Point and Shoot is a fascinating, frequently frustrating documentary.

Between Parkinson's excellent visual storytelling and the entire cast, especially Cole, putting their all into performances that feel realistic, Last Breath is proof that keeping things real and simple produces some incredible work.

One can forgive the trying-too-hard aphorisms -- "You don't choose a life ... you live one" -- but savvy cinephiles are sure to be annoyed by Tyler Bates' hypnotic ambient-folk soundtrack, studded with such despoiled musical gems as Nick Drake's "Pink Moon" and the Shins' "New Slang."

His first film, "Animal Kingdom," was a terrific examination of a low-grade crime family in Melbourne. The Rover is more ambitious but not as good. Michod's patience with scenes, while laudable, is at times too much.

It’s an admirable film, though not a particularly memorable one.

It adds up to a marginally more interesting experience than the first “Frozen,” but this sequel would have benefited from venturing a touch further into the unknown.

Eventually, all of the stories will come together in a somewhat contrived way. The film's parts are greater than the whole. But the parts are worth the effort.

As cautionary tales go, Disconnect is a pretty good one, but it’s not really a whole lot more than that.

MaXXXine isn't a bad movie by any means, but compared to "X," it just feels like another failed horror movie sequel.

The script makes the characters a little too witty and spot-on with cultural references, but what makes it work, to the extent that it does, is the innate liability of Sudeikis and Brie.

There's a glut of action-adventure-explosions to choose from, so it's refreshing to see a beautiful, character-driven story that feels small, but oh-so relatable.

For all its thematic and behind-the-scenes innovations, cinematically Captain Marvel feels like a step backward for the MCU. Fresh off the heels of the all-or-nothing bombast of “Avengers: Infinity War,” the righteous representation of “Black Panther” and the giddy lunacy of “Thor: Ragnarok,” Captain Marvel is a retreat into a bland formula.

Cozi Zuehlsdorff winningly plays a young girl who works at the hospital. With her big smile and natural warmth, she is a charmer. Even better is Gamble, who gives a smart and sensitive performance without relying on any of the normal mannerisms that often afflict child actors.

For most of the film, Weitz, riding a fantastic performance by Demián Bichir as the landscaper in question, succeeds in showing the day-to-day struggles that exist beneath the political rhetoric and upper-case headlines.

If the path seems familiar — hard work and a good attitude triumph over all — it’s because it’s a successful one. Robles is a real-life hero worth rooting for; Jerome makes him relatable and human.

It’s creepy as all get out and features a great performance from Nina Kiri, on-screen alone for most of the film, as a podcast host who has moved back to her childhood home to take care of her dying mother (Michèle Duquet). Things get weird.

It works, both as a character study and a BOO! made-you-jump exercise in horror.

Hoffman wisely gives his actors plenty of room to maneuver, and that they do. It's surprisingly fun to watch them play against each other. It's not as if you're going to learn anything new from Quartet. It's too straightforward for that. But that doesn't mean you won't enjoy seeing old pros at work. And you won't be exhausted by the end of it.

Prometheus is a good movie, sometimes very good. It's just not a great movie.

A great soundtrack can go a long way in smoothing over a decent movie’s rough patches, and Northern Soul’s is fantastic.

The Patience Stone largely functions as a one-woman play, with Farahani’s character soliloquizing over her husband’s body.

One would expect a film about French artist Pierre-Auguste Renoir to look beautiful, to be shot in warm, sumptuous colors. And one would not be disappointed in Gilles Bourdos’ Renoir.

Occasionally the film seems as if it will make a political statement (the value, or lack thereof, of torture, for instance). But it doesn’t really follow through. But they keep us occupied with twists, well-played, and some of the laughs are genuine, if uncomfortable and guilt-inducing.

