It’s this hunger for the entirety of a person’s life that makes Marjorie Prime one of the most riveting, moving films of the year.

Although guaranteed to split critics and viewers alike, nobody can argue that Bravo and Gelman haven’t put their all into this absurdist, existential farce. The question remains: Will Lemon make or break that all-important first date comedy connection? (Personally, I’m sticking with Ruggero Deodato.)

To be fair, not even Meg Ryan’s nose-scrunch, Kate Hudson’s sass, or Julia Roberts’ million-dollar smile could jolt this muddled rom-com to life.

Strong central performances make this harrowing chronicle a gripping tale.

The details of characters’ internal thought processes are left to our imagination. Still, this movie hits the senses like fresh impact of saltwater air.

Pennywise the Dancing Clown (Skarsgård) is as joltingly nightmarish as fans could have hoped for.

As for Zach Galifianakis, playing a dim-witted drunk – file his role under head-scratching.

In a startling, last-reel freeze frame, the male ego pops like a balloon, and I wanted to pre-book for the next Trip right away.

The too-too-precious title flashes like a cautionary traffic sign. Warning: Pretentiousness and Pedantry Ahead.

The end result? Compassion for the (literally) poor schmuck conjoined with a genuine sympathy toward his right-minded bunglings, noodle kugel and all.

Ultimately, Look & See seems to have many objectives, yet accomplishes none of them satisfactorily.

The well-chosen voice cast helps make this a fairly engaging tale, even though the film is riddled with a wealth of head-scratching anachronistic errors.

Despite some clever writing (Widespread Panic jokes never go out of style), a game cast, and a funny critique of the ethics of documentary filmmaking, I Do … Until I Don’t never rises above the trite characters and well-worn scenarios it depicts. Best to get the annulment papers ready.

The end result never really achieves much more than being exactly what it is: another horseshoes and hand grenades attempt to tell version ad infinitum of the legend of Bruce Lee.

If nothing else, the film provides an enlightening look into the Karen diaspora, and a healthy reminder that God’s work is not contained by a sanctuary’s walls.

Patti Cake$ treads familiar territory while also presenting something fresh and original.

While In This Corner of the World is bracingly honest in depicting the hardships and tragedies Japanese civilians endured during World War II, it steadfastly remains Suzu’s story all the way through to its – dare I say it? – hopeful conclusion.

Columbus avoids a sense of film geekiness by keeping our attention on the plights of the two central characters. The city of Columbus may, indeed, be a locus for modernism, but the film named after it becomes a jumping-off point for postmodernism.

At its core, this movie is a piece of unflinching activism that forces you to look at something uncomfortable, something those of us in the cocoon would probably rather not see. But see it, you should. See it, you must.

Farmers’ market jokes and “desert vibes” hashtags aside, Ingrid Goes West cuts to the quick, ultimately revealing a toxic, yet oh-so-appealing demeanor that has come to define our current existence.

The whole film rests on the increasingly prison-ink tatted shoulders of Coster-Waldau, Game of Thrones’ Jaime Lannister, who brings his A – as in ass-kicking – game to Waugh’s film.

Heartfelt felicitations to Soderbergh on his rebirth of the cool.

An end-of-summer burst of adrenaline, The Hitman’s Bodyguard promises nothing more and nothing less.

Good Time demonstrates an admirable daring in its technique and willingness to go against the grain, but its payoff isn’t equal to its challenges.

Viewers hoping for a foray into "Donnie Darko" territory will be disappointed by this shift in tone. But those who like things sentimental and sweet – and there’s nothing wrong with that – will find comfort in the notion of leaving the past behind to allow the future to go forward.

The film’s third-act reach for a redemptive arc plays hollowly, and Harrelson teeters over the line into hillbilly affectation. Still, it’s not enough to erase the memory of Harrelson’s subtler moments, or to ruin what is an altogether worthy adaptation.

Sheridan’s screenplay, despite some very nice touches and his typically laconic dialogue, is the weakest of his recent trilogy in terms of building tension and mystery. Nevertheless, it succeeds well enough on its own terms.

The music by Raphael Saadiq also belongs in the film’s plus column, helping to make Step one of the feel-good documentaries of the year.

The heart of the film, however, is the character played by Bene Coopersmith, a real-life record store owner in Red Hook, Brooklyn.

Colorful, kid-friendly, and occasionally laugh-out-loud funny. ’Nuff said.

An Inconvenient Sequel does indeed speak truth to power, but the elephant in the room remains: The very powerful rarely pay attention to the utter truth.

The plot of Kidnap is bizarre and frustrating.

It’s maddeningly unclear sometimes, the whole doll/possession/ghost story, as the filmmakers play extremely loose with the film’s internal logic. Couple that with the stale scent of well-worn dialogue. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.

Blame screenwriters Akiva Goldsman, Jeff Pinkner, Anders Thomas Jensen, and Nikolaj Arcel (who also directed) for trying too hard to cram so much of King’s original into a film format.

Elisabeth Holm and Robespierre’s screenplay is both quirky and grounded, gleaning pearls of wisdom about the toxicity of secrets in the face of truth without getting preachy.

