Wes Greene

The filmmakers refuse to promote a political agenda of their own in order to let the varied convictions of others foster a necessary dialogue.

Director Fredrik Gertten's Bikes vs. Cars is passionate but contradictory, a frustrating combination for a documentary that utilizes admittedly interesting data as a pitch to wean our car-crazed world off excessive driving.

The visible numbness and empty stares of the doc's three subjects painfully evoke years of being gripped by the war on drugs.

It may look like a dream, but it plays like someone reading a congressional report on corporate finagling out loud.

It's something unique for both a genre exercise and a documentary: a science-fiction film that doesn't contain an ounce of fiction.

The trust that Bulletproof's filmmakers have in their cast and their talent is humanely and succinctly illustrated throughout.

A documentary whatsit acutely aware of the inherent performance people put into social discourse to maintain appearances.

Rarely do the interviewees express their own thoughts on Beltracchi, as Birkenstock lets him speak for himself, for better and for worse.

Director Aviva Kempner profile of Julius Rosenwald suggests a 60 Minutes segment stretched to feature length.

Thomas Wirthensohn frequently sinks into dully positing Mark Reay as something close to the pinnacle of human integrity.

Its irritatingly saccharine tone is such that it shuns grappling with certain characters' dubious and perverse behaviors.

The end result suggests Re-Animator as told through an airless CNN report.

A hollow bit of violence exposes the film's sense of empowerment as nothing more than a harmless sheep masquerading in wolf's clothing.

The eccentric artistry calls so much attention to itself as to make the subject of the film feel like an afterthought.

It effectively implies that the subjects' troublemaking is the stuff of transience, a phase before they're ushered into the realm of adult responsibility.

Yael Melamede doesn't dwell on each of her subjects' stories beyond the condensed version that's related on screen.

First-person accounts from individuals most affected by the drop in agricultural productivity are rarely the focus of the film's vision.

The doc emerges not so much as a glimpse into the mind of a dying artist than as a factual drama on how loved ones are impacted by an individual's death.

In the end, Bent Hamer's view of current international relations comes to down to a treacly rendition of "Kumbaya."

It appears afraid of alienating viewers by overloading on scientific jargon, and in the process becomes too attracted to ultimately superfluous anecdotes from her subjects.

The affectionate humanism that typically laces Simon Pegg's postmodern self-awareness is missing from Kriv Stenders's film.

Like the characters, the film's exterior flash can't conceal a glaring emptiness.

Sophie Hyde barely elaborates on the toll James's transition takes on him and only superficially as it affects Billie's psyche.

It passive-aggressively seems to suggest that anyone who isn't exactly interested in monogamy may be some kind of selfish, intolerable sociopath.

Frank Whaley never gives these characters a humanizing moment outside of their default personalities, which turns them into cartoon impressions of the worst of each class.

In the end, Adam Green reminds us that he's all to eager to go for the easy thrill.

The doc is too enamored with Cenk Uygur and his convictions that it hews more closely to being a conventional and one-sided biographical portrait.

It may channel the loose, adrenaline-fueled lives of pilots, but the film's inconsistent, often impassive study of this intriguing real-life adventure feels half-told.