwhite lead, and the husky-voiced pop singer is likable as a brave-hearted kid searching for her mother. But man, is there a lot of Rihanna in this movie: She also provides what seems like the entirety of the film’s soundtrack, making it feel like a vanity project (is “vanimation” a thing?).

The very German lack of emotion is so acute it can be hard to tell when Hausner’s playing for laughs, but Friedel is hilariously — if morbidly — tedious as the tortured writer whose pickup line is, “Would you care to die with me?”

Like Cam, Tracers is fun to look at, if not too bright, and even includes a line I can only assume is a winking reference to Lautner’s claim to fame: “There can only be one alpha in every pack.”

This Cinderella is all dressed up with nowhere very interesting to go.

Unlike many working in this genre, Mitchell doesn’t punish young women for having sex: This is a gender-blind demonic delivery vehicle.

Dreadful, misogynist slog of a film.