The laughs and pacing of Fun Mom Dinner may be uneven, but days later I’m still smiling at the thought of the dispensary’s recommended strain: the Ruth Bader Ganja, which “gets you supremely high.” It’s the little moments that matter here.

There is virtually nothing in which to emotionally invest.

Rarely has a movie been more urgently needed than Detroit, yet after delivering on its promise for nearly the entire first half, Detroit goes down in flames before it’s over.

Endless Poetry is an oblique road map as much as it is a guiding aphorism. It is also a pretty decent summary of what this film has to offer.

In a similar fashion, the film’s music score is both high-strung and ominous – at times ringing like the aftermath of a shotgun blast and at others slow and dark like a body being dragged across a floor.

There’s an intriguing story to be told here, but there’s a better way to tell it. To borrow from the Bard, the spots in Lady Macbeth simply won’t wash away.

There are few wins and more than enough sorrow to go around here.

13 Minutes, which was released in Germany two years ago, is an earnest examination of personal conscience and the frequent necessity of the individual to monkey wrench the state. Or at least to try.

Here, watching Theron is just about the whole show, and to the film’s credit, this is usually a mesmerizing rather than crass experience.

Headlining a less-than-mediocre kids’ movie taints one’s brand rather than enhancing it. Just ask Shaq.

Nolan maintains gut-wrenching suspense throughout by cross-cutting between the various characters and their plights. I’d go so far to say that Dunkirk could easily serve as its own master class in the art of film editing. Add to that an absolutely terrifyingly discordant score from Hans Zimmer and the result is, well, a bona fide classic.

Even though some of the religious and traditional aspects of the film may not travel well, its spirit is universal.

The result is a visually fantastic but sometimes exasperating entertainment that (once again) gets lost in its own chaos. It’s one funned-up spectacle of a movie.

The message here is clear: You can’t front to your true friends. This clique is ready to take on the world, and they aren’t afraid to fight dirty for each other. What can I say? Squad goals.

The B-Side is not one of Errol Morris’ finely focused film essays; instead, you may feel a desire to “shake it like a Polaroid picture” in an effort to encourage its development.

A glorious, action-and-pathos packed capstone to the rebooted Apes franchise.

However much this film strays from documented facts about Maud Lewis’ life, it still does a laudable job of presenting much of her life’s austere flavor.

Maddeningly, A Ghost Story can seem more like a creative exercise than a fully formed narrative construct.

Unfortunately, the filmmakers here have no earthly idea how to execute this nifty supernatural conceit (Barbara Marshall’s screenplay appeared on the 2015 Black List), teetering between cheap laughs and cheap thrills without doing either very well.

Spall and Meaney are mesmerizingly watchable in a film that’s 40% gruff dialogue and 60% seething silences.

The Exception’s line is not an easy one to walk, this marriage of soapy melodrama and real-world events, and with Courtney leading the parade, it’s destined for failure.

The Little Hours is a farce that doesn’t really mock anything. It exists as if amusing itself were its only objective. In that, this troupe may have succeeded, but I feel compelled to throw back the film’s favorite phrase: “What the f--k?”

There’s plenty of nifty action set-pieces on display here – including a decidedly unamazing but hilarious gag involving Spidey and a kid’s tree house – but for the first time, the most popular of all of Marvel’s 1960s-era characters genuinely focuses less on the amazing and more on the boy behind the mask, and that’s a welcome change of pace.

Even though everything about this project probably looked good on paper, upon completion The House comes up snake eyes.

Hero, here, though, might be the wrong word (and I suppose it always was for Bronson's roles). After all, the film's tag line claims that Mr. Majestyk touches the hero in all of us and indicates that this melon picker didn't want to kick ass, exactly, no matter how adept he is at it, but that he was rather forced into it.

This film wanders and dallies and much of it is fun to watch, but you really know about as much about Chaplin when you leave the theatre as when you enter, and what's missing is the magic.

The most interesting aspect of Patriot Games, however, is the casting of Ford as Ryan, given that Alec Baldwin originated the character in the preceding film. In contrast to Baldwin's rather colorless CIA analyst ill-suited for work as an agent, Ford informs his character with believable world-weariness which subsequently transforms into rage at the prospect of harm to his family. In many ways, Ford grounds Patriot Games in a degree of emotion that distinguishes it from most run-of-the-mill action thrillers.

Unfortunately, the film begins to fall apart when it leaves film parody and strays too close to reality. This film is so timely, it has the young pilots flying a bombing run on Saddam Hussein's nuclear plant. Either these filmmakers were lucky, or they made it last week. It almost seems as if the latter is true, because Hot Shots handling of Middle Eastern bad guys is just a little too heavy handed -- no, make that insulting and insensitive.

The Big Sick is as personal as it gets, but Gordon and Nanjiani pull no punches and steer well clear of preciousness. I laughed plenty at their film, cried my guts out, too, and went home elated.

The third time is definitely not the charm.

Citizen Jane: Battle for the City presents little to augment the knowledge of people already versed in this debate. However, it’s a fine introductory lesson for those who are not.

