Walter Addiego

A big, juicy bone for canine-focused humans, but much less of a treat for others.

The overall mood is out-and-out misty-eyed, a feeling emphasized by the movie’s piano score. Ramen Shop has some flaws — the movie jumps jarringly back and forth in time — but voluptuous closeups of delightful dishes like chilli crab make up for a lot.

Too much of what we see feels contrived and ham-handed.

Transit has a hint of science fiction, and more than a hint of Kafka. And despite the story’s link to World War II, it’s clear that Petzold wants it to resonate with today’s immigration problems.

Costner’s performance is mostly monotone, but Harrelson has some nice moments portraying Gault as surprisingly reflective.

An exceptionally fine movie that plays out on a large and leisurely scale.

The movie’s sympathies are with Halla and against the climate-change deniers, but it also sees something slightly ridiculous in her David-and-Goliath actions. What sets the film apart is how it balances both this sense of irony and an abrupt plunge into serious personal matters stemming from a forgotten decision Halla made years ago.

An appealing Brazilian animated feature, and it’s conveyed in a handsome, expressive style that’s pleasing to watch.

A relentlessly quirky British comedy-drama that demonstrates why more is not always more.

Joner is a capable actor, but he’s required here to remain for such a long time in a one-note condition of mental fragility that our sympathy for the character starts to give way to exasperation.

Although it’s good to have a critical accounting of his role in modern American politics, most of what we see here has been reported elsewhere, and this documentary seems aimed at rallying the troops.

The old “Shirkers” is gone, but long live Tan’s new version.

In At Eternity’s Gate, Dafoe often works in silence, but tells us everything we need to know with his face and eyes.

A new documentary, The Great Buster: A Celebration, shows us why he inspires rhapsodies from critics and film historians, and would be a fine introduction for those who don’t know his work.

The movie works by stringing together many small observations to develop a portrait more quiet and revealing than many overwrought films that strain to address hot-button issues.

In the end, there’s some naughty, voyeuristic fun to be had from Studio 54, but the bottom-line story of the club — assuming that is of value — is still to be told.

All the women are good company, but in some ways Dench is the star of the show. She laughs often as she kibitzes with the others and seems not at all in awe of herself.

There’s much of value to be had along the way to a nicely handled ending. It would be a mistake to call it a surprise, but it’s something that few viewers are likely to expect.

Ari Gold’s The Song of Sway Lake is saturated with a kind of melancholy nostalgia, and viewers who can accept that will find other virtues as well in this flawed film. It’s a story of familial unhappiness passing down through generations, impressive before it begins to lose focus.

While there are entertaining segments, and even a couple of comedic touches, in the end the film isn’t convincing, and parts have a paint-by-the-numbers feeling.

While Pick of the Litter can’t be described as innovative, it still creates a solid emotional punch when we see several of the five now-grown dogs finally matched with grateful humans. It’s quite moving to hear the recipients detail how liberating it is to have the assistance of one of these amazing animals.

Although it has its merits, Operation Finale — which recounts the 1960 extraction of Adolf Eichmann from Argentina and his delivery to Jerusalem to stand trial — fails to measure up to the deep historical impact of the events it depicts.

It would be wrong to say Close’s performance in The Wife is wasted, but it certainly deserves a better movie.

The film has its flaws, but after watching its catalog of shifty hedge fund types, Kardashians, plastic surgery addicts, bling-laden rappers and children of Hollywood royalty, you can’t help but agree.

Graizer takes his time and never feels the need to spell everything out, and The Cakemaker is a testament to what filmmakers can achieve when they trust the audience.

It may surprise you to hear that in the end there is a sliver of hope offered in Under the Tree, so thin that it’s almost not there. A less interesting movie might simply have served up a headlong plunge into the abyss — but Sigurdsson gives us a tiny flicker of light.

As an antidote to the frenetic nature of a lot of children’s TV of the day, Rogers preferred a measured pace on his show, and even made judicious use of silence. These are just two of the numerous gifts given by this extraordinary man to the children lucky enough to have watched “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.”

The overall tone is awed and laudatory, which may rub some viewers the wrong way. Willem Dafoe delivers narration taken from Robert Macfarlane’s “Mountains of the Mind,” which occasionally strays in the direction of the trite or overwrought.

Part of what’s missing in The House of Tomorrow is the acerbic punk spirit that inspires its two heroes, which could have been remedied by a sharper script.

The director is clearly an admirer of Francis (both the saint and the pope), and was able to conduct extensive and exclusive interviews with the pontiff.

The movie is a rendering of the internal landscape of a contemporary cowboy, with the complexities and ambiguities left intact. It’s a kind of parable, delivered in a manner that has nothing to do with preaching.

This isn’t the first film to try to deal with the horrors of the Holocaust from a child’s perspective, but it’s tricky material, and this one succeeds because it is direct and forthright.

