This is a rich, and important story. There’s no argument there. The only problem with “Son of God” is that there are much more compelling ways to tell it.

There’s no rescuing Non-Stop from its own worse impulses. The likable Neeson’s implausible second act as an action star continues, but not in a believable direction.

It fails to offer as single compelling character as a sacrifice to the angry volcano.

In Bloom, whose title proves more and more ironic as the film goes on, is a fascinating snapshot of a country at war with itself (literally, eventually) as seen through the eyes of two teenage girls, whose lives are complicated enough as it is.

This is a difficult film, one that asks questions that can’t really be answered. There are a couple of surprises along the way, but more than anything Koreeda is getting at what really makes a family a family.

It’s a spectacularly wrong-headed, chemistry-free romance, and too dumb to know how sexist it is.

The acting is good, the story of doomed lovers suitably tragic. But the film is never quite moving in the way one would hope.

Although it’s not impossible to mix humor and violence, as “Midnight Run” proves, it isn’t easy — as 3 Days to Kill proves. Points for effort all the way around, and welcome back, Costner. Let’s hope things get better from here.

Attractively staged and spiced through with raunch, About Last Night is still a pleasant enough romp, even if you have no intention of returning its phone calls.

If you had to update the film for the Instagram generation, you could do a lot worse than what director Shana Feste (“Country Strong”) has come up with. She has crafted a stylish, evocative journey into overheated-teenager territory. For a good chunk of the time, it works.

Writer and director Jeremy Leven’s film is meant to be a trifle, a status which it achieves, but it’s nothing more than that.

Earnest in its ambition but dopey in its execution, Winter’s Tale never takes flight.

Thanks to a good cast and a willingness to stray fairly far afield from the source material, it’s better than you might think.

The film is based on a popular series of young-adult books (big surprise), but one figures only die-hard fans will enjoy the result. The movie is slow-witted and moves at a glacial pace.

First-time writer-director Tom Gormican keeps the dialogue moving at a rapid pace, which doesn’t obscure the fact that most of what is said is dopey and witless.

There are many remarkable things about Gloria, Sebastián Lelio’s film about a woman in her late 50s seeking love or something like it. Foremost is the performance by Paulina García in the title role.

The Lego Movie is a delight, a funny, fast-moving film that should satisfy adults and children alike.

It comes down to a matter of tone, and Clooney can’t really settle on one. The Monuments Men is in no way a bad movie. Just, with this bunch, a disappointing one.

At Middleton is an almost completely inauthentic little romance that is so genuinely pleasant you’ll enjoy it anyway.

What raises it a notch above the typical slick Hollywood romances are its stars, Ludivine Sagnier and Nicolas Bedos.

Even with the talent involved, almost everything about Labor Day plays less like something you’d buy a ticket to watch and more like something you’d buy in an airport bookstore to read.

By far the scariest thing about director Stuart Beattie’s I, Frankenstein, a terrible would-be horror story that somehow roped in a couple of really good actors, is that the ending seems to suggest the possibility of a sequel. Now that’s horror.

Josh C. Waller’s movie is just prurient nonsense, a film only a couple of notches up from the women-in-prison films that were popular years and years ago.

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.

Most of the time, it simply coasts along at the level of a typical Lifetime TV movie.

Farhadi again burrows deep into his characters to tell an achingly intimate story, spinning grand tragedies out of minor lives in which the past lingers in the air, a perfume that haunts long after its wearer has left the room.

Although it won’t win any points for originality, it is a fast-moving little chiller filled with creepy atmosphere and convincing performances.

Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit is a well-made movie, well-acted (Costner and Branagh seem to be having an especially good time) and a pleasant diversion. They’ll probably make several more. But it doesn’t exactly put the “thrill” in action thriller.

The whole thing is a total bore; even the supporting players aren’t motivated enough to attract attention. That’s good news for Lutz; he can’t be blamed for torpedoing the project, because everyone is doing subpar work here.

Peter Lepeniotis’ animated film brings together a good cast, including Will Arnett, Brendan Fraser and Liam Neeson, which sounds like a sweet deal. But it places them in an uninspired little movie about selfish behavior, which, while overcome (of course), never really manages to escape its bitter roots.

You can practically see Hart straining to break free of the script and let loose with a wild improvisational rant, and you never lose hope that he might. (Spoiler alert: He doesn’t.)

August: Osage County is at times affecting (Cooper’s tender moment with Cumberbatch, who has slept through an important event, is especially so), but mostly it’s all about actors acting and never letting us forget they’re doing so.

Her is an outstanding movie, in part because of its originality, but also because of its execution.

The performances are outstanding.

Berg immerses us so completely into the horror of these men’s situation that we are gripped throughout. The fighting is incredibly intense.

