Steve Persall

It's a very good performance that isn't for the "Talladega Nights" crowd and indie audiences can appreciate that.

Director Lee Tamahori (Mulholland Falls, Once Were Warriors) proceeds at an admirable pace through these jeopardies, yet always gives the impression that he's more concerned with the emotional violence boiling underneath a scene than the physical excitement. [26 Sep 1997, p.3]

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]

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

Get Out loses its nerve winding down but it's a rare horror flick not wasting all its brains on splatter.

Rogue One will engage such diehards but making new friends for the brand is unlikely.

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

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.

The stop-motion technique never ceases to fascinate, but the episodic structure of Shaun the Sheep Movie hinders any true emotional buildup and payoff.

Victoria & Abdul is a small tale well told, a modest historical biopic allowing Dench a remarkable encore.

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

Except for slipping on a third-act soapbox, The Joneses is a deft allegory of the greed and coveting that led to the recession. At times, you wonder if something like this scam could really happen, or does.

Even in strained moments, there is a sincerity to Dolphin Tale 2, an ambition to be more than an easy sequel, making it satisfying.

Farewell is a solid telling of an obscure story and nothing more. The most effective scenes aren't cloak and dagger stuff but passages like Igor daydreaming of becoming a rock star like his idol Freddie Mercury of Queen.

Graphically thinking outside the box, the Lonely Island comedy team makes a decent splash with Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping, an SNL spinoff that generally works.

It's an audacious mashup that Baz Luhrmann would approve, lending freshness to Tolstoy's too-often-told tale.

Director John Schlesinger takes an hour to get around to the vigilante premise promised by the title and previews of his latest thriller. Eye for an Eye is a much better movie before he does it. [12 Jan 1996, p.10]

In the movie's best moments, Rivers is defiantly obnoxious and forthcoming about the fact that she'll do anything for money. At other times, the filmmakers attempt to make the wildcat warmer and fuzzier.

Mad Max: Fury Road is a relentless marvel of sense-pummeling stunts and gargoyle horror that needs to take a breather once in a while.

This is first and foremost Murray's show, and the shortcomings in Melfi's script and direction are strangely appreciated. They give this singular comedian, who doesn't do it often enough these days, the room to let his buffalo heart roam.

I'm not sure there's anything else to take away from this film besides Manville's performance and gratitude that we aren't these people.

Nothing about Koolhoven's film is stunning, but it's a solid piece of work, occasionally feeling as tense as life-and-death situations with Nazis should be.

Split is a tidy example of lurid understatement, its themes ripe for nastier treatment than Shyamalan offers, grindhouse stuff served with vegan restraint.

Pacino, Cusack and Aiello are fascinating to observe, playing three sides of the same political coin, but the whole thing winds up as meaningless as a concession speech by Phil Gramm. [16 Feb 1996, p.5]

This franchise that won't die began in 2001 as The Fast and the Furious and has pretty much run through every title permutation, so the inevitable next chapter might be called only "The & The 7."

The movie needs one or two central characters directly affected by the dictatorship, in order to create more tension around a conclusion that's already known.

Efron makes hay with his richest role post-High School Musical, making Dean a rural rake with conflicting charisma.

Thankfully, much of Red Tails is spent in the skies, where fighter planes swoop and zoom in thrilling dogfights with incendiary direct hits. Executive producer George Lucas apparently gave Hemingway the keys to his CGI kingdom, creating marvelously designed in-flight action and a sappy, snappy salute to the Tuskegee Airmen.

Has something for everyone, if everyone is looking for young nuns taking showers, a department store Santa dealing weed, a coked-up infant crawling on the ceiling and Danny Trejo as the father-in-law-to-be from Hell. I didn't think I was looking for that but found it. And heaven help me, it wasn't bad.

Robespierre does a nice job of balancing the seriousness of this situation with the no-boundaries irreverence of Donna's comedy background.

Casino Royale mostly succeeds as an introduction to a badder Bond than ever.

What makes Lisa Cholodenko's The Kids Are All Right remarkable also makes it a tad humdrum, which may be the filmmaker's point.

The performances are spot-on, with former Tampa resident Morgan Simpson scripting a showcase for himself as Jefferson, and Michael Clarke Duncan (The Green Mile) as the enigmatic stranger, proving again that he's more than just a not-so-pretty face atop an intimidating body.

A memorable doomsday drama. [28 Sep 2000, p.13W]

It's rambunctiously amusing but the laughs clot in your throat. There's a meaner streak this time to Kick-Ass and Hit Girl's exploits, or maybe Carrey's sensitivity is justified. Either way, the third act of Kick-Ass 2 is a visceral beatdown.

The saga of North should appeal to anyone who was ever grounded or felt unappreciated by their parents. [22 Jul 1994, p.6]

Anthony Hopkins, new to the franchise, is introduced in a prison cell, in stir-crazy shades of Hannibal Lecter. At 53, Catherine Zeta-Jones is nearly too young for this stuff.

