James Ponsoldt’s film, and its stars, Miles Teller and Shailene Woodley, continually take us in unexpected directions, giving the film an unexpected depth. It feels real, its emotions earned.

Planes was originally scheduled to be released straight to video. Although the smallest children might like bits and pieces of it, there’s nothing in the movie that suggests why Disney strayed from its original plan.

Kudos to Blomkamp for not shying away from social issues in his films, but here the execution doesn’t live to the intentions.

We’re the Millers plays like a “Saturday Night Live” skit that goes on too long.

What makes mythology so great is its sense of danger, the threat of real loss. This version of “Percy” has none of that.

A brittle, pompous drama.

It’s clever. It’s also occasionally a chore to watch, true to the boredom you’d expect to feel listening to computer programmers hash out chess logistics.

Matthias Hoene’s delightfully chipper film delivers, even on the “not-a-lot-more” front. He set out to make a funny, fast-moving gross-out zombie flick, nothing beyond that, and he has succeeded with style. And humor. And guts. Lots of spilling, dangling guts (and other body parts).

It’s Allen’s best film in years, an authentic-feeling deconstruction of a life. It isn’t always easy to watch. It isn’t exactly fun (although parts are funny). Blanchett’s performance sometimes overpowers the story. But it’s an essential work in Allen’s later canon.

The Act of Killing is a horrifying film, a surreal experience that explores the limits of human cruelty. It’s a film that is absolutely hard to watch. It’s also a film that absolutely should be seen.

Wahlberg and Washington are so good together, quips flying as fast as lead, that much is forgiven.

There are a few laughs here and there, along with a couple of jokes for grown-ups uncomfortably squeezed in. But this is a movie made for two groups: small children and people who have fond memories of the TV show.

It isn’t just a terrific movie. It’s an important one.

It’s the kind of movie that takes you by surprise. By the time it’s done, the honesty of the performances and the depth of character that’s revealed is exhilarating.

To call the film slight is an understatement, and its budget, particularly for a movie with genuine sci-fi elements, is miniscule. But it is so charming and sweet...and the songs are so winning that it is impossible not to fall for it.

Thomas Vinterberg’s film puts us just on the edge of screaming frustration; Mads Mikkelsen’s terrific performance (for which he won the best actor award at Cannes in 2012) only makes the film more powerful.

Our teenage years are so overwrought with emotion; not to put them in play at all makes Brandy feel like little more than a cipher for Plaza’s deadpan dark humor. And that’s pleasurable enough for a quick fling, but hardly the foundation of a lasting relationship.

The filmmakers work at creating a new take on an old protagonist and then don’t really have much new to do with him once they’ve achieved that. It’s a good effort. Just not an entirely successful one.

It's an unpleasant way to pass a couple summer hours.

Still Mine is a rewarding, performance-based film, ultimately a small pleasure to spend time with.

Laurence Anyways is like a big, ornate, overstuffed pillow of a movie. It’s attractive and comfortable, even if there’s just too much of it.

It’s not that overwrought violence and human depravity are unfit grist for art, but without a compelling plot and a modicum of character development, all this film has to offer is a repugnant prurience and heavy-handed atmospherics.

For all the well-traveled roads in Girl Most Likely, Berman and Pulcini bring a sweetness to the material that suits Wiig’s offbeat talents. We know we’re being played, but really, if we’re enjoying it, why complain?

There is a fine line between silly dumb fun and out-and-out stupidity, and “Red 2” crosses it one time too many.

A sense of dread permeates The Conjuring from the start, and it’s delightful.

Competent, pretty funny in places, awfully nice to look at, that sort of thing. There’s just not a lot of excitement, though.

Directors Drew DeNicola and Olivia Mori’s film Big Star: Nothing Can Hurt Me looks at the band’s rise, such as it was, and its inevitable crumbling, as well as the influence its recorded legacy had on popular music. And it’s terrific.

The gags are stale, the characters uninvolving and bits meant to titillate don’t.