This is a wretched movie, trading on characters we revere, yet doing nothing to honor them. Director Peter Segal tries everything he can to recapture the magic of the earlier movies, but to no avail. It’s all rather sad.

The intentions are noble, but the film’s eagerness to honor Mandela instead shortchanges him. Mandela was a man who broke the mold; “Mandela” is a film content to nestle very neatly into it.

The Last Days on Mars isn’t a disaster. Robinson, in fact, shows some promise. It’s just not much of anything, a movie ultimately as barren as the landscape on which it takes place.

Martin Scorsese’s The Wolf of Wall Street is absurd, ridiculous, over the top, overindulgent, overlong, overstuffed, over-everythinged. And that is precisely the point.

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty just doesn’t work.

This is one of the strangest yet most satisfying movie experiences of the year, one of those films in which you can’t really appreciate what you’ve seen until it’s over. You just have to trust that the trip is worth the trouble. And it is.

Disney scholars may scoff that it’s not a warts-and-all portrayal of the struggle to bring “Mary Poppins” to the screen, but that seems almost churlish in light of the enthusiasm Hanks brings to the film, or the eventually melting icy facade Thompson puts up.

For a film that purports to love dinosaurs, this bigger, flashier Walking With Dinosaurs sure doesn’t trust them to be interesting enough to carry five minutes of a movie without the copious aid of slapstick and bathroom humor in a screenplay so rote it makes creatures that have been dead for 65 million years feel less fossilized than the jokes.

Boasting terrific acting, a brilliant soundtrack, outrageous outfits and hair, and a kinda-sorta based-on-fact story of ambition and greed, it’s relentless, in the best possible way.

Is it a good movie? It’s OK. But is it funny? It is, and ultimately that’s all it sets out to be.

A Madea Christmas, for all its narrative shortcomings, also has plenty of laughs.

It’s too straightforward, at least in terms of what we’ve come to expect from Sayles.

It’s a mix of good films that could have been a single outstanding one.

Tucci and Eve command the screen throughout, shifting tone and intensity as they go. It’s fascinating. So is the film, well worth watching and arguing over. Which, in LaBute’s hands, is doubtless the point.

It’s a Fellini-esque carnival of humanity on display, a more debauched phantasmagoria reminiscent of “La Dolce Vita.” But “La Dolce Vita” created the paparazzi; The Great Beauty takes place in a world where the paparazzi have existed for decades.

For fantasy fans who have dreamed all their lives of spending time inside Tolkien’s dazzling alternative reality, it’s a ride well worth taking.

Among the many historical documentaries on Israel there are to choose from, this one is tantamount to two hours of footnotes.

Gondry’s illustrations are as fascinating as the chats. Sometimes they look like markers on a napkin. Other times they are reminiscent of something made on the old Lite-Brite toy. They’re always delightful.

Interesting as it is, Narco Cultura aims to tell the story of what’s happened in Juarez and in Mexico (and, by virtue of its immense appetite for drugs, the U.S.). Instead, it feels more like a couple of intriguing chapters.

Bouncing back and forth in time and emotional space, The Broken Circle Breakdown contains moments of beauty, power and tragedy, but the constant churning sometimes leaves the film without a solid foundation. Ah, but then there’s the music, soaring bluegrass performed with passion and talent.

Schnack presents all this without commentary, stitching together appearances and speeches and strategy sessions. As is often the case, he doesn’t need to make the point about the quality of politics at work in Caucus. The candidates do it for him.

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.

The singing is terrific, particularly whenever Hudson belts out a number (and there is really no other way to describe her powerhouse vocals). But the story is trite and predictable, if heartfelt.

Statham is always good as the silent butt-kicking type and is fine here. Franco, as is often the case, seems to be acting in his own private movie and having a grand old time doing so; results for the audience may vary. Bosworth is good, scary skinny and wired for trouble as a menacing mom.

Philomena could have been a sappy movie, but it’s not. Instead, with such assured performances, it’s proof that sometimes a laugh makes swallowing a big dose of outrage a little easier.

Frozen is a delightful animated musical, a return to form for Disney animation with an intriguing story and terrific songs.

Surprisingly, the movie doesn’t bear much of the stylistic stamp we’ve come to expect of Lee, who’s in his generic journeyman mode here. But aside from a satisfyingly clever new direction in the denouement, what distinguishes the remake from the original is its cartoonishness.

Plenty of families harbor resentments, but the goings-on here become ridiculous. Which is too bad, because Cold Turkey has the seeds of a good movie.

The whole thing is sentimental corn, which isn’t bad if it’s handled with conviction and sincerity. But the direction by John Stephenson (better known for special effects than directing) is resolutely stiff and hollow. That’s murder for a movie dealing with miracles.