Steve Carell's character in Dinner for Schmucks is almost too pitiful for the jokes launched against him to be funny. It is a terrific performance making everyone else's condescension sound harsher than the writers likely intended.

The movie is pleasant enough thanks to Kendrick and co-stars, especially Merchant's daft mannerisms and Squibb's matronly spunk. It's solely their attention to the project holding ours.

Iron Man 3 is missing that old Tony Stark spark. Not from Robert Downey Jr., who is still the best thing about this overblown show.

When director Paul Feig — who revitalized feminine comedy with "Bridesmaids" — allows McCarthy's improvisational instincts to take over because, honestly, nobody else in the cast can stand up to her. McCarthy is the best thing about The Heat.

Spielberg doesn't pull heart strings as much as push the right buttons, dutiful to an undercooked story. The BFG begins like a classic fairy tale and ends with helicopters and fart jokes, a tonal dissonance that is Dahl's fault, not the film's.

Director Dave McCary maintains a suitably goofy tone and inspired casting (Hamill, Greg Kinnear, Claire Danes) make for a pleasantly uneven experience.

Joyful Noise is a good movie when it lifts up its heart and lets people sing.

Even as Touching Home finds those moments, it's easier to appreciate the stars' dedication to a grass roots project than the project itself.

Reiner, O'Malley and a cast schooled in the Leslie Nielsen academy of deadpan hilarity make Fatal Instinct more fun than it has a right to be, without pretensions or dependency on past glories. [30 Oct 1993, p.5B]

Yes, it's Meet the Parents time again but flipped and filthier, in a good way. Why Him? had me laughing louder, more often than most smutcoms do, a NSFW blusher delivered by a keenly comical cast.

Snatched amuses because of who's delivering the jokes rather than what the jokes are.

It's a nice movie, and can certainly be inspirational for the proper audiences.

Don Jon is so friskily risque, with teasing glimpses of what turns Jon on and frank dialogue to match, that you don't notice the movie is stuck in a rut until Julianne Moore shows up late, offering Jon an older, wiser perspective on sex and relationships.

Maleficent feels spit-balled into more directions than barely 90 minutes of story time can adequately cover. It's once upon a time, happily ever after and a lot of undeveloped drama in between.

How to Be Single isn't doing anything that some flop probably starring Katherine Heigl hasn't done before. This appealing cast at times works wonders with what they're being asked to play.

This Is Where I Leave You is packed with familiar regrets and lost-time makeups but these actors make every recycled moment count for something.

Burlesque is what happens when an irresistible sex object like Aguilera meets Cher's immovable upper lip. It isn't always pretty but on occasion it's guiltily pleasurable.

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.

Nobody can disagree that Waiting for Superman deals with a subject demanding attention. But it paints the engulfing problems of U.S. education with a brush too broad and samples too small to be definitive.

Part 1 of Harry Potter's long goodbye is technically impressive as usual, especially an animated shadow play explaining the whole Deathly Hallows myth.

Only a spunky cast prevents the film from being as tedious as a test pattern.

Sparkle may wind up as Ejogo's breakthrough but will forever be remembered as Houston's swan song, and a glimpse of what her next life chapter might have been. What a talent. What a waste.

The most succinct evidence that Shakespeare was a fraud is offered by Derek Jacobi in prologue and epilogue, alone on a Broadway stage before a rapt audience. As usual in matters of the Bard, the play's the thing.

It all comes down to what Francis Fitzpatrick considers the division of life: those people who are miserable and those who are dissatisfied. She's the One has enough fine moments to keep an audience out of the first category. Fans of Burns' first film will fit squarely in the second.

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]

After years of watching Hollywood portray mentally disturbed people as either psychopaths or cuddly idiots, it's refreshing to see what Figgis and screenwriters Eric Roth and Michael Cristofer have done with Mr. Jones. Some of the old cliches rise up now and then - beginning with the casting of heroic Richard Gere in the title role - but Mr. Jones mostly maintains respect for its audience and its subject. [8 Oct 1993, p.7]

Surprisingly, you won't find a more laugh-filled source of entertainment in theaters in any galaxy right now. [23 July 1993, p.8]

Love Affair is a second honeymoon disguised as a movie project. [21 Oct 1994, p.7]

Giamatti is a superb expressionist of emotional flotsam, with a Golden Globe for his effort.

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

It's the only chance for small children to drag parents to the movies until November, so knock yourself out, kiddies.

Even the smuttiest jokes about rape, torture and genitals have a more polished edge, sliding by without causing much offense. Watching actors portray alarm at Cohen's antics isn't as hilarious as civilians doing it for real.

Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky is an elegant scandal almost devoid of true passion, no matter how many times the nude lovers artfully mingle.

Just like Will Stoneman himself, it crosses the finish line battered and wobbly, but a winner nonetheless. [14 Jan 1994, p.7]

What Bay has really done is slice Beverly Hills Cop in two; Eddie Murphy's sandpaper personality in Lawrence and his silky style in Smith. [7 April 1995, p.7]

A fitfully entertaining movie in an awkward position; too arty for the action crowd yet too unsubtle for more refined tastes.

