Steve Persall

Thankfully in space, no one can hear you yawn.

A Most Violent Year has its share of wham-bam moments — a car-truck-foot chase into the city's bowels is superb — but the action never speaks louder than Chandor's hard-boiled words.

Problems aside, The Secret Garden has many qualities that demand respect, especially the performance by Maberly, who captures the spirit of a girl hardened by bad fortune and worse parents. [13 Aug 1993, p.6]

Hercules isn't likely to be revered 30 years from now like other Disney classics, but it's smart, safe family entertainment. [27 June 1997, p.3]

Big Hero 6 is second-tier Disney/Marvel entertainment, fine for a day out with the children yet doesn't seem enough, after the creative advances of Wreck-It Ralph and the emotional heft of Frozen.

Eat Pray Love is like one of those rich dishes Liz consumes in Italy; robustly flavored and guiltily pleasurable.

White-knuckle fun.

They’re called comic books for a reason too many superhero movies neglect. Not Thor: Ragnarok, one keenly aware of how silly all this universe saving stuff is. Guardians of the Galaxy is fun; this movie’s funny. There’s a difference.

With a loving hand and immeasurable skill, Scorsese has fashioned a classic film for any age, innocent or otherwise. [24 Sept 1993, p.8]

The Lobster remains strangely romantic throughout, an absurdist take on the notion that great love stories — Casablanca, The Way We Were, Gone With the Wind — don't always end tidily.

Eye in the Sky remains gripping even when Hibbert tosses in one or two side-taking circumstances too many.

Whatever she lacks in filmmaking expertise or originality is balanced by an unadorned sincerity in the melodrama she chose for a debut. Down in the Delta isn't a great movie, but it constantly touches your heart and involves you with its characters. [25 Dec 1998, p.5]

Like The Flintstones and The Beverly Hillbillies before it, The Brady Bunch Movie is an amusing facsimile of a pop culture archetype. If only the script had been given such attention to detail. [17 Feb 1995, p.3]

There's no disputing Streep's brilliance, which this time feels more calculated than usual, in a movie demanding only an impersonation.

Corbijn keeps the intrigue uncluttered, guided by Andrew Bovell's economical adapted screenplay.

Arbitrage is a classy soap opera with a charismatic louse at its center, without "Margin Call" didactics, or the misplaced empathy of "The Company Men."

The third act sustains a fevered level of absurdity and everything prior is stylish, well-acted yet off-putting.Art without any noticeable heart.

The movie's strength is Sheridan's knack for vivid characterization through little more than casual remarks and consistent voices.

Remember that ultra-violent scene in "Old Boy" when the dude plowed through a subway platform of bad guys and was the only one left standing? Multiply it by four or five and that's The Raid: Redemption.

John Frankenheimer weaves a tidy sense of dread until he reveals what should scare us in The Island of Dr. Moreau. Then the movie degenerates into the equivalent of a roadshow tour of Cats gone horribly wrong. [23 Aug 1996, p.8]

Many actors would focus their energies only on Arnie's tics, but DiCaprio aims for his soul. We could either laugh at Arnie or pity him, but DiCaprio makes us love him. [4 Mar 1994, p.5]

Unlike many post 9/11 war movies, American Sniper goes easier on the gung ho, with a third act leavened by Chris' depressed denial, his "hurt locker" of stored regret. Eastwood is less concerned with action heroism than the consequences of deadly action, how it chips away at the living.

The movie's memorable moments involve a silently expressive dodo bird and "man-panzee," stealing the show from human caricatures acting silly.

Solid work from an actor long thought incapable of as much. [6 Dec 1996, p.5]

Spider-Man: Homecoming does the improbable, successfully rebooting a reboot of a trilogy that did the job well enough only a decade ago. It's a movie that could be unnecessary but isn't.

Forget the last hour of Pearl Harbor. LeRoy's depiction of Jimmy Doolittle's air raid has all the excitement and patriotism that Disney's publicity machine couldn't buy. [13 Sep 2001, p.13W]

Working for the first time with French cinematographer Jean-Claude Larrieu, the director retains his signature framing and crimson flourishes.

Stone is terrific, easy to cheer. She's feisty but a bit softer around the edges than King deserves. Another Oscar nomination is certain. Throw in Steve Carell's uncanny impersonation of Riggs and a stellar supporting cast and Battle of the Sexes has the makings of fine time capsule comedy, an extraordinary sports happening even by today's wired standards.

The strategy deserves to self-destruct in five seconds.

Nothing to skip school over but at least it's not in 3-D. No sense in paying an extra ticket charge for something belonging on TV, anyway.

The Host doesn't strive for social allegory, as previous body snatcher flicks have done with the Red Scare, civil rights and Watergate. If anything it's merely a teenage girl's fantasy checklist for prom.

