Artfully stitched together sans narration, Soul Power stands alongside "Wattstax" as a critical concert film of the Black Power era.

What fascinates Greenwald (who must have slept on Belch's couch to get this kind of informal access) is his subject's utter lack of self-control. Diagnosed with manic depression and gambling addiction, his successes seem designed to take him to ever greater heights, just so he can fall even further when his depression hits.

Screenwriter Steve Conrad has less success with the female characters: The always dependable Davis is forced into shrewish territory, and David's mother (Judith McConnell) is so barely present that it's a wonder she's written in at all.

Junge’s ridiculously entertaining documentary includes a wealth of archival clips that still, after all these years, make you wince.

Despite its faults, the affection the movie has for its predecessor (most notably in its opening black-and-white sequences) is clear and contagious. There’s also fun work being done by the players rounding out the support group, clueless to the gravity of Renfield’s situation until it’s too late.

Flushed Away has a wicked, smart, and subtle sense of humor.

Sharp-eyed viewers will spot director Corman, Martin Scorsese, Sylvester Stallone, Joe Dante, and Paul Bartel in bit parts while Mary Woronov takes an incredibly long time to maneuver her van through a multi-car pileup. Sure, it's a ripoff. Sure it's brainless. Cannonball is still a definitive drive-in car chase flick that's gonna make you want to tromp the gas pedal and burn rubber on the way home.

Starts off promisingly by empathetically depicting the fear and anger children feel when their parents separate, but ultimately its human emotions are dominated by goblins, trolls, and other CGI-generated creatures running amok on the screen.

Ryan and Duchovny hold their own in this talky two-hander, navigating their characters’ highs and lows with conviction.

A winning update of a classic piece of Eighties' filmmaking, and that in itself is something of a coup.

Mostly it will just make you hungry to revisit Ashman’s work. That’s perhaps not the intended result of this fond tribute/merely serviceable survey of a too-short career – but it’s not necessarily a bad one.

The performances of these two leads are compelling and the Cheonggyecheon area can almost be seen as another character in Kim’s morality tale. And even if forgiveness is not always possible in the human condition, Pieta allows that expiation of one’s sins is within the realm of the possible.

Colette is a good primer for a wonderful author, and a reflection on how your life will never turn out as you think.

All are filmmakers who find lyricism in natural elements, and this ability reaches an apogee with Land Ho! Yet the film runs the risk of being mistaken for a picture postcard.

Not only is it interesting to follow the course of Gray's storyline, the movie is also equally interesting to view, even if the storyteller is just sitting in front of a desk most of the time.

This portrait of 1940 France on the verge of capitulating to the Vichy regime is intriguing. However, what keeps the movie engaging is its nutty tone.

It’s not an altogether convincing portrait, but it is an entertaining, even moving one, and the forcefulness of Bullock's presence goes a long way in pulling the film back from the brink of cuddliness.

When it’s Law reading aloud in his awful cornpone accent, it sounds like curdled grits. But when Firth narrates, low and measured, the prose springs to life. I wouldn’t call Genius inspired, but not for nothing it inspired me to pick up "Look Homeward, Angel" for the first time.

Unabashedly warped and horny, Morgan knows exactly when to set off the depth charges lurking in the waters of Bone Lake, making its big, filthy reveal feel like the inevitable result of the characters’ urges.

Neeson's performance as the legendary Irishman reminds us of how large a presence the actor is: He fills up the frame with his voice, his hands, and his gestures.

If you take this stuff seriously, one way or another, you're sure to be duped. You've got to hand it to Mr. Brown: So dark the con of man, indeed.

It's Winslet who is the heart and soul of Little Children, and when she makes a desperate, final bid to reclaim her soul, it's both horrifying and heart-rending.

 Angel Has Fallen attempts to tell a slightly more mature story. Waugh seems to barter for creative control by the act: As long as the studio gets a respectable pairing of intro and outro set-pieces, Waugh is free to explore unexpected elements of trauma and masculinity.

That Zellweger had the audacity to decide to actually sing the standards in Garland’s act, rather than lip-synch them, and then perform them with such bravado in a voice eerily channeling Garland is the real icing on the cake here. In Judy, a star is reborn.

Gently funny and admirably, even unfashionably humane, People Places Things is at its best beat-to-beat.

Its view of mankind is unkind, to say the least, but any race that can produce such remarkably garish gore as this is perhaps salvageable somehow, someday.

Cairo Time may be your ticket if you're in the mood for love, but the excursion is a cut-rate journey.

In Hallelujah: Leonard Cohen, a Journey, a Song, it feels like two different docs were threaded together. As interesting as I found it, the film was trying to focus on two parts of a story when it needed to be just one.

A must-watch for animal lovers with a strong stomach (there is some pretty graphic surgical footage) and a stronger heart (because no one likes to see an animal suffering), The Dog Doc isn’t always going to convince everyone.

A stunningly impassioned and articulate study of a writer's life and the censorial demons that can strangle that voice.

The sharp performances and committed cinematography elevate this stock drama to something beyond routine.

It's the kind of story that shows more than it tells, a story that's forged in the spaces that exist in between characters and spaces.