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.

Not as funny as you might expect but, like Reitman's political comedy Dave, it has a genuine affection for its institutional subject. [23 Nov 1994, p.8C]

The sermons are subtle, raising the film's chances of crossing over to secular audiences. Soul Surfer is so clean that it squeaks, but sometimes that's a nice change of pace.

Will they, won't they? A bolder movie wouldn't settle for maybe.

The standout in Win Win is Alex Shaffer, a former New Jersey state champion cast as Kyle.

Burton's manner is changed, not drastically or consistently but more controlled, making strangeness the story's accessory rather than its purpose. He seems inspired by this material for the first time in years, in a creative vein where he finds the most satisfaction.

Movies don't come any brawnier than Safe House, and all that chaotic mayhem eventually beats the plot to a pulp.

Paramount prefers to think of Star Trek: Generations as the first of a new film series, rather than the seventh act of the old, but prior knowledge of the saga definitely is a necessity. It's a movie filled with punchlines that depend on the audience knowing the set-ups. [18 Nov. 1994, p.3]

Writer-director Martin McDonagh's followup to his more cohesive "In Bruges" is a middle finger to cliches "Pulp Fiction" wrought, while garishly reveling in the same hyper-ironic, pop referenced ultraviolence it lampoons.

What Sirens does have is a refreshingly uninhibited attitude toward sex and the human body, tastefully embodied by supermodel Elle MacPherson and others. Sirens is consistently enjoyable, but one-sided political views, live-action pictorials and feathery jokes make it no better than a decent issue of Playboy - eye-catching and ultimately disposable. [29 March 1994, p.6B]

The movie is airy, predictable and ultimately inconsequential. Yet, there are moments in She's All That when the filmmakers create something close to artfulness, a rare trait in a teen-dream movie. It's a minor, reassuring cure for those Varsity Blues. [29 Jan 1999]

Imagination is the key element that Conviction lacks.

The rest are hit-and-miss propositions with occasional flashes of wit, and a few standout performances. It's always good to see Judy Davis exchanging barbs with Allen, like when he boasts of having an IQ of 160.

It's an amusing geriatric uprising that might just as well be titled "Gray."

Keanu is raucous enough to satisfy the Hangover crowd, yet when compared to Key and Peele's trenchant tomfoolery on television, it needs focused anger, funnier tension. Or perhaps simply more kitty cat.

The pleasant surprises in Larry Crowne come from its side characters.

Robinson's screenplay covers all of its bases by the midway point, and then a framing device of Marston being interrogated by a cultural watchdog (Connie Britton) hammers his theories flat.

When director Joseph Kosinski flips the switch on action, TRON: Legacy is entertaining enough. Especially in 3D IMAX, with a mega-audio system booming Deft Punk's droning Xbox-ready musical score, nearly drowning out the collisions.

The Substitute is loud, dumb and sort of fun, but it'll be best viewed on your neighbor's cable TV, so you don't have to pay the bill. [19 Apr 1996, p.2B]

The third act of Scardino's movie is very funny, and its finale featuring the exposure of an impossibly successful illusion is flat-out brilliant. It's just too bad that the movie's opening act is so sleight of humor, damaging the movie's potential. Now you see it. Then you don't.

Ghostbusters is back, it's not bad, get used to it.

The Jumanji sequel nobody demanded is fun. Kind of. Sort of. It’s a close call.

The appeal of The Rugrats Movie sits squarely on the shoulders of its vast cast of characters, each of whom has one characteristic, but collectively sketch an amusing perspective of childhood. [20 Nov 1998, p.3]

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy is boldly dull in protest to modern movie tastes, and that alone may earn it more praise than it deserves.

The Tourist is less likely to be remembered for its cat-and-mouse machinations than for the beautiful people carrying them out.

In the end, this is a pleasant parable, brimming with Rockwellian visuals and homespun decency. Harder hearts will dismiss it as corny and manipulative, which it is. Sometimes there's nothing wrong with that.

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.

In a holiday season when family movie entertainment is in short supply, Annie is bubbly enough to suit the purpose while irritating purists wonder where their orphan went. At times it's actually a lot of fun, and leapin' lizards the sun really does come out tomorrow. Right after the helicopter chase.

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader ends on a perfectly appropriate note, recapturing a childish sense of wonder and an earnest approach to Lewis' religious allegory.

Rock of Ages is nothing but a good time and sometimes less, slogging through the knee-deep hoopla of 1980s nostalgia at a jukebox pace.

Next to Swinton's excellent portrayal of a woman on the edge of a nervous breakdown, the movie belongs to the two Kevins, young actors with matching arched eyebrows and sullen expressions.

The Glass Castle meanders toward its uplift ending, needing a few more of Cretton's clever time-jump edits, less rehashing the same personal failures. Not a bad movie at all, at times something more but seldom what it could be.

