The storytelling in Linoleum isn’t simple, but the joys of its discoveries are. It’ll make you think, and ultimately it will make you smile.

As with "The Central Park Five," you come away from the film impressed by the storytelling but enraged by the facts. It's outrageous that this kind of thing happens, but Berg does an outstanding job of showing us how it does.

Come see Wildlife for Jake Gyllenhaal and Carey Mulligan, but stay for the young actor who plays their 14-year-old son.

Kapadia does an outstanding job of getting at what Senna meant to Brazilians and to his sport. The man himself was a tougher nut to crack, but maybe that's best. A little mystery suits a good story, and Senna is definitely that.

This is not an anti-religious polemic, though it easily could have gone that way. Instead it is a much more thoughtful film and in some ways more troubling. No one is trying to do the wrong thing here, but, as with most things in life, it becomes increasingly hard to know what the right thing might be.

A heartfelt, moving and bracingly honest document of a famous man as he fades away.

There is a sad sweetness to the whole affair, for lack of a better term. Or maybe it's a sweet sadness. But O'Brien's outlook on life (he thinks his use-by date may be approaching), and Hawkes' portrayal of it, elevates the film beyond what's on the page, making what's on the screen a lot more satisfying.

The movie is as gorgeous as it is disturbing, and that’s a powerful combination. It may be about the beginning of the end of the world or the beginning of something else entirely. I’d be lying if I said I understand every aspect of the film, but I was engrossed trying to.

Especially rewarding about Oduye's performance is how she's able to portray that frustration while retaining hope and optimism.

It's feel-good, no question about it. But it's also absorbing, important and inspiring.

There is an edginess to Babygirl, an uncomfortableness that is part and parcel of the subject matter. But it’s somehow accessible. Maybe that’s a plus, maybe that’s a minus; perhaps it depends on your taste for this sort of thing. But there’s undeniable power in Kidman’s performance, one of the most interesting and, along the way, best of the year.

Is Whose Streets? the only story we should see and hear about what went on in Ferguson and after? No. It’s by its nature incomplete, one side of the tale. What makes it important is that it is the side that too often goes ignored. But here, at least, no more.

A compulsively watchable look at Rivers.

As a portrait of modern warfare, politics and propaganda, Coriolanus is intriguing, even if the gritty action sequences don't quite measure up to the realism of "The Hurt Locker."

It’s not a warts-and-all treatment because, at least in this telling, there are no warts. It’s more about securing Berra among a new generation of fans as one of the greatest players who ever lived. And on that front, it more than succeeds.

There’s a great journalism movie hidden in Bad Education. Forgive the biased viewpoint. Luckily, there’s also a really compelling, breezy comic crime drama — with a terrific performance by Hugh Jackman — sitting there in plain sight.

The film is slow at times, despite bursts of action, and Chandor could have let it breathe a little more. The seriousness grows stuffy every now and then, but these are small quibbles. A Most Violent Year is an outstanding movie about business and marriage, not necessarily in that order.

You can read Emma's affair and its eventual effect on Edoardo as an inverted oedipal thing, or perhaps as a metaphor for decadence, the embodiment of a family that subconsciously realizes it's in decline and must fight to warm its blood.

David Fincher's meticulous direction pays off in spades. From the way he expresses the book's construction — not quite he-said/she-said, but a version of that — to the way the film looks (cold and uncaring, like its characters) to his work with actors (go Tyler Perry!), Gone Girl delivers.

Simien's film is one of those rare works that teach by appearing not to — you laugh at some of the antics, cringe at others, but the film is so entertaining you may forget you're learning something.

Negga is fantastic. Her eyes alone convey passion, the feeling that she has had enough. Words aren’t needed. Good thing, because neither she nor Richard use them too much. They’re living their lives, harming no one, and being harmed for it. It makes the story one of the best examples of making a universal situation personal.

An epic-length, fascinating film about faith and its opposite number, doubt.

In an age in which celebrity gossip and page views trump all, hearing two masters talk intelligently about movies and how they’re made is, if nothing else, a welcome treat.

It shouldn’t work, honestly. There’s too much going on in too many directions at the same time. But Villeneuve brings it all together somehow. We’re more than five hours in between the two films (this one is 2 hours and 46 minutes), and while the lack of a sequel wouldn’t be as infuriating as it was last time around, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m ready for more.

Think of Drive as the cinematic equivalent of riding in a car that projects a fashionably stylish image. Sure, the gas mileage may be terrible and the engine unreliable, but it's such a smooth, good-looking ride that you'll put up with the annoyances.

David O. Russell's film makes use of some terrific performances - Christian Bale is brilliant, as is Melissa Leo, even by their lofty standards.

[Jodorowsky's] a hoot, and so is Jodorowsky's Dune. But it's something more, too, a look at twisted genius and missed opportunities, a sad but intriguing combination.

There is so much beauty in Monster, and so much sadness.