If taken merely as a vaguely historical spy thriller, Farewell is a dandy tale.

My Donkey, My Lover & I isn’t going to break the mold, but it’s an easy stride of a film that’s bubbling with joy.

WTF is on the right track, even if it never pulls all the way in to the station.

There’s much to applaud and much to knock in this Disney action adventure. Tomorrowland breaks the mold and becomes something quite original, while at the same time it ballyhoos its inspirational message to an extent that deadens the narrative.

Wharton brings an extraordinary diversity of speakers to explain the wildly eclectic archive footage she assembles, with as many foreign policy experts as guitarists.

While Fried Green Tomatoes often veers between being too pat and too vague, too obvious and too unclear, too much of the “I laughed, I cried” school of storytelling -- it still has a charm that stems from its vivid and unique characterizations.

Sister Aimee is a scrappy period piece that supplants the things a bigger budget might have afforded with good choices about things that were under the filmmakers’ control.

As an introductory lesson to what it means to be intersex, Every Body serves its purpose well enough, but there’s no bite to the storytelling, no immediate call to action.

Call it the aesthetic of un-Happiness.

It's a movie perfectly designed for tossing back popcorn (the jumbo kind so you don't have to leave your seat during the show); not until later do you get the empty feeling that you've swallowed an entire bucket of popped air.

Despite the film’s largely hectic point-of-view, first-time helmer Dean Israelite credibly establishes a science-positive environment that ultimately results in less-than-intelligent displays of teenage impulsiveness, and the kids have a believably determined camaraderie as they only ever use the device together to get revenge on bullies, win the lottery, and snag backstage passes at Lollapalooza.

Maleonn somehow finds an anchor of optimism amidst the situation, despite his father’s steady memory decline. That, too, is part of this film’s gift.

Simply put, Burton's film lacks the social and political gravitas of the original, a film that was wholly of its time.

It's an engaging recollection that's more sweet than bittersweet, tempered by an eagerness to please that pulls us into its remembrances of things past.

Ghobadi works squarely in the neorealist tradition of countrymen like former mentor Abbas Kiarostami, using nonprofessional actors and documentary technique to tell small, spare stories of the human condition through the eyes of children.

It's no "Metalocalypse" (pretty much the only metal comedy to completely break the rules), and there are no new classic anthems here, but if you want to bang your head to a very familiar beat, Heavy Trip is a solid cover version.

While "The Chronicles of Riddick" was an overstuffed melange of CGI and unnecessary subplots, Riddick is a far more streamlined affair, and all the better for it.

Exodus is an entertainment of the first order. I’m not so sure about the filmmaker’s decision to render the Metatron archangel as a 9-year-old boy, but what the hell? You get hit on the head with a boulder, who knows what you’ll see?

The Club isn’t an easy film to sit through (certainly not if the viewer is Catholic) but it’s a dramatically important and deeply contemporary piece of work.

It's not until the film is over that we fully appreciate the originality of an Israeli film that focuses completely on the family crisis while leaving politics behind altogether.

Affectionate but uninsightful biopic.

While I was expecting a few more plot twists, Ocean’s 8 is a safe bet for some glitzy summer fun.

Although The D Train doesn’t completely live up to its potential, the film earns lots of points for treading a distinctive path through a conventional setup.

It’s a visceral fear that’s filmed in a way that forces the viewer to undergo the emotion along with the character.

Grindhouse raises the bar for a certain kind of movie lollapalooza (and also for the kind of filmmaker who is also a showman, along the lines of a William Castle or Cecil B. De Mille). It's this injection of playfulness and fun and attention to the entire movie-going gestalt that will probably become Grindhouse's lasting contribution to movie history rather than any on-the-screen content of the movie itself.

Unlike any other film released this past year, be it from the aspect of its storylines, of which there are many, or its emotional clarity, which is, quite frankly, brutal.

With its 1950s decor and upbeat ending (clever camouflage all), Married Life probably won’t show up on the radar of James Dobson’s Focus on the Family anytime soon, but at the risk of supplying the enemy with ammunition, I have to say they might be giving a pass to one of the more ethically dubious films to come out of Hollywood in years.

Creative Control has a knowing, caustic wit, and it’s not afraid to go to pitch-black places.

Contemporary adult themes that resonate as much as those in Perfect Blue (stalking, the cult of celebrity) have become increasingly rare in this animated genre better known for tentacled demons and cute forest sprites; it's refreshing to be reminded that not everything in anime need feature that lovable scamp Pikachu, either.

Christopher Plummer is delightful as this movie’s master magician and impresario of the rickety Imaginarium.

It may be an elevator pitch stretched to 90 minutes, and never aspires to more than that, but it's a fine and distinct funhouse ride designed to elicit cackles, then be forgotten about by the next ride.

Imaginatively, it places all the known elements of the story in different contexts, completely recasting this familiar fairy tale into a more poignant and resonant work.

It's still just cops and robbers, but with Donner at the helm, it feels like so much more.

Point Blank passes enjoyably, relentlessly, and determinedly to the moment of its final gasp.