Game Night is one of those comedy tweeners in which the jokes that click are milked too long and jokes that don’t will take too long to confirm that. Appropriately for the premise, it’ll likely be more enjoyable at home with friends.

At times the sewer dwellers don't appear worth saving, except for Socha's profiting. This can't be the filmmaker's intention but it's there.

Addams Family Values is a rare sequel that surpasses the original, primarily for the same reason that Superman II topped the Man of Steel's first outing. This time, Sonnenfeld doesn't bury the jokes in exposition about characters we already know. [19 Nov 1993, p.7]

The final 20 minutes at the Radio City Music Hall extravaganza are fairly tense, in highly improbable ways designed to rouse send-off cheers.

Personal Shopper is wildly imperfect, wandering like Maureen through surroundings matching her dark, curious mood. Dead ends abound with scenes running long then abruptly dropping their subjects. Thrills aren't part of the bargain unless Stewart's intense vulnerability counts. Now more than ever, it should.

Jude Law's ferociously vulgar portrayal of a hard-luck safecracker carries the first hour of this amorality tale. Then writer-director Richard Shepard makes the creatively fatal mistake of making Dom Hemingway sympathetic, when irredeemable is much more fun.

There hasn't been a great Muppet movie since the first one, in 1979. Muppets From Space is the most entertaining of five sequels since then, although it isn't anything special. Yet we can all appreciate the way it's packaged, with one adorably round eye on the kid market and the other focused on grown-ups buying the tickets. [14 July 1999, p.1D]

When the fadeout comes, viewers may feel as unsatisfied with the movie as these characters are with their lives.

The movie maintains its posture of mystery long after the solution is evident, and the best suggestion is to just smirk with the flow.

The relevant question now isn't who John Galt is, but how much demand there will be for what the producers supply.

Fifty Shades of Grey isn't the howling pornucopia it could be, but it's sexy enough, spank you very much.

Renoir is beautifully filmed and scored, yet with the emotional pull of watching exquisitely textured oil paint dry.

So many oddities are thrown in our faces that The Frighteners becomes measured by its occasional imaginative moments, rather than as a complete entertainment. [19 July 1996, p.5]

Even stock characters -- Zoe's tirelessly supportive friends and relatives -- get style points for giving jobs to old pros Klein, Linda Lavin (Alice) and "Mr. C" himself, Tom Bosley. Of course, the babies are adorable.

Hocus Pocus is a sweet-spirited romp that could give clean-minded silliness a good name once again. [16 July 1993, p.6]

It's as slick and fun as summertime entertainment should be. Downey is still an arresting presence, glib to the nth degree and supremely confident that he's smarter than anyone else.

Never thought I'd type this about a comic book movie, but Ant-Man needs to take itself more seriously.

It's occasional fun, but that's about all, folks.

Plenty of ideas float through Ender's Game but the notion of honing a child into a war machine is one that sticks. Writer-director Gavin Hood's adaptation of Orson Scott Card's novel doesn't offer much else, bottled up with battle jargon and special effects debris as it is.

The heist movie genre gets a hip-hop makeover in Takers, a movie loaded with as much style as ammunition.

I learned a total of two things from watching Evil Dead: No camping kit is complete without duct tape, and sometimes end credits are worth sitting through for a movie's best gag.

Espinosa overcomes any shortcomings in originality and logic with one of the most satisfying finales in recent memory. First impressions are important but a clever last impression makes Life worthwhile.

Escape Plan is so dumb it's adorable, as any movie pitting Sylvester Stallone's grunt against Arnold Schwarzenegger's accent should be.

Strange Days - on and off screen - should be a lesson to filmmakers not to use virulent, touchy subjects for entertainment shortcuts. Bigelow has created a state-of-the-art movie machine, with all the moral and political complexity of an Etch-a-Sketch. [13 Oct 1995, p.10]

Despicable Me 3 doubles down on Steve Carell's silly way with words, a smart idea after too much Minions gibberish spoiled Part 2. They're still here, in smaller doses and somewhat funnier for it.

Linklater tinkers with Ponicsan’s memorable characters while asking practically the same performances of his actors that Ashby did. Of course, if a viewer isn’t familiar with The Last Detail then Last Flag Flying gets by as an okay grumpy old soldiers tragicomedy. The rest of us know better because we’ve seen far better.

All that director Kenneth Branagh must do with Thor is not mess it up, and he succeeds. But that isn't enough. The results aren't as exhilarating as the first "Iron Man," but Downey can't play every superhero.

An imagined conversation between Liam Neeson and Ralph Fiennes, after the premiere of Wrath of the Titans...

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

Set It Off doesn't say anything especially original, but it says it loud and proud. [06 Nov 1996, p.1D]

Somehow, the loose ends fit together, as rag-tag plucky as Eddie himself. What Eddie the Eagle has that last week's more historically accurate Race didn't is charm to spare, especially in Egerton's performance.

Director Baltasar Kormakur (2 Guns) essentially made a faux documentary with big stars and better lighting.

