Soren Andersen

Though The Infiltrator breaks no new ground in its storytelling, it is nonetheless a riveting piece of work.

Shot in stark black and white, the picture’s sense of place and time is strong — pungently so.

Gore and guffaws attend this very dark horror comedy in roughly equal measure.

Director/co-screenwriter Scott Derrickson generally keeps the massive enterprise moving smoothly along. The trip’s the trip here, and it’s well worth taking.

The picture is a hugely entertaining crowd-pleaser studded with laugh-out-loud moments from beginning to end.

An engaging picture brimming with uplift.

The segments, though short, are nastily effective.

The eye is enchanted by the richness of the picture’s spectacle.

Maximally cheeky. Perversely potty-mouthed. Riotously funny. Insanely violent. Uneven as all get out. And fun, fun, fun.

The most interesting revelations come early as Wyman, in voice-over, describes his upbringing in a rough section of London.

As with any Michael Moore movie, attention must be paid.

The Coen brothers’ section, derived from a script they sent to Clooney in the late 1990s, is much more impactful, with Damon giving a performance that renders his character downright chilling and Jupe doing heart-rending work as a child emotionally buffeted by the grievously flawed behavior of the adults who are supposed to love and protect him.

The Souvenir reveals itself slowly, calmly, with great deliberation.

It’s nuts. It’s fun.

Combining rowdy concert footage and revealing offstage interactions of the band members, Mad Tiger is a well-executed portrait of a band coming apart at the seams.

Fuqua’s remake is a worthy successor to the ’60s “Seven.”

This is history brought to life, something absolutely unprecedented in the annals of humankind.

In fact it’s really writer-director Schrader who is Isaac’s true co-star in “The Card Counter.” A product of a strict Calvinist upbringing in Michigan, the filmmaker’s trademarks — guilt, redemption, a soul in torment — are all here.

For a fun time to dispel the gloom of January, Dolittle is just what the doctor ordered.

Director Ridley Scott, who knows a thing or two about how to mount sweeping historical epics (see “Gladiator”), is in his element here.

It’s an absorbing character study of a most intriguing man.

It’s a horrifying tale, and Maras, a Greek-Australian filmmaker, does not shy away from showing the carnage.

Mile 22 is one nasty piece of work. It’s an action picture that’s hard-core to the core, populated entirely by killers with nary a truly sympathetic figure among them. But it does deliver.

It’s all undeniably silly, but satisfying in an overstuffed blockbuster sort of way.

There are no safe places in his pictures. And Eddington is dense with multiple levels that stoke the ever-present unease.

Throughout, the fragility of the native cultures and of the rain-forest environment that is their home is underscored by Guerra in this fascinating, melancholy movie.

Neeson’s Felt is deeply conflicted about being a turncoat. He’s also deeply flawed, a man who authorized illegal activities to track down members of the terrorist Weather Underground.

Hunnam speaks in low tones, practically murmuring his lines in many scenes, which seem at odds with the underlying fierceness of Fawcett’s resolve. His manner is almost diffident, yet he’s steadfast in his purposefulness.