This tale of a young rape victim further brutalized by officialdom never lives up to its potential.

The film never quite overcomes a slightly stodgy quality.

It’s a testament to the skill of first-time feature director Atsuko Hirayanagi that these wild mood swings can co-exist without blowing the movie apart.

Credit Freyne for ambition — he’s trying to make a zombie movie with a certain amount of discretion, and evoke sympathy for at least some of those who’ve perpetrated unspeakable actions. But he’s juggling too many themes here, and manages to lose us somewhere along the way.

This is a film that’s likely to stick with you because of its exceptional intensity. You may find yourself wondering, long after the credits roll, what on Earth is in store for Boris’ unborn child?

Kalashnikov is also smart enough to keep The Road Movie down to 67 minutes, which is all he needs to create this particular vision of hell. (And, by the way, he does so without showing bloody or mangled bodies.)

Although the director’s multipronged approach may dilute the impact of Intent to Destroy, there’s no denying the film’s value as an introduction to a major piece of history that continues to inspire debate of the most intense kind.

What sticks with us in the end is something beyond the black humor and even Khaled’s sorrows — it’s the touching relationship between the two principals, and the Finnish man’s quiet commitment to doing what’s right.

The film is honest enough not to exaggerate the beneficial results of Parvana’s courageous act.

Short on complexity and depth, The Divine Order gives us a parade of heroines and villains. Instead of raising questions, it seems to want to induce in viewers a sense of smugness.

Nye’s focus on work has had a deleterious effect on his social life. Some of Nye’s issues are no doubt the result of lifelong fears that he may be struck by a neurological condition called Ataxia that runs in his family, but which so far has not affected him.

The film was clearly a labor of love, for good or ill. At one point, Galinsky jokingly refers to the production as “semi-unprofessional.” This is unusual and welcome frankness from a moviemaker.

Because of age and illness, Varda is losing her sight, and Faces Places, which she co-directed, could be her last film. If so, she’s going out on a high note.

Sex is a persistent theme in the movie, and it’s handled forthrightly.

Despite its sometimes bloody content, the mood of Happy Death Day is remarkably sappy, aimed at the broadest possible audience for a film of its genre. Think of it as “slasher lite” and an acceptable date movie for unadventurous types, and you have the gist of it.

A couple of other odd moments to savor: Lucky, seeking a crossword answer, reads a dictionary definition of “realism” that’s perfectly to the point. And listen as he plays “Red River Valley” on the harmonica. Either one is a great way to remember Harry Dean Stanton.

Haakon VII is a hero in Norway, and The King’s Choice tells us why.

Aronofky gets exactly what he needs from his top-notch cast. Lawrence is appealing and never allows herself to be reduced simply to a howling victim. Bardem, Harris and Pfeiffer are menacing in their own varying ways, with Bardem capable of turning on the charm at key times that makes us wonder if we haven’t misjudged him.

Home Again is plain vanilla, from start to finish.

Gook is at its best when detailing the interactions of the three in the shoe store, but it strikes a more urgent note when the riots break out and the store comes under threat.

The Trip to Spain, perhaps isn’t quite up to the series’ opener (“The Trip,” 2010), it’s certainly a healthy cut above the second film (“The Trip to Italy,” 2014).

There are “gotcha” jolts that definitely got me, but for each of those, there must be a half-dozen scares telegraphed in very large letters. I think Annabelle: Creation is suffering from sequelitis.

It’s a lot to cover in 83 minutes, and you might wish for a little more depth in the girls’ back stories. Then again, the brisk pace is part of what makes the movie a crowdpleaser.

Mainly for those who already know and like Jodorowsky’s work.

There’s something to be said for simply watching Blanchett at work. Without the contribution of this exceptionally talented actress, Manifesto would be rough going indeed. With it, the film rises — barely — above the category of “enough already.”

Despite some cumbersome moments, the film delivers a to-the-point message about how the sins of the parents can be visited on the children.

It’s all so heavy-handed that it’s hard to stay engaged with the movie.

Kline is good in a role that suits him perfectly, and his scenes with Steenburgen are among the film’s most affecting. Jacobs is pretty good, too, really pouring on the Southern California “charm.”

A dead woman tells her own harrowing story in the documentary God Knows Where I Am. It’s the kind of movie you need to be prepared for — its most intense moments have echoes of tragic literature.

The film refuses to soft-pedal Dickinson’s heartbreaking descent into bitterness and near-misanthropy, but sometimes operates with a heavy-handedness that’s certainly at odds with her poetry.

It’s a complicated tale, and at 92 minutes, the film is a very brief summary.

For some viewers, it will be more than they want to know, but for Lynch’s many partisans, it’s required watching.

Quibbling aside, Free Fire mainly works, as an indulgence in cinematic overkill for moviegoers who realize that sometimes too much is just enough.