Nebraska is as cold and unforgiving as its setting, yet just as stunning.

To call Armstrong’s story a tragedy is probably an overblown notion. But it does involve sadness, not just with its depiction of a fallen idol, but with the necessary acknowledgment that some of our own hopes and dreams fell alongside him.

It’s not a bad movie, by any means. Just repetitive in its relentless praise.

Delivery Man means well, but it’s innocuous to the point of non-existence. In trying to please everyone, the film runs the risk of pleasing no one.

Catching Fire is a great leap forward for the franchise. Seeing as it’s all about hope and what it represents, here’s hoping the next two are just as good, if not better.

Geography Club almost makes up in good intentions what it lacks in technique and execution. Almost.

The children may tug at the heartstrings, but it’s the adults who give the film its heart.

Angels Sing is a shameless holiday movie, one that will stop at nothing — even killing off characters — to try to wring one last bit of emotion out of the audience.

One reason the movie works so well: Writer-director Malcolm D. Lee returns from the original, so the characters feel true to the first film. Secondly, most of the cast is back, and they have the kind of comfortable chemistry you can’t fake. It’s easy to believe these people have a history together.

Jean-Marc Vallee’s film is anything but standard, thanks to an astonishing performance by Matthew McConaughey.

You wouldn’t want Kill Your Darlings to be the only information you ever get about the Beats. But it’s a decent introduction for the uninitiated, and interesting enough to those who know the story.

The story of her life is pretty well-known. But in Diana, it’s not particularly well told.

The false notes are outnumbered by those that ring achingly true.

It’s all very competent, containing all the separate components we ask of period pieces and literary adaptations: great actors, dramatic staging, lush scenery, elaborate costuming. It looks as pretty as a tightly cinched corset, and leaves just as little room to breathe.

There’s nothing in Thor: The Dark World that wasn’t done better in “Thor,” or a lot better in “The Avengers.” Except Tom Hiddleston’s performance as Loki.

It’s not as good, nor as involving, as “Love Actually.” But like that film, it has Bill Nighy, and that’s good for something.

The folks behind Free Birds are trying to entertain us. But they rarely succeed.

It’s all predictable and, despite the best efforts of Turteltaub and screenwriter Dan Fogelman at something a little risky, it’s pretty lame.

Character development, dramatic tension and emotional resonance all get short shrift in the checklist exposition by writer-director Gavin Hood.

If you have a yen for martial-arts action, Man of Tai Chi could do the trick depending on how seriously you take Reeves’ performance. At the film’s worst, it’s empty yet still attractive (much, it can be argued, like Reeves).

The acting is outstanding, the direction assured if straightforward. 12 Years a Slave is a history lesson of the best type. It’s brilliant. But, more crucially, it’s important. It’s brutal truth that demands to be seen.

Checking in at nearly three hours and so full of passions and appetites, it’s impossible for it not to exhaust you.

Grunberg and Boyar have a charming, if broad, chemistry. It’s all kind of cheesy, of course, but it’s meant to be. And the effects, when not deliberately silly, aren’t bad.

The movie is more a collection of cool people telling great stories than it is a structured documentary (despite Camalier’s attempts in that direction). But in this case, that’s enough.

It feels like a filmmaker’s exercise rather than an involving motion picture. Although you may never be bored with All Is Lost, you are rarely fully engaged.

It never quite adds up. You can’t shake the feeling that both Scott and McCarthy are aiming for something here that remains out of their reach.

With its lush look, uniformly excellent acting, slow cadences and unhurried unspooling, We Are What We Are rewards your patience without skimping on the goods.

It’s a powerfully sensual movie, gorgeously lensed colors and textures conveying its characters emotional states while thoughtfully exploring the range of human sexuality through Adenike’s experience.

Levine shows some of the promise that would serve him so well later, but beyond an intriguing look and an initial attempt to put a new spin on the teen-horror genre, “Mandy Lane” winds up being pretty conventional.

Broadway Idiot is entertaining enough. Certainly if you’re a Green Day fan, it’s something close to essential. But it never goes too deeply into anything.

If there’s any social commentary being made here, it doesn’t come through in performances so wooden you can’t tell if the actors are that bad or the characters that vapid.

It’s not fair to either of these actors to want to see Rocky and the Terminator over and over again. But it is fair to want to see them in something better than this.

Instead of delving into the moral questions WikiLeaks asks by its very existence, Condon gives those a passing nod in a couple of weak subplots.

Comparisons are unfair and inevitable. But even when taken on its own terms, the new Carrie rings hollow, a horror movie that is unsure of itself, with little to offer the uninitiated and less to offer fans of the first film.