Even when Magic Mike is skimpier than a g-string it soars on daring, as if Soderbergh asked himself who could possibly make a good movie from such offbeat material, answered "I can," and did.

Anchored by Viggo Mortensen's prismatic portrayal of Ben, this is one of the summer's nicest movie surprises, and among its wisest.

It is interesting even when nothing much happens, which is for most of its 3-hour running time.

DeVito's pacing stunts the eventual triumphs and gives devotees of Dahl's book one more reason not to trust anyone past middle school. [03 Aug 1996, p.2B]

The Cabin in the Woods isn't merely another "Scream" exercise in self-awareness, or a "Scary Movie" spoof of the same. It's a wickedly smart hybrid mutation, biting the severed hand feeding the genre.

There might be a great movie about any of Hoover's triumphs and secrets, but not all at once.

Everything plays out brutally, and the acting's not bad. But it's unsettling for external reasons beyond its control.

Egoyan's self-importance mars every frame of his film. [24 Mar 1995, p.9]

Safe is the operative word here, since One Fine Day wouldn't think of messing with its casting chemistry to take any comedic risks. Clooney is as benign here as he was dangerous in From Dusk Til Dawn. Somewhere in the middle, I bet he'll make a terrific Batman next summer. [20 Dec 1996, p.10]

The soundtrack is a small marvel of music hall tunes and dialogue that is mostly garbled, allowing expressions and body language to be interpreted.

The movie's first half is its funniest, as Moore sets up this alternate low-resolution universe.

The movie's erratic pleasures are like its ghosts; now you see them, now you don't.

Hail, Caesar! is maddeningly hit-and-miss.

Christine is a movie as bleak and withdrawn as its protagonist, with Hall making the most of her best role in years, a slow death spiral that's hard to look away from.

This is a story to make blood boil and change demanded, so future waves of incoming freshmen — even that term is male-centric — won't have their dreams ruined.

Yes, this one is even better: funnier, brawnier and ingeniously constructed for appeal to both devoted fans and reluctant converts.

Whatever definition of "dope" you prefer, it applies to Rick Famuyiwa's movie of the same name.

It's irreverent about cancer and that could be inspirational. And it's surely one of the most enjoyable movies I've seen all year.

A movie of here-and-now thrills, goosed by judicious CGI effects that never overpower the humanity of the situation.

War Horse takes time reaching its full emotional gallop with a late sequence combining man, beast and barbed wire. Yet it remains a technically magnificent ride throughout, and a checklist of visual influences from "All Quiet on the Western Front" to "Gone with the Wind."

Screenwriter Bert V. Royal takes the oldest adolescence hook in the book - losing one's virginity- and turns it inside out.

It's enough to make Kim Jong ill.

There are too many convenient romances, trumped-up crises and reversals of conscience to clear up while those poor whales suffer. Big Miracle isn't an entirely bad movie but a wholly misguided one.

Youth is a movie of dreamscapes and insinuated feelings, gorgeous and puzzling at once.

Wan in particular is pacing today's movie horror by reverting to the past. There's a touch of Hammer Films in his haunted house atmospheres, and Roger Corman in his groaning comic relief from the dread.

Shame smears the lines between daring and taunting, and art versus indulgence. When it ends there's the urge to take a shower, and not a cold one.

A nice balance of solemn myth making and genre irreverence lifts Doctor Strange to Marvel's first tier of movie franchises.

America's foremost smart aleck Dennis Miller adds grand giggles to familiar gore in Bordello of Blood. [17 August 1996, p.2B]

For all of its movie-of-the-week mechanics, this is a deeply moving dramatization of what Alzheimer's does to mind and spirit, anchored by the finest performance, male or female, from any 2014 movie release.

Directors Pierre Coffin and Chris Renaud craft a fun stretch run, wrapping the story with warm, fuzzy funnies and nothing to suggest a sequel, which is probably wise.

Bully is no more incisive than a Dateline NBC segment on the subject, although with a PG-13 rating it now can be a classroom tool for discussion.

If you prefer hipster romantic comedies that are unromantic and not too funny, Lee Toland Krieger's movie may be your grande half-caf caramel mocha frappe.

Director Barbet Schroeder (Single White Female) has the proper foreboding drive in his technique to make every minute of his movie hum with fascinating dread. [21 Apr 1995, p.2B]

Like the genre's top filmmakers - the Coens, Polanski, Hitchcock - Capotondi builds dread with wicked winks at the audience, dropping subtle surprises along the way.

It's a familiar, straightforward story, carried from start to finish by Winstead, who makes Kate an interesting study in contradictions.

Cumberbatch radiates such intelligence — with Sherlock and this, egghead Benedict is his speciality — that gaps are easily excused. From sets and costumes to Alexandre Desplat's musical score, The Imitation Game is everything classy that Hollywood wishes it could be.