The film urges decentralization and bottom-up decision making as tools in remedying problems of global warming, food production and the like. The tone is more upbeat than you might expect, and there’s a certain glossiness to the movie that’s a refreshing change from some of its more dour documentary siblings.

It’s a great story, but the movie has a flatness that can’t be denied. Who’d have expected a Herzog film to invoke thoughts of “Masterpiece Theater” and Merchant-Ivory productions at their most stiff and formal? I surely did not.

Far too precious and eager to please to really deserve its self-description as a fairy tale.

It’s moving but not maudlin, and there’s humor in addition to compassion.

It’s always fun to watch the charismatic Bernal.

One of the charms of The Red Turtle is a chance to savor the joys of clean and simple animation suggestive of the old hand-drawn school, which is part of what makes the film, a quiet, humanistic fable, one of the best of its kind in memory.

That the movie works so well is also due to the exceptional talents of leads Simonischek and Hüller, who hold nothing back — especially the former, whose Winfried is one of the oddest ducks in recent movies.

It’s a fantasia on a short period in the life of the esteemed Chilean poet and Nobel laureate Pablo Neruda — while based on fact, it’s made with a sense of freedom suggestive of poetry.

This comic film from Belgium, in which God is shown as a cantankerous slob, is more mischievous than malevolent, likely to offend only the humor-impaired.

While this final segment is the least satisfying, it’s impossible not to be impressed with what Ma accomplishes in the film’s brisk 80 minutes.

Ovation has a self-involved air that may be off-putting to those who don’t feel deeply immersed in that world. You may get the sense you’ve wandered into a super-intense acting class or someone’s therapy session — a hothouse atmosphere that’s oppressive.

A fall-off in writing is part of the problem, but I think a more important issue is the replacement of Terry Zwigoff (“Crumb”) as director. Zwigoff’s humor is razor-sharp and incisive, qualities missing from Bad Santa 2.

Teller’s work is the film’s soul, and he completely convinces us of Vinny’s affability, flaws and steely determination. The performance has intelligent touches, some of them comic — such as the hint that Vinny’s rehab battle is heroic but also a bit goofy. It’s the kind of thing that first-rate actors can pull off.

It’s an intricate thriller about a con game, but so loaded with wicked humor and sensual appeal — ravishing cinematography, high-temperature eroticism — that for long stretches viewers might forget there’s any plot at all.

Do Not Resist amounts to little more than a grab bag. Viewers looking for depth will have to find it elsewhere.

Despite highly enjoyable moments and the welcome presence of Kate Winslet, even sympathetic viewers will be put off by the movie’s bewildering variety of genres and tones.

About the only time the film emerges from its stupor is when Lewis bares his fangs and shows us that Max has a bilious, acerbic side.

The film is sprinkled with “f” bombs, which fails to disguise that the enterprise is based on a surprisingly dated notion of what’s racy. Also, you simply may not find Bridget quite as adorable as the filmmaker’s clearly believe her to be.

It doesn’t really add up, either as a psychological portrait or moral commentary.

In short, a nice, predictable film unlikely to linger in the memory.

It’s best to accept Don’t Breathe as simply a piece of lowdown fun — connoisseurs of creepy and sometimes brutal chills will have a good time.

What Laika achieves is an effective mixture of hyper-real and hyper-stylized, a combination that keeps “Kubo” appealing to the eye for audiences of all ages. If the film’s plotting and dialogue had measured up, “Kubo” might have been a masterpiece.

What Mackenzie has crafted here is a crowd-pleaser with undeniable art-house elements.

It’s a lot of ground to cover, but if the movie fails to plumb the depth of Lear’s mystery, it succeeds in being an entertaining look at an influential figure.

Engaging to watch partly because of the three young stars’ personalities — despite a few adolescent squabbles, they remain likable sorts.

It’s a master class with a director who profoundly loves the movies, and, in his best work, has shown dazzling skill at making them.

Presenting Princess Shaw looks and feels like a DIY project, which is fine because the documentary is really a hymn to self-reliance — although bolstered with a modest amount of plain old luck.

If you can live with its blemishes, The Lobster is a bracing experience.

Who can resist a good horse story? Simply and directly made, Dark Horse is a rousing documentary.

So there’s talent on view here, but in service of a questionable proposition, with the whole thing tiptoeing toward the exploitative. It would be nice to see Mascaro try his hand at less volatile material.

Math buffs will appreciate the inclusion of a brief and witty anecdote they may already know involving Ramanujan and the number 1,729. Well done.

This kind of psychological mystery, with its suggestion of fugue states, needs to work by hints and whispers, but Pali Road has pretty low expectations of its audience. It ought to be light on its feet, but it lumbers.

The director’s skill pushes what could have been the same old song into a likable testament to the saving powers of young love and rock ’n’ roll.