Stephen Whitty

Rather than including people with their politics, the filmmakers depend on flashy sleight-of-hand, distracting us with a deceptive narrative trick that isn’t nearly as fresh as they think.

As a brief, brightly-coloured, virtual babysitter – lasting just long enough to keep the children diverted while you check in and out of that last Zoom meeting, and get dinner on the table – it dutifully fulfills its obligations. But anyone looking for much beyond that in this tale of a flying squirrel – well, they’d have to be nuts.

Even for a film about time loops, everything feels overly familiar. (Note to filmmakers: Simply referencing the film you’re stealing from doesn’t excuse the theft). And unlike Mark and Margaret’s do-over day, in the end the whole thing slips by without leaving any impression at all.

Despite the constant effort and genuine warmth of star Melissa McCarthy, the film’s stitched-together stories come apart early on.

Although the story’s point is clear, the plotting is thin, and it can be easy at times for viewers to feel as confined as the prisoners. But the production design – all grey cement walls, with that platform cutting through the center of the screen like an infernal dumbwaiter – is superb.

Badly cast, broadly directed, and hampered by a book that hasn’t aged well since the musical’s 1981 West End debut, it’s hard to imagine just who this film’s target audience is.

The result is a careful chronicle that, while staying true to its observational ethos, nonetheless, leaves plenty of questions – and, occasionally, its audience – behind.

Like the first film, The Secret Life of Pets 2 is at its best when it concentrates on the unconditional love offered by mankind’s best friends, or gently mocks familiar situations.

At its core, The Kill Team has one great performance, and some important things to say – about the dangerous appeal of the strong, and the easy malleability of the young. It’s well worth watching, and thinking on. It’s just a shame that that great performance isn’t matched by all the others – and that what the film has to say is said in such a dutifully by-the-book way.

For a movie that’s supposed to be about a modern-day Geppetto bringing his dolls to life, the wooden Welcome to Marwen never makes it out of the toy box.

The switch between moods—obvious comedy and sermonizing message—comes often, and clumsily.

For fans of this goofy sort of comedy, or of Atkinson’s similarly loopy “Mr. Bean,” it may be a gentle treat.

The film—Weitz’s first since 2015’s indie Grandma—feels a little cheap and shortchanged.

Too much of Kursk revolves around scenes of sodden sailors sitting around wondering why someone doesn’t just hurry up and rescue them. A sentiment likely to be shared by some audiences, as well.

It’s not a great movie, but it’s a good reminder of why Rockwell’s admirers have happily stuck with him for decades.

Despite its novel plot, and some lovely music and incidental artwork—the title fireworks, the rugged seaside and that glittery magic ball are all beautifully rendered—the film quickly drags.

Director Stefano Sollima, who cut his teeth on Italian TV mob dramas, is good at building suspense. He fills the screen with striking images, too -- night-vision raids, heat-signature tracking, eye-in-the-sky surveillance.

The special effects remain startling, and in your face. But there's nothing new here, and what's old feels like less. The corporate villains seem to have wandered over from "Rampage." The humor has vanished.

Some movies are feasts. Some films are desserts. This picture is cheese in a can, and if it only accepted that, it would be a lot more fun — like “Alligator,” the tongue-in-cheek classic that had a toothy terror climbing out of a city sewer.

Too bad the new actress doesn’t bring much to the party, and this “origin story” feels like leftovers.

Director Ava DuVernay’s version of the beloved children’s classic has a big cast and the best of intentions. It’s socially progressive, racially diverse and packed with positive messages. It’s just not much fun.

But the real problem is that the picture feels padded. There are endless, and pointless, scenes of radio hosts debating the vigilante violence. And the wildly mismatched shoot-outs — every criminal Kersey goes up against is slow, stupid and a lousy shot — waters down the thrills.

Washington is terrific as Roman. The character may be unclear, but the actor’s commitment is focused, and his anger and indignation are sharp and painful.

The new Murder on the Orient Express isn’t a whodunit. It’s a why’d-they-do-it. Why make a new version of a perfectly good old movie if you’re not going to do anything new?

Inside the endlessly dull, oh-so-serious All I See Is You there’s a short, fun, trashy movie dying to get out. And dying. And dying.

Marshall makes a good case for its hero as one of the brightest, boldest lawyers to ever walk into a courtroom. So why is it sometimes such a trial?

The Hitman’s Bodyguard is a movie for anyone who just wants to see Samuel L. Jackson curse, Ryan Reynolds smirk and Salma Hayek kick butt while looking absolutely incredible. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

The Dark Tower is simply dim.

To its credit, even the film realizes how ridiculous it is. After one over-the-top hand-to-hand bout, Lorraine and her Boris Badenov opponent are left literally punch-drunk, swinging wild like a couple of stumblebums.

It never stops for a minute, yet it never goes anywhere. And much as it promises to take you to a thousand planets, it can’t find one sign of intelligent life.

There’s a new “Cars” pulling into theaters, but the series is out of gas.

Sure it’s got big, blurry action scenes, a plane crash, and an army of dusty, mindless zombies. But I think some of them may have been the screenwriters, because the movie’s practically lifeless.

After a sharp, satiric opening, though, Baywatch slowly sinks. The scenery is pretty, including the actors, but Johnson and Efron are better at making fun of themselves than landing zingers.