The movie's glaring problem is the design and execution of Chappie, whose look is unremarkable except for a pair of polymer rabbit ears ready for meme posterity.

Rudy and his wonderful story could make even an FSU fan genuflect before Touchdown Jesus. [13 Oct 1993, p.6B]

Anything goes in The Big Lebowski, and you roll right along with it. [6 March 1998, p.3]

It may overwhelm and confuse, until you start tracing the mesmerizing route Ward lays out for his audience. [14 May 1993, p.6]

Tangled would be a satisfying adventure on plot and 3D sensations alone.

Edge of Tomorrow may be the best video game movie ever made. Which is strange since it isn't actually based on a video game.

Always lovely to observe, Wonderstruck never entirely grasps the magic of the coincidences it requires. Themes are emotional yet Haynes’ obsession with visual detailing can drain their meaning.

It feels disingenuous to celebrate Doss' moral code by vividly pretending to demolish it. Nobody disputes the notion that war is hell. But maybe this particular war movie didn't need that.

22 Jump Street is a mixed bag of clever spoofery and miscalculated outrageousness. The unveiled homoeroticism of practically all interaction between Jenko and Schmidt is amusing to the point when it isn't.

It's the most unsettling nice surprise of 2011.

Brad's Status is White's second admirable screenplay this year after Beatriz at Dinner, each rapier sharp about human conditions. This script brings out Stiller's best, meaning his characters' worst. Midlife crises this well-written and performed never grow old.

In any language with anyone at the helm, Lisbeth is still a killer.

Warrior is a surprising gut punch, a modern-day "Rocky" saga with two mixed martial arts pugs trying to beat, choke and kick the system.

The movie is as quietly assured as its heroine, Bathsheba Everdene, gracefully played by Carey Mulligan.

I've watched Sleepwalk With Me twice now, each time impressed with Birbiglia's confidence in revealing so much about his craft and himself, and the freely associated style with which he does it.

The triumph of Manhattan Murder Mystery is the return to form of Keaton, whose Annie Hall mannerisms have been smoothed by age, but can still erupt in the face of frustration. Watching her and Allen work together again is a joy; there are times when it seems that this couple is actually Annie and Alvy Singer, all grown up and no place else to go but New York City. Keaton's delightful performance is the re-emergence of a fine actor who was creatively sidetracked too long. [20 Aug 1993, p.8]

The first half is nothing but silly setups for a stretch run that admittedly has its moments of wacky pandemonium, just not enough.

Florence Foster Jenkins is too much old-fashioned fun to saddle with ideas. Just sit back and let Meryl screech.

Well-acted and lovingly designed, Marsh's movie falls far short of the genius it attempts to celebrate.

Eastwood keeps the tension humming from his director's chair and contributes a little too much comic relief, but gives Costner an eye-opening, image-shattering showcase that adds a sheen to his often-criticized acting career. [24 Nov 1993, p.6B]

Taylor's movie is overly episodic, but a number of those episodes are marvelous.

Everything is fine and fantastic while the children are allowed to play out their outlaw games with innocent abandon. It's when adults interfere that Into the West limps off into the sunset. [17 Sep 1993, p.8]

It is well acted bunk, led by Hugh Jackman's righteous raging as the father of a missing girl, abducting a suspect (Paul Dano) to pummel and scald a confession from him. If only solving the case and ending this movie sooner was that simple.

A marvelous technical achievement when the director finally gets around to it.

There are a few typos in The Paper, but they're honest - and honestly funny - mistakes. [25 March 1994, p.5]

Gloriously, uproariously, there’s Rose Marie herself, sharp and tart as ever with total recall of every juicy moment, every conversation. A portrait of an indefatigable entertainer emerges, restless when she wasn’t working and fearless when she was.

For a good portion of Black's film, all this mayhem is great fun, since Russell Crowe is obviously funnier than he has ever allowed himself to appear, and Ryan Gosling is funnier than he has already proven. Together they form a deliciously dumb action duo; one brawn, the other sort of has a brain.

It's a very funny character needing more arc than Rauch's script offers or a shorter movie.

Stephen Fry's elegantly wry performance as Wilde ranks among the best acting of the year so far, elevating what could be a simple impersonation into the embodiment of a person too smart for his surroundings and too tempted by the ways of the flesh. [26 Jun 1998, p.10]

Get Low is a pleasant yarn, well-acted and dutifully mounted with period designs. There isn't a false note among the actors.

It's a heady blend, at times requiring more speechifying than throwaway pop deserves. But it keeps one guessing between ill-staged and frenetically edited fight scenes. Directors Anthony and Joe Russo handle vehicular mayhem better.