It's a valuable history lesson crammed into a creatively uninspired movie. Wiki-cinema, if you will.

It took brains to create such a sumptuous fantasia with pixels and keyboard swipes. Now, if it only had a heart.

Emperor is also one of those movies in which the most intriguing occurrences are revealed by "what-happened-to . . ." title cards at the finale.

The recurring fight scenes had a campy quality that recalled the funniest flicks from Hong Kong. [30 June 1995, p.11]

Justice League does remain fun as it unravels, an upgrade from every other DC flick. Yet a movie intended as the culmination of DC lore instead feels like just another sequel set-up.

There's enough here for a nice little movie, anyway, even if Al Pacino didn't think so. He was hired to voice the movie's arch villain but dropped out due to "creative differences."

For Colored Girls is blessed with a Murderer's Row of black female actors, each tearing ferociously into Shange's words and gamely hanging on through Perry's.

Yes, The Eagle is as bad as it sounds but also entertaining, in a "Mystery Science Theater 3000" sort of way that Macdonald didn't intend.

There is nice stuff found in The Lorax - Thneedville's artificial nature is inspired - and bad, like the original songs nobody will be humming when they leave the theater. But good intentions don't trump mediocre filmmaking. If that makes me a Grinch, so be it.

There are laughs that stick in your throat, when they aren't broad strokes shattering a forlorn mood that occasionally makes the movie feel like a companion piece to "Magnolia," or any film depicting downbeat people realizing they have more sorrow in common than expected.

The fun of watching We're the Millers is guessing how raunchily low it will go, and realizing you've sorely underestimated these writers and actors.

Kenneth Branagh's version of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein reverts to the creature's roots to become the most faithful adaptation ever of the horror classic. [04 Nov 1994, p.10]

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

Nothing much happens in Greenberg, yet Stiller and co-star Greta Gerwig make inconsequence tolerable with solid performances.

An affably crude bromantic comedy with an appealing set of bros.

American Made wants it both ways, with comedy eroding its drama and vice versa.

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]

Schwentke keeps things lively and loud, with a mildly alarming body count, smashing glass and gunfire.

Angels in the Outfield has a lot going for it, beginning with the engaging performances of Glover and Gordon-Levitt in the lead roles. [15 July 1994, p.8]

The next step in Matthew McConaughey's inevitable march to network television is The Lincoln Lawyer, a pilot disguised as a feature-length movie, with an entire season's arc crammed into two hours.

The Gunman becomes a highly capable shoot-em-up but not much else.

Flawed as it is, The Cobbler retains interest throughout, chiefly because Sandler isn't bad in a rare semi-dramatic performance.

Director/chief screenwriter Philip Kaufman used the same kid-glove treatment in his adaptation of Michael Crichton's controversial bestseller, but Rising Sun has enough mystique and chemistry among its stars to be worthwhile adult entertainment. [30 July 1993, p.6]

Nobody dies softly here; they're mutilated, splattered in blood and vomit, set up by people who'll get theirs soon.

What kept me laughing is the genuine camaraderie among Sandler's posse, the way they almost play themselves that perfectly suits this slim material.

It's all more extravagant yet less charming then before.

Director Chad Stahelski — Reeves' stunt double for Point Break and The Matrix — aims only for a kinetic revenge yarn with wrinkles drive-in movie critic Joe Bob Briggs might appreciate, like martial arts moves at point blank bullet range; what he'd call gun fu.

While it is a visually dazzling epic, Farewell My Concubine rarely rises above the level of a sumptuous soap opera. [22 Dec 1993, p.7B]

The movie at times resembles a screenwriting workshop, with Delpy and Hawke trying to shoehorn every shade of this shifting relationship into a single scene. It doesn't feel genuine; certainly these two would know each other better by now.

Nostalgia counts a lot and needs to, with this sitcom-level material and Jon Turteltaub's uninspired direction.

The Hangover Part III is more like "Beverly Hills Cop," a generic crime flick improved by comical touches that shouldn't fit the proceedings.

Sean Connery's familiar, imposing manner and the seething stares of Laurence Fishburne generate a lot of tension, but it is the mercurial hamminess of Ed Harris as a death-row madman that gives the film the goosing it needs. [17 Feb 1995, p.10C]

It's a nice pairing of singular personalities deserving better material, or a shorter leash on the improv.

James Gunn's second spin with Marvel's interplanetary misfits still entertains but this time the fun feels forced. Gone is the original's scrappy underdog spirit and a director operating like it's his only chance to make a movie.

Certainly amusing, but it never accelerates past one-note characters playing out separate personal crises in ways that aren't surprising.

The movie finds its humor in the royals' shock at Hyde Park's lacking decorum, and a hint of FDR's political savvy.

My Cousin Vinny is a mildly entertaining courtroom comedy that ultimately must be judged guilty of disappointment. Lynn and Launer's pop-movie mentality wastes a great idea and some terrific performances. [13 Mar 1992, p.10]

Romantics of any age will probably succumb to Depp's deft portrayal, cinematographer John Schwartzman's fantastic vision and Berman's comic wordplay. [23 Apr 1993, p.5]

The Rover fascinates and frustrates in equal measure, with Michod withholding details of plot and character so thoroughly that a nihilistic fog sets in.