The Beguiled is a slow-burn tale of repressed sexuality and duplicitous doings. Its final twist, though, steals it from the realm of male-gaze fantasies into sheer nightmare territory.

It’s that feeling of seeing something unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. It’s the experience of witnessing the fresh, the new. And if you love movies, there’s nothing like it.

Wonderfully fun, albeit markedly chaotic and incoherent.

Ultimately, it’s the kind-of mystery that undermines Past Life’s emotional kapow. You can hardly fault writer/director Avi Nesher for trying to tease suspense out of the story, but he establishes early an ominous tone and stubbornly holds steadfast to it.

Amirpour could have reined in her penchant for laconic coolness at times, but where’s the fun in that? This fractured fairy tale of the marginalized have-nots and the bonds they forge continues the director’s obsession for the genre films she grew up with while adding her own contemporary sensibilities, and the result is an ultimately satisfying journey.

No matter whether the cast is male, female, or somewhere in between, the absence of a well-constructed story, particularly when the humor goes south (literally), will doom any movie to quick obscurity, no matter how many d**k or p***y jokes get told.

The artist’s intellectual and political foundations are demonstrated along with his “Thug Life” credo and lifestyle, but the result is a dualistic, rather than truly complex, portrait of the man.

It’s actually a pretty concise little premise as shark movies go, with almost all of the story happening underwater and a plot that has little on its mind other than survival. Still, a little bit of characterization would have been a nice addition.

This latest entry is simply dumb, dull, and pointless.

Unvarnished and often silent, she (Hayek) holds the camera’s gaze like a dare. She cuts such a striking figure, you’ll want to follow her anywhere … and where the film ultimately follows is utterly gutting.

This is an interesting/odd take on the Cars universe, seeing as how this is a movie squarely aimed at pre-teens who likely have no concept of aging, let alone four-wheeled mortality, or for that matter Joseph Campbell’s monomythic “Hero’s Journey.”

The Book of Henry is the most misguided film since the 2003 Gary Oldman abomination "Tiptoes." Trevorrow is slated to helm an upcoming Star Wars film, so y’all have fun with that.

My Cousin Rachel 2017 retreads du Maurier’s luscious mix of Gothic trappings and psychological mystery, but it’s a wan concoction that’s never fully convincing or engaging.

It’s a lean, mean, effective thriller that offers no explanation as to the means or method of humanity’s endgame while simultaneously focusing on the trip-wire frailty of a nuclear family trapped in the hungry, thirsty days of the dead – or is it, indeed, the dead? And if not, what are they?

It’s big, it’s slick, it’s very, very Hollywood, but it’s just not that good a film. It’s not even as much fun – and monster movies, as opposed to horror movies, should be fun – as the 1999 Brendan Fraser vehicle of the same name.

This is a film that can’t decide if it wants to be a war movie or a rescue dog melodrama and therefore falls into cinematic no-man’s/woman’s-land.

Overall, the “you are there” footage lends the film a more journalistic than artistic tone, yet the emotional effect is intimate and unforgettably gripping.

Fortunately, Brian Cox delivers a bravura performance that keeps things watchable, if not always dramatically truthful.

To the delight of its young audience, juvenile humor abounds in Captain Underpants, but the movie is smart about the way it contextualizes this lowbrow comedy.

The Wedding Plan isn’t a romantic comedy in the familiar screwball tradition. In fact, what makes this Israeli film so intriguing is its absence of tradition.

Paris Can Wait may be a film à clef of sorts – there’s a hint of the autobiographical in it, the suggestion of something experienced – but even that angle doesn’t make the movie terribly appetizing. What it needs is a little salt.

For the iconoclastic film director Ken Loach and his longtime screenwriting collaborator Paul Laverty, I, Daniel Blake represents their most accessible film ever.

This, uh, wonderfully directed and near-perfectly cast iconic heroine female empowerment story is so similar in tone and feel to Marvel Studios’ "Captain America" that I was waiting for Stan Lee to show up, possibly as a eunuch.

It is, in fact, an instant classic, the sort of film that will make you check under your bed at night and then amplify into terror the midnight creaks and 3am breezes that unsettle every house at times, most especially yours. Highly recommended.

This ship has sailed, sank, and not to put too fine a bowsprit on it, sucks.

For the most part, Baywatch resembles a scarce amount of its origin and relies on a none-too-arch humor that misses more than it hits.

Winger is as good here as she’s ever been, and Letts, an actor whose face you know but whose name you can never quite remember, is terrific, communicating his lust for Lucy with dry aplomb.

The Tavern footage is terrific stuff – unstaged and unmediated and the closest the camera gets to penetrating the enigmatic yet magnetic chef.

As YA adaptations go, this isn’t quite "The Notebook," but its core demographic of teen girls will likely be more than satisfied.

No doubt, the under-10 crowd will love this bathroom vulgarity, even more so when their adult chaperones experience a flush of embarrassment.

With its period-perfect recall of Seventies fashion and cocaine consumption, Chuck’s rise-and-fall story bears greater resemblance to "Goodfellas" than "Rocky" or "Raging Bull."