Susan Wloszczyna

It is also one of the better solo directing debuts by an actor in recent memory. Hardly a false step is taken by Greta Gerwig in her semi-autobiographical script that centers on Lady Bird’s final year at her rather progressive Catholic high school.

What could have been a salute to the power of imagination to heal damaged souls and broken relationships instead opts to focus on tragic events.

A high-altitude soap opera, woozy with overly telegraphed peril and determined to make the audience root for a couple who clearly aren’t meant for each other and played by actors who deserve a generous C-minus in chemistry.

The hormonal surges in Our Souls at Night aren’t quite the rollercoaster ride they are in those adolescent affairs. But this steady-as-it-goes approach to a senior snuggling has its ups and downs, too.

If you are hungry for dazzling eye candy and don’t mind a less-than-meaty narrative, this might please your palate.

This sturdy regal period piece provides a perfect opportunity to properly adore the 82-year-old legend as she revisits the role of Queen Victoria two decades after first playing the indomitable monarch in “Mrs. Brown.”

Yes, the casual-chic interior designs shine as much as her mom’s ever did. But I never really felt at home with Home Again.

Ultimately, Viceroy’s House might be worth a visit just for certain tasty details, such as how Lady Edwina and her adult daughter greedily scarf down the chicken meant for the family dog without shame after having their palates dulled by wartime rationing.

While no one is going to mistake The Hitman’s Bodyguard for high art, it will please those in the mood for late-summer fun.

Let’s look on the bright side. The running time is barely 90 minutes. And there are but three fairly amusing characters who save this inferior attempt at family entertainment, at least for me.

A soul-stirring, foot-stomping and inspirational step beyond most in that its final showdown is only the beginning of a path towards a brighter future for the participants.

Not even Hunter, who eventually wears out her welcome, can keep Strange Weather from going off the cliff.

A forlornly funny and emotionally bruising dramedy that rarely misses an opportunity to reveal humans as the flawed and occasionally awful beings that they are.

Girls Trip is the ladies-on-the-loose comedy that everyone needs right now, even if they don’t know it yet.

One doesn’t need perfect vision to quickly surmise that this sudsy affair among Manhattan swells is a glorified Hallmark Channel melodrama.

Soapdish is forever blowing comic bubbles. Most burst in mid-flight. But a few, thanks to the talents of stars Sally Field and Kevin Kline, work up into a laughable lather. [31 May 1991, p.4D]

Suddenly, The Book of Henry turns into a not very believable thriller, complete with a ticking clock and a talent show.

Hayek turns Beatriz into her own breed of wonder woman, Lithgow’s Strutt is definitely a super villain of sorts and their head-to-head battle is clearly worth seeing even if, in real life, it has only begun.

For Plummer’s plum of a performance alone, you might want to make an exception for The Exception.

Those who go to see “Dead Men Don’t Tell Tales” might just recognize that hollow feeling as they leave the theater.

And the matter-of-fact portrayal of a bi-racial relationship is presented just as it should be — unremarked upon.

The Wedding Plan feels less like “My Big Fat Jewish Nuptials” and more of a faith-based variation on a Disney princess fantasy. Instead of a fairy godmother, God himself will find her Mr. Right.

Lane, still an incandescent knockout at 52, continues to pull off expressing sensuality and sexiness better than most actresses of any age.

For far too long, nothing especially creepy or unsettling happens on screen.

How to Be a Latin Lover all too quickly devolves into a nearly two-hour slog showcasing Mexican comedy superstar Eugenio Derbez’s attempt to seduce U.S. audiences with a cheesy bilingual spoof of an ethnic stereotype long past its expiration date.

Little Boxes doesn’t manage to summon as much unique insight into prejudice as screenwriter Annie Howell and director Ron Meyer probably expected to achieve. But what keeps their movie watchable is that Lynskey, Ellis and Jackson are completely believable as a loving family unit.

Nighy is never less than splendid.

Cézanne et Moi is at its most intoxicating whenever it looks and acts like a landscape painted by its title 19th-century French artist.