Kong: Skull Island strips the beauty from a legendary beast, reducing a classic movie star to soulless monster mechanics. Kong smashes, but not much else. Whoever dies doesn't matter. Whoever lives has a sequel promised by the end credits.

From the impure perspective of someone who hasn't read King's series, The Dark Tower isn't half-bad. Faint praise, but this movie will take all it can get.

It feels like a rush job, needing another draft or two for cohesion's sake, or for Allen to decide what sort of story he's telling.

Director Patrick Hughes' instinct isn't to find dark humor in violence, only to graphically depict it. There's a sadistic edge to The Hitman's Bodyguard that's unbecoming to its comedy.

Real Steel is sci-fi without the science, and the fiction is strictly 20th century, straight out of Rocky knockoffs.

Russell remains one of our most adorable, underused actors, although this role lacks the emotional and comedic breadth of her turn in 2007's "Waitress."

White House Down is nearly enough fun to be a bad movie that's a good time. But it always finds some way of being a drag, belching exposition and weak humor when action's all we need, then carrying the action to exhausting lengths.

Cool Runnings is enormously unfaithful to its subject, piling on one sports cliche after another with shallow characterizations...Regardless of those faults, Cool Runnings has an agreeable goofiness to it that brushes aside any picky complaints. It isn't art, but it surely is disposable fun. [1 Oct 1993, p.6B]

Chastain plows through this tangled scenario with an icy ferocity that's entertaining. You get the feeling that Miss Sloane would work better as a streaming or cable series, allowing more time to explore characters and issues, giving actors more room for dense dialogue. Maybe come up with a better way out of that corner.

Winter's War isn't tedious. Amiably bad movies seldom are. Theron and Blunt look fabulous doing silly, screechy things in Colleen Atwood's costumes. Chastain makes Sara a formidable match in battle and bed with Eric, who becomes less important as these wonder women converge.

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

Mostly it's hamstrung by an abundance of reverence and dialogue sounding like an art studies syllabus when it isn't rehashing war movie tropes.

Endings have never been Russell's strong suit. This time the beginning also eluded him, and the middle fell into his lap. Joy leaves a feeling of panicked disappointment, as if phone lines are open and nobody's calling.

This is science fiction needing more work on the fiction part, an intriguing premise running its course halfway through. Passengers is too smart for starters to devolve into green screen spectacle relegating its attractive stars to unconvincing gapes.

Stylish to a fault and straying from the source, Guy Ritchie's The Man From U.N.C.L.E. revives a 1960s television hit for the short attention spans of today's youth-skewing movie audience.

As wild as Medak wants it to be, Romeo is Bleeding isn't startling or - with the hellcat exception of Mona Demarkov - especially original. Even a fresh movie genre with an urgent title like New Violence can inspire some filmmakers to deliver the same old thing. [25 Feb 1994, p.6]

I expected, even wanted to cry at The Fault in Our Stars, or at least choke up a little. Yet the transparent eagerness of this movie to break hearts, through means not entirely justifying that end, always pulled me back.

Director Rupert Wyatt (Rise of the Planet of the Apes) doesn't match the feverish nature of Karel Reisz's original, and the gambling sequences convey the sameness of a habit but not as much tension to it.

The actors are so good that you wish Collyer offered them a richer arc to play, rather than just a topic.

At least the latest movie about the financial meltdown doesn't make the same mistake as the last one. It also doesn't prove that a fictional film can explain the downturn's causes and effects better than a documentary.

Feels like half of a good movie, much of it revealed in admittedly thrilling trailers.

The Farrellys whip up a miss-or-hit affair, the best jokes coming without much set-up, just non sequiturs and malapropisms.

A comedy that moves as slow and uncertain as a bill through Congress. [07 May 1993, p.8]

A nice but unnecessary movie for small children who can find the same level of entertainment on kiddie cable networks.

Calvary becomes a lurid Agatha Christie yarn with something important to say about the church and Ireland that McDonagh can't fully articulate. Pulp keeps getting in the way.

Broadbent carries the movie with signature ease, making Tony easy to dislike while wishing him an overdue peace. Despite its time-flip fixation, The Sense of an Ending finds emotional focus in Broadbent's wilting gaze and discoveries in character with the simplest line deliveries.

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

Pig in the City is a blatant, heartless attempt to turn a surprise hit into a cash cow. That simply won't do, pig. [25 Nov 1998, p.1D]

Thankfully in space, no one can hear you yawn.

Kubo and the Two Strings is lovely to behold, if viewers manage to keep their eyes open. It's an animated doozy and drowser at once, an uncomfortable mix of Miyazaki-style imagination and generic dullness.

Coppola's movie has a sense of indie vitality, although the energy feels wasted by running in place.