In Praise of Love has virtually no plot, no characters and is not about love, and there is precious little praise in it. It's an essay in film, and it's not always consistent in that: You'll never quite know what he's trying to say. But the film remains great because of the way he says it. Memorable images and dialogue worm their way into your psyche and won't let go. [18 Oct 2002, p.8P]

Though the stories explored in Bombshell are explosive, the film's uneven pace makes them merely sizzle like reading a news brief instead of an illustrative Vanity Fair profile.

Belle is a beautiful period piece, but it's also something more: a study of racism, classism and sexism in 18th-century England.

It takes the charred bones and ash of Argento's witches and roots them in a reality entirely familiar to our own.

There are obviously a lot of parts here, and they don’t all fit together successfully; the shift in tone toward the end is particularly unsettling. But it’s not for lack of ambition on the part of the Daniels, nor the performances by Dano and Radcliffe.

It's a somewhat goofy movie that also manages some real scares. Best of all, it makes excellent use of an element of vampire stories effective since Count Dracula confronted Van Helsing in Bram Stoker's novel: I know that you know, and I also know there is nothing you can do about it.

This isn’t a great horror movie so much as a fun thrill ride. Bettinelli-Olpin and Gillett know just how to put Weaving’s talents to good use.

Sorrentino drenches his audiences in the movie-going experience — when you’re done, it’s something akin to enjoying a rich meal, even if you didn’t quite understand how all the ingredients combined. All that’s important is that it satisfies, and ultimately, Youth does.

It's all very stylized and flashy and modern, self-consciously hip in a way that's clearly been designed to speak to generations for whom Elvis Presley may not be the King of Rock 'n' Roll so much as the guy on the soundtrack to "Lilo & Stitch."

The script feels structurally inept, building up scenes and characters then cutting them off, never to be revisited. The end result is a film that feels full of staircases that lead nowhere.

Napoleon isn’t a failure on anyone’s part. But it’s not a rousing success, either. It’s not really a rousing anything, which is the problem. Maybe Scott should have gone in even more on Phoenix’s quirks and mannerisms, which are the most purely entertaining things about the film. Whatever the case, it doesn’t quite measure up.

Alexander Payne has a lot of fun — and has some serious things to say — in Downsizing, a film that goes from fascinating to sometimes merely functional, but never truly loses its way.

Forbes' story and her direction of it may seem too sunny for some. But she keeps us refreshingly off-balance throughout, by letting us in on her memories the way she recalls them.

Miles Ahead is by no means a perfect film, but it is an interesting one. In this case, driven by Cheadle’s performance, that’s more than enough.

Ultimately Fury is a good, conventional war movie that might have become something more.

It’s fun enough in places, outrageous (in mostly a good way) in others. Ultimately, however, the plot falters enough that it’s more like a two-hour audition for Great Actress. Chastain passes with flying colors, even if the movie doesn’t.

The danger in making a movie like Coming Through the Rye is in the constant referencing and hero worship of bigger, better, towering works of art — you can only exist in their shadows and pale all the more for the comparison.

He's always on - this is a documentary, after all, so even when O'Brien is offstage, he's still performing in some capacity, cracking wise at the camera, of whose presence he is acutely aware.

The goal here was to show the tragic downfall of a once-praised hero, similar to the actual poem written by Wilde with the same name. But because of the lack of depth in supporting characters and half-baked writing, this movie couldn't have ended fast enough.

The problem with Peyton Reed's film is that when he shrinks the always-affable Paul Rudd, he shrinks a big part of Rudd's charisma, too.

Director Francis Lawrence does a nice job capturing the claustrophobic environment of District 13 and has a good eye for action shots. But the actors are what really sell the movie.

Jensen has a real gift for comedic editing, knowing just how long to play out a bit and when to move on. And Mikkelsen goes all in with his performance (as does everyone else).

It’s not a disaster, and it doesn’t lack for ambition. But it’s wildly uneven and kind of blah, if that can be said of a movie with nonstop, often incoherent action, self-aware needle drops and not nearly enough smart-aleck quips from a cast we’ve seen deliver plenty of them in the past.