A solid contemporary crime drama.

As in the Mercury biopic, an unexpected performance by a relatively untried actor in the central role anchors Rocketman.

A pleasant and often surprising ensemble dramedy set almost entirely within the walls of a busy, fashionable Tribeca trattoria on a spectacularly busy Tuesday night.

The core family relationships ring pleasingly true, and the rebellious Merida is, alongside Katniss Everdeen, an intelligent, capable, and empathetic proto-riot grrrl with stupifyingly kickass hair and even better aim.

Dìdi, the debut narrative feature from award-winning documentarian Sean Wang, can be seen as a tale of code switching, but that could potentially just pigeonhole it as an immigrant story. It’s broader than that because it’s a more universal study of being a teenage boy, trying to find something like a sense of identity and working out which lies you can and can’t tell yourself.

Flirt has its ups and downs, but it's certainly an intriguing ride.

Kline and Spacey are excellent here, playing off of each other like a couple of professional combatants; it's by far the most interesting thriller in the last six months.

Occasionally, the unevenness of the performances in Star Maps becomes distracting and the dastardliness of the characters' dysfunction impinges the bounds of dramatic believability, yet you will be hard-pressed to find another directorial debut this year that equals the narrative and structural audacity of Star Maps.

Overall, Eileen is a pretty close adaptation of the mood of Moshfegh’s stories, even though some lost elements dull the author’s unique and singular voice. If the script meanders its way toward its unsettling end, it still manages to stay compelling.

That it all ends on a somewhat flat, false note is less a failure of the filmmakers than it is a testament to a certain amount of overzealousness in the screenplay – which, of course, echoes the nail-gnawing tension unfolding onscreen. Bravo!

Yes, even after all these years, ‘busting will still make you feel good.

Mercifully, the frosted icing-icky title bears little relation to the film's actual content.

One of the great things Scarfaria brings to this project is her apparent ability to convince a slew of wonderful actors to perform in small roles that appear in only a single sequence. That describes most of the actors in this film apart from the two leads.

Just because the jokes about micro-dosing, Crossfit- and social media-obsessive city folk are a little obvious doesn’t mean they won’t resonate with any townie aching for the before-days.

The plots of these films and stories, and so much of Scandinavian crime fiction in general, often rely too heavily on coincidence and chance, be they serial killers or multinational cutthroats. And while this chapter of Lisbeth’s life is similarly convoluted, they are dark and gritty and compelling.

Fassbender, though, gets the kudos (again) as the man who has everything but loses it all – thanks partly to a slyly cast Bruno Ganz (Wings of Desire) and, more important, to the character’s moral compass that points wherever he feels it should, until, of course, it points due south of heaven.

As a parable about the inherently dehumanizing aspects of the rat race, it’s bloody good fun.

The correlation between music and math, if not explicit, is seldom documented with as much panache as Tom Dowd & the Language of Music.

One of the most inventive romantic comedies to come around in some while.

Far better than advance word had it, Coneheads makes last year's Wayne's World film seem tame by comparison. And yes, Garrett Morris is in it, too.

This film is both too formulaic and too much a one-man vehicle to rate as a true masterpiece. But God strike me dead if I'm lying, this is one gut-busting funny movie.

At a raw and rare 70 minutes, Invader is Keating challenging himself to deliver the leanest, sparest home invasion imaginable. But it’s only minimalist in the story and cinematography.

To its credit, A Time to Kill allows the debate to snake through the entire movie, engagingly pitting characters and speeches against each other, creating a dramatic forum for ethical debate uncommon in most commercial American films.

All one needs to know about Burt Munro, the real-life New Zealand codger and Indian motorcycle enthusiast who in 1967 set a land speed record that still stands today, comes midway through this unabashedly sentimental wall of schmaltz.

In the immediate post-Roe era, any discussion of abortion is going to be timely. But what gives Cherry life beyond this moment is that central idea of facing change, and realizing that not making a decision is in itself a decision. There's something heartwarming in it being less important what choice Cherry makes than in watching her try to make it for the right reasons.

Director Miller, thankfully, keeps his pacing quick and his touch deft -- Lorenzo's Oil rarely becomes bogged down in interdisciplinary conundrums or the unwarranted heartstring-yanking that so often occurs in Hollywood MedFilms.

Schroeder's film is fun to watch, even when it's being predictable or brutal, but its memory is nearly gone the next day.

If tradecraft is what you like best about the espionage genre – the dead drops and dead-of-night tailings – then All the Old Knives will feel comparatively pokey, especially put up against the kind of spry spy entertainments long-form television so capably produces.

This isn't a definitive history of the Athens indie scene (as indicated by the way that REM and Pylon are only mentioned, not heard), but an overview of the people who created and became associated with the distinctive Elephant 6 logo.

Few can write this kind of acid-dripping parlor drama with as much bite as LaBute.

The little drama queen who lives inside each of us will find Being Julia hard to resist.

Collins, who also wrote this woeful, dolefully humorous take on mankind’s endless struggle to overcome the banal but no-less soul-sucking minor mishaps of modern life, ends things on a surprisingly encouraging, optimistic note.