Energetic performances plug plot holes and the most interesting villains die first, but Surviving the Game is a decent fix for action junkies before the summer blockbusters arrive. [20 Apr 1994, p.6B]

If this movie truly cost $375 million to produce and market (as the L.A. Times reported), the biggest chunk isn't on the screen.

Act of Valor will likely earn high praise from combat veterans and their families, the way movies like "Fireproof" and "Seven Days in Utopia" resonate with Christians. Civilians, movie critics and certainly pacifists won't be nearly as impressed.

Another Stakeout eventually crumbles under the weight of its own stupidity. Badham and Kouf are compelled to shove the comedy aside for an overly violent shootout finish that leaves as many bodies as unanswered questions about the case. An overblown pyrotechnic sequence that destroys a house from a handful of angles is too familiar to be exciting. [23 July 1993, p.9]

Director Robert Lorenz makes a nondescript debut, after assisting Eastwood on several of his directing gigs. The student hasn't learned much from the teacher about economic storytelling or deflecting schmaltz.

Gimme Shelter exists less as a social lesson than as a wobbly showcase for Hudgens' still-developing skills.

Alexander Payne has a great idea with Downsizing and doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

Gary Oldman may finally get that Oscar he has long deserved for Darkest Hour, a movie that seems constructed to do little else.

Our Brand Is Crisis shows flashes of insight cribbed from reality, nibbling the edges of satire without ever taking a big bite.

In telling someone else's story Crowe loses track of his own as a cultural definer, not a panderer. Mee bought a zoo; Crowe sells out.

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

X-Men: Apocalypse is sprawling to a fault, in both geography and characters to be given something to do.

Carlito's Way isn't a bad movie, just one that could be much better with more of the subversiveness that Pacino and De Palma wrought in Scarface. [12 Nov 1993, p.8]

Not even J.K. Rowling can say abracadabra and make a worthwhile movie franchise appear. The lightning that struck Harry Potter once merely grazes Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, turning the sorcerer's mentor into a fantasy apprentice.

This Cinderella is achingly old-fashioned, with scant humor, a regressive heroine and godmother effects that aren't special.

Good intentions don't always make for good movies. Case in point: Zootopia, a Disney film with more on its mind than animated fun and fuzzies. So much, in fact, that it loses track of what audiences expect, what they're being sold.

Spike Lee's remake of 2003's Oldboy is as brutally perplexing as the South Korean original, and needless for both its repetition and tweaks. Nothing is really lost in translation, or gained.

Hanks keeps things interesting with an array of concerned expressions and distant gazes. But there's no tension in faked suffering. The actor and Eastwood's movie are limited by the goodness of their subject, the flawlessness of his actions.

It’s a theme park ride but not the rollercoaster Spielberg hopes. More like It’s a Small Virtual World, careening through gamer nirvana, jerking viewers to and fro among everything Gen X retro.

The Boss feels like a fun character gradually wasted.

The reason this overstuffed movie remains tolerable is the inspired casting of Robert Duvall and Robert Downey Jr. as a combative father and son, and their determination to out-thespian each other.

Woo directs Mission: Impossible 2 cautiously, as if still introducing himself to U.S. audiences despite Face-Off and Broken Arrow. Or maybe he has nothing left to say about the poetry of violence after such visual eloquence in his Chinese classics. [24 May 2000, p.1D]

Soderbergh doesn't always match his pacing to Mallory's fury.

Leigh's characters merely act in a goofy and irritating fashion until their dramatic pay-off scenes. This uneven style cheats fine actors out of the chance to shade their roles rather than rely upon black-and-white emotions. [6 Mar. 1992, p.10]

Identity Thief is a road movie with its creative lanes clogged, and a Mack truck comedian barreling through, anyway.

Buying a ticket to see It Could Happen to You is like purchasing a Lotto ticket with three matching numbers; you get back a little more than you paid for it, but the thrill is quickly replaced by nagging thoughts of what might have been.

Cumberbatch is very good, in a movie that isn't.

Almodóvar dives into perversity, practically daring the audience not to follow. The Skin I Live In is a mediocre addition to his resume, yet for fans, even bad Almodóvar is better than none at all.

Knight and Day never makes sense from the opening credits. Heck, the title is only half-explained, and not as cleverly as the pun deserves. It's a movie that never gestated beyond the pitch: Glamorous stars in exotic locales, shooting and driving their way to safety through a gantlet of bad guys chasing a MacGuffin.

Robert Altman's tantalizing, multicharacter style is considerably dumbed down in Willard Carroll's imitative Playing by Heart. [22 Jan 1999, p.3]

Like a struggling sprinter, Stephen Hopkins' film suffers from wasted motion, too much going on. It's the difference between a merely competent movie and one justifying more discussion of Hollywood's commitment to reward diversity.

The strategy deserves to self-destruct in five seconds.

The Conjuring 2 is serviceable horror, heavy on the audio stings yet smarter than the average gorefest.