Crown Heights is soul-shaking only in the abstract. In execution, it’s deathly dull.

Igawa is almost a magical presence, projecting a calm in Ozu that is infectious.

Melfi, who also wrote the script, goes for broke on the sappy front. It's a credit to Murray's skill — or maybe the strength of his personality — that he never submits completely to all the heart-string tugging.

Everest is a sprawling mess of a movie, one you feel like could have been great but instead roams all over the place and winds up being just pretty good.

Through all the skillfully juggled subplots, the overarching conflict has always been the family’s quest to keep hold of Downton Abbey — and thus preserve their role as the heart of the community, envied and adored by all — while also keeping up with the march of modernity.

A surprising, laugh-out-loud take on the old buddy-cop genre. It's sneaky and smartly funny, offering an almost perfect balance of action and comedy. That's the good news. Then there's the matter of the movie's disheartening final 25 minutes.

What makes the film more than just a starstruck string of great stories is that it also gets at the loss and longing in Gordon's life.

There are complex situations, well-acted characters and a central relationship that feels authentic and mature — and yet it's missing some element to bring it fully into focus.

We’ve seen it all before — maybe not quite as spectacular, maybe not quite as dumb. It’s Washington who ultimately makes “Gladiator II” stand apart from the first film and makes it a lot more fun than it has any right to be.

It’s all insanely violent and gleefully silly. Stab wounds and bullet holes just don’t slow some people down the way you think they might. Through it all the best part of the film remains the dichotomy of a bland wimp (a character Odenkirk plays so well) who can flip the switch to becoming a remorseless killer — and seeing Odenkirk as the one flipping the switch.

There’s something about a lot of the film as a whole that makes it feel as if Lanthimos is trying a little too hard.

Visually, the movie is amazing — jaw-droppingly so. This is as technologically impressive as anything Spielberg has done, if not more so. The story, on the other hand, based on the bestselling novel by Ernest Cline, doesn’t just allow for narrative shortcuts; it practically demands them.

A quiet character study filled with damaged, insular people who live life in small increments, only occasionally exploding in emotion.

What makes In a Valley of Violence a notch better than a simple genre exercise is West’s sense of fun.

It all falls ultimately to Keough, who is outstanding at portraying the duality of a character, a duality the story demands.

The movie isn’t particularly hard to figure out and doesn’t try to be. Its charms lie more in what the actors make of characters that could have been cliches (or, if you’re in a kinder mood, archetypes) and its gorgeous look.

for those willing to go along with von Trier's typically in-your-face tactics, it's a good, if uncomfortable (and surprisingly funny), film. And the discomfort is part of what von Trier is after.

The Apprentice — its title a play on Trump’s original identity in relation to Cohn, as well as the reality show that helped get him elected president — is well-made, entertaining in its way (particularly for fans of good acting) and not at all surprising.

Don't be mistaken -- this isn't an artsy thriller. It is still, at heart, men vs. wolves, and the wolves definitely have the home-court advantage.

Kristian Levring offers a brutally beautiful take on the Western in The Salvation, a film reminiscent of a song that sounds familiar but offers its own pleasures.

Even if you've never watched a whole episode of "Dora the Explorer," you'd have to be a grinch not to be slightly charmed by the whole thing.

The Creator isn’t a masterpiece of the AI genre, if there's such a thing yet, but it's a good start.

Niccol looks at the pilot's struggles and the toll this remote form of warfare takes on his life. It's certainly intriguing, but he tells his story in such broad, obvious strokes that the movie isn't as powerful as it could be.

An enjoyable movie, in many ways a beautiful movie to look at. One only wishes he'd been a little more ambitious.

Weisz’s performance is what provides the tension. It’s impossible to read her — or, more accurately, it’s possible to misread her. That’s kind of the same thing, but not quite.