Director James Ponsoldt — who did the very good "The Spectacular Now" and "Smashed" — is great at visuals, peppering the screen with glowing tweets and comments. He overplays the comedy, though, and underplays the mystery — there's never a feeling that Mae is in real danger.

Unforgettable isn't.

Going in Style has gone a little soft. The geezers-go-gangsta story is back, but in a remake that lacks the edge that made the 1979 original memorable. It’s cuddly when it should be cranky, nice when it needs to be a little nasty.

The Assignment is a movie about a heartless assassin, a mad doctor and a forced surgery. But it’s the movie that should be sued for malpractice.

Since Dornan is as dull as a catalog model anyway — he wanders through the movie like an Abercrombie searching for his Fitch — the shopping-list look of the movie makes sense. But Dakota Johnson deserves better.

True, the movie's intense, and Jovovich is certainly in fighting shape. But after 15 years of this franchise, it's getting hard to tell Alice from the things she's fighting. It's all squint and grunt, slash and groan.

Diesel is the star (as well as a producer), in every scene. And he drags the film down with him.

The details of how the McDonalds literally invented the fast-food concept are fascinating. The period details feel right. All in all, the film's a slick, good-looking package. But it still feels empty. Where's the message? Where's the meaning? Where's the beef?

Although Affleck's been a decent director - capturing real local color in "Gone Baby Gone" and "The Town," building tension nicely in "Argo" - his work here is dim and dull. Live by Night may be about rum, but the pacing is like molasses.

It loses some of its warmth, and most of its charm. And it ends up as nearly as cold and creepy as the space it takes us through.

Hidden Figures is an earnest movie, but not a very exciting one. The screenplay feels as engineered as a Gemini rocket launch, with every scene and line carefully calculated.

The movie's no knockout, but at least it gives us one good performance, and one great one.

Real films breathe, alive with imperfections, accidents, with everything that Lee's worked so carefully to guard against. Billy Lynn's Long Half Time Walk is long, all right, but only half-alive — as careful as a diagram, as chilly as a statue.

It's fun to have new version of an old Marvel favorite, and a storyline which adds some genuine mysticism to this ever-expanding franchise. But "Strange" is too often only odd when it needs to be truly magical, and Hollywood-safe when it needs to be brave.

Instead of ever getting truly "Magnificent," these multicultural gunslingers remain largely a meh seven.

The film barely lasts an hour-and-a-half. Maybe that’s the problem with the movie. There’s not enough movie.

It's fun for a while, on a simple, single-shooter, video-game level. And for a change, the movie's stunts plug into Statham's pre-Hollywood career as a champion diver; this may be the most watery thriller since "Thunderball."

All the flash and sizzle of modern movie effects can't make up for a once spectacular tale that feels not just scaled-down, but shrunk.

Once the story drags Bourne out of retirement, it's just a bunch of fights and chase scenes, only occasionally interrupted by a few lines of dialogue.

The all-new, mostly female Ghostbusters reboot is in theaters, full of terrific special effects, icky green slime, a horribly haunted Manhattan and, yes, the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. But the big laughs you’d expect from a "Bridesmaids" reunion of director Paul Feig and stars Kristen Wiig and Melissa McCarthy never materialize.

Alexander Skarsgard is more abs than actor as the ape man, and Margot Robbie's Jane looks about as 19th-Century as an Aussie surfer girl. Together, they produce all the real-life passion of an Abercrombie & Fitch ad.

Director Jodie Foster's Money Monster runs a trim 98 minutes, but it's still not quite worth the investment.

To be fair, Being Charlie has some action and a few good jokes. It's not completely unwatchable. It's certainly better than Reiner's last few awful movies.

Sometimes, more is less. Although it’s called Captain America: Civil War, the latest Marvel movie is actually a supersized “Avengers” picture -- overstuffed to bursting.

The film borrows plenty, but it brings nothing new.

Has the bare necessities, but not much more.

A quiet, restrained drama, Louder Than Bombs works a little like a photographer itself, changing its focus, showcasing scenes from different points of view, rearranging the order of the images.

Demolition is a wreck.

It's all angst and no adventure, a lot of fury and little fun.

The only thing that's revolting is how dull the series has gotten.

It's tasty at times, but feels like a very special episode of "30 Rock." Halfway in, you're still expecting Kenneth the Page to show up.

Remember “Olympus Has Fallen”? This one is worse.

Backtrack eventually moves beyond its shamelessly borrowed set-up to create a few chills of its own.

When the story does wrap up, it's all too little, too late, and far too long. Which given everything stuffed into it, just leaves the super-sized Triple 9 triply disappointing.

In the end, you get a Sunday morning sermon when what you really want is a Saturday midnight screening.

A movie that really mined that story would be worth the gold. This one barely doesn’t even capture the bronze.

There's noise and movement, an all-out war, and the usual happy ending, but no real blood, no real life. And not much fun.

Despite some great effects, and one good performance, it never quite gets underway.

Old silver-fox Gere looks great. He’s almost embarrassingly charming — which is the point — but there’s not much else here.

This movie has Chris Hemsworth, in between "Avengers" movies, and a lot of computer-generated sea life. It uses a lot of fancy lures, but it never hooks you.

Jackson is terrific, of course, although he's the spice here, not the main meal. As Lysistrata, Teyonah Parris is a fierce, finger-snapping leader while, as her man Chi-Raq, a cast-against-type Nick Cannon, is surprisingly tough and moody.