It's the garish swarm of colorfully twisted action that Batman v Superman needed, the anarchic approach such timeworn superheroes deserve. Suicide Squad characters aren't nearly as familiar, so writer-director David Ayer's movie is also messy, not entirely by design.

Live by Night is ambitious to a fault, with so much material and technical pizzazz that a cable miniseries format might have been a better way to go.

Depp is the only reason this haphazard take on the Lone Ranger legend exists, at least in this swollen state, begging the question of why Disney didn't name the movie Tonto.

It's a pleasing tribute to Steadman, but there's a sense that Paul would really prefer to focus on Thompson's brand of altered-state brilliance, which has been covered in documentaries before. If you're a gonzo completist, For No Good Reason is a must-see.

The 33 has a disappointing lack of depth for a movie about being trapped 2,400 feet below.

It's Lane who's saddled with dragging this nag over the finish line, with her cliched portrayal of another single-minded woman beating men at their own game.

For Love or Money is a featherweight romantic comedy that barely stays afloat, thanks to the effortlessly appealing personality of Michael J. Fox. [1 Oct 1993, p.11]

Baruchel aside, The Sorcerer's Apprentice contains a few minor delights. One is Cage's surprisingly low-key approach to a role that he could be expected to play over the top.

Wang's high regard for women is intact, plus a keen eye for period detail making the 19th century sequences lovely to observe. But it's nothing we haven't seen before.

Chungking Express essentially tells two muted love stories set in a bustling locale, without fully involving the audience in either. [3 May 1996, p.5]

Everything was awesome in 2014's The Lego Movie, a high-wire risk paying off with a new look in computer animation based on Lego's interlocking design. The Lego Ninjago Movie hasn't abandoned that uniqueness but certainly reins it in.

At least This Means War is an equal opportunity misfire, with as much appeal for men as women, compared to a one-sided weeper like "The Vow."

Field's eager-to-please performance makes [Showalter's] shovelfuls of sugar go down easier.

That John Hughes; he's a riot. Who else would think of packaging such cool ideas in a popular comic strip script and shoving it down kids' throats? To be fair, Dennis the Menace has a few very funny moments, thanks mainly to Walter Matthau, who is picture-perfect as Mr. Wilson. Mason Gamble has the right cowlicked, wide-eyed look to pass for Hank Ketchem's cartoon creation. And to the movie's credit - considering the mayhem going on here - nobody gets killed. [25 June 1993, p.9]

The Homesman isn't as confident with balancing madness and dark humor as Jones' only previous directing job, 2005's border odyssey The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada. This movie's switchback plotting ambles from crisis to comical, threatening to maintain a tone but not for long.

The redneck rust bucket is on screen so much that 3-D glasses should come with tetanus shots.

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's a one-note character that Bardem builds into a complex emotional chord, lessening the urge to dismiss Biutiful solely as an endurance test for viewers.

Vacation is a Gen X comedy franchise rebooted exactly how audiences can expect in 2015, bawdier and less likable than whatever classic inspires it.

Paul Thomas Anderson’s Phantom Thread is passionless window-shop cinema, each static tableau lovingly arranged for display and easy dusting. Its centerpiece is a mannequin, albeit played by Daniel Day-Lewis, whose gift for keeping anything interesting is seldom so necessary.

None of it is thrilling, but Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time has a Saturday matinee goofiness that'll go well enough with air conditioning.

It's just another example of technology intruding upon storytelling, that's been happening since kinetoscopes cranked one frame at a time.

Hoffman's eye for detail isn't matched by his jolting way with a narrative, which an extra year's preparation and editing from its original planned release didn't help. One comes away with the suspicion that Restoration should have been a longer movie, and feeling somewhat relieved that it isn't. [02 Feb 1996, p.5]

The pleasures of Lovelace are in its casting choices, allowing a brio trio like Sarsgaard, Hank Azaria and Bobby Cannavale to sleaze up a pivotal scene, and an unrecognizable Sharon Stone to go full Jessica Lange as Linda's shamed mother.

Curled up at home with the lights off and DVD player running, Don't Be Afraid of the Dark might be passable fun. Spread over a movie screen, the film's modest ambition gets dwarfed by expectations, especially after paying for a ticket.

Salt is a movie constantly painting itself into corners then tromping out with arbitrary twists and action distractions.

Eastwood's unvarnished storytelling style, usually his strength as a filmmaker, is terribly out of place here. If ever a movie needed flashbacks, dream sequences, any attempt no matter how cliche to goose the narrative, it's this one.

It's just an exhausted idea coasting on the charm of its stars.

A Bad Moms Christmas is a comedy with better casting than jokes, a sequel sticking to the formula of using twice as much of whatever worked before.

Ultimately, the movie's energy rises and falls on the presence of Adam Driver as Wallace's libido-on-legs friend, who can make you believe sex can solve anything. Except this movie.

If anyone gets a career boost from The Expendables it will be Dolph Lundgren, playing a drug-addicted loose Howitzer booted from the team and flipping to the bad side.

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.