The story, based on the Michael Connelly novel, grows increasingly far-fetched - at times it plays like an expensive pilot for a TV series, maybe a "Young Barnaby Jones" or something.

Vacth is good throughout. It's tough to make a disaffected character hold your interest, but she does.

Despite its slow pace at times, the film builds on multiple themes such as flying too close to the sun, self-discovery and a tinge of romance.

Out of the Furnace goes so far out of its way to be gritty and meaningful that it sometimes neglects its strongest feature: its actors.

It's not an easy ride, but it is ultimately a satisfying one.

Writer and director Sarah Adina Smith’s vision is so confident, so sure, that it’s worth trusting her to see where the story goes. Plus, you get Rami Malek at no extra charge.

We've been down this road before. But Pitch Perfect 2, goofier than the original, makes it an enjoyable trip.

Everything is so bizarre and deadpan, the humor just sort of sneaks up on you, until you’re laughing without even meaning to. It’s a neat mix of subtlety and over-the-top bloodshed, with everything played with a straight face.

You don't need to be religious to enjoy the film, but anyone who grew up in "the church" will especially appreciate the subtleties.

There are shortcomings in this film, and most of them are Wenders’ responsibility. But there is also inspiration here, if you’re willing to look for it.

It looks great, Abbott is twitchy and terrific and you really want to like it. But it's never particularly involving, and it becomes even less so as it progresses. Ultimately, it's just a gorgeous, gruesomely wrapped package with little inside.

An unapologetic love letter to the popular board game. It's also almost - but not quite - something more.

No, Atomic Blonde isn’t lacking in sex appeal or swagger. But what it is in want of are stakes.

It's not that the artificiality doesn't work sometimes. It does, as some of the scenes are gorgeous to look at. But too often it serves as more of a distraction than an effective tool for telling the story.

The dialogue snaps with precision and cringe-worthy humor; at times, you feel like you're having one of those awkward moments in which you watch a couple bicker. The movie is delicately perched between low-key believability and telenovela melodramatics, yet never falls too far to one side.

Patricia Clarkson is kind of funny as Jamie's mom, an unreformed hippie. And Timberlake and Kunis get in a few good laughs before it's over. But with such a well-worn story, you can't shake the idea you've seen this kind of thing before.

The Last Exorcism is a good movie that could have been - SHOULD have been - a great one.

Gilchrist, Emma Roberts and, especially, Zach Galifianakis, give affecting performances, but they are ultimately let down by Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck's screenplay.

The movie makes some observations about the worth of human life — the title refers to the monetary value put on the life of the injured waiter — and the economic class system, but they're not terribly interesting or surprising.

This film is a wonderful act of imagination on its own.

If you like your musicals enormous, over the top and bang-on-the-head manipulative, Les Miserables is the movie for you.

It is a question that has vexed lovers of fine cinema for years: What if you made a teen sex comedy with grown-ups? And now, thanks to Hot Tub Time Machine, we have our answer: It would be pretty cool.

Simon Killer is a beautifully made look at ugliness and brutality, the kind of oxymoronic exercise that fascinates some and repels others.

Nick Ryan’s documentary looks at the disaster by using interviews, actual footage and re-enactments. The latter move undercuts some of the movie’s authenticity. Granted, there probably wasn’t another way to film it, but it muddies the film’s sense of truth.

Andrea Pallaoro’s frigid portrait of a woman in crisis is more a calculated exercise in formalism than an achievement in storytelling. His well-composed images of loneliness are cerebrally satisfying but lack emotional heft.

To pretend that the film doesn't make a political statement is silly. Of course it does. It wouldn't be effective at all if it didn't.

Metz does a really nice job of shooting the final match, of ratcheting up the tension. Then again, the five-set marathon does a nice job of that all by itself. Gudnason is good as Borg, but mostly he’s a portrait of tightly coiled silence, occasionally lashing out. LaBeouf is the best thing about the movie.