It’s well-staged, well-acted, all the right people die in the end. It comes down to, well, Romeo and Juliet, really, and Douglas Booth and Hailee Steinfeld prove capable in the title roles.

Turns out there can be too much of a good thing. Or a campy thing. Or a silly thing. Or a subtle-as-a-brick-in-the-face thing.

The story of how Moore made the movie is ultimately more interesting than the film he’s put together. It’s not for lack of trying. It’s more a lack of a cogent story.

You can’t help feeling as if Miller has missed an opportunity. Punk rock was all about manic energy, unbridled (and often unfocused) passion. CBGB plays more like a folk tale.

The acting is first rate, the story still heartbreakingly urgent. But ultimately Parkland plays more like a re-enactment than a film in its own right.

The movie’s best moments are the small ones.

It’s not that this slight, good-natured comedy is going to set the world on fire. But the movie boasts an understated sweetness, largely fueled by Camil’s movie-star charms.

The love the two have for each other, particularly she for him, is obvious and moving. So, too, is not just the desire to create, but the need to.

Captain Phillips is a voyage well-worth taking.

Props to Bad Milo for its fearlessly pulp approach in exploring well-worn characters and their ho-hum dilemmas, but you know you’ve got a dull story on your hands when not even a butt monster can jazz it up enough.

It is a remarkable achievement.

An engaging film that’s head and shoulders above the average talking-head parade.

Moors is neither showy nor exploitative in his telling of the story. He just lays out the details, making “Blue Caprice” not just a story of horror, but of tragedy.

You may or may not be surprised by developments here, but it doesn’t really matter. What does is the honesty of the characters and the absolute delight it is to spend time with them.

Picks up where the first film left off, literally, and offers at least as many laughs (if not more for adults), retaining the goofy attitude. Cameron and Pearn throw a lot at the wall, just like their predecessors, and most of it sticks.

Diggs does what he can with the part, as does Patton. There are some funny moments, because most of the cast is so charming. But not enough to make up for the Stone Age attitude about women and marriage.

It makes for a unique sort of concert film, but also a weaker one. It would have been better if it had dispensed with the frail narrative or else committed to being completely bananas. But as die-hard Metallica fans well know, a little buffoonery is worth weathering for the main attraction.

A sharp turn on the romantic comedy, a movie about flawed people doing flawed things, often in funny fashion.

Howard, whose first job as a director was the 1977 Roger Corman-produced “Grand Theft Auto,” has captured what is surely the greatest racing footage ever shot.

This is a film as powerful as it is painful.

A Single Shot never rises to the level of a great film like “Winter’s Bone,” which digs much deeper in its depiction of life in the hills among the desperate poor. But thanks largely to Rockwell, it’s not bad, either.

Oh, and the title? It could be an apt description for almost any character in the movie at one time or another. The satisfaction is in finding out who, if anyone, will be set free.

A delightful look at the public career and mostly private life of the ultimate professional amateur.

Just good enough to pique your curiosity, but never quite good enough to captivate.

It’s aggressively charming, and competitions and training montages are filmed with kinetic whimsy. The film’s chief triumph is in spinning something remotely thrilling out of something as inherently dull as speed typing.

Cash was the star, after all. Saul Holiff was an important part of that, but My Father and the Man in Black makes a rather clunky case for it.

Except where “The Conjuring” invigorated horror-movie tropes with inventive application and strong characters, Insidious only wallows in them.

Yes, The Family has skills. They’re like “The Incredibles” — except they’re heroes for sadists and sociopaths only.