Rapid Response is a celebration of behind-the-scenes heroes, and their dedication to medicine and science as a way to save lives. Its microfocus, anecdotal structure, and reliance on archive footage and talking heads, undoubtedly makes this one for the true devotees of motorsports, but they'll not want to miss it.

With a modest budget that belies the eye-popping visuals at play, filmmaking duo Kentucker Audley and Albert Birney have affectionately crafted a sweet romance surrounded by the tart crunch of satire.

Stephens’ film is a sweet gesture, a personal ode to a hometown hero of his, and while the filmmaking itself is rusty, there’s enough love from Stephens and Kier alike to keep this little film afloat.

Thomas’ comic flair is undeniable, as is Stern’s comic acting ability; all other arguments aside, Private Parts is a consistently uproarious affair, riddled with brilliant comic set-pieces, including Stern’s many, many run-ins with various program directors and NBC brass.

Campanella’s script (which is adapted from a novel by Eduardo Sacheri) bogs down, however, when the focus of the story is on Benjamín, who is dogged by his memories and his inability to make a play for Irene.

The numerous characters presented in the film probably dilute its overall dramatic power.

For a film that is so fresh, thrilling and overdue in its very existence, just by having three Asian-American women leads, the narrative seems hidebound: for a story that break so far from the traditions of the Disney fairytale, it's still deeply predictable.

So many follow-up questions are left unasked. The film is at its liveliest when the filmmaker and his subject discuss the twofold presence of human monstrosity and artistic gifts or the human propensity to value talent over craft.

While not exactly rote, the script undeniably feels a little derivative in places.

The film tracks the laborious training process of how anxious, heartbroken Helen forges a bond with Mabel, and it’s fascinating stuff.

A ruthlessly satisfying thriller, The Keeping Room will linger with the viewer long after the credits roll.

Returning director Ron Howard somewhat belabors the Botticelli-inspired hallucinations Langdon suffers from following a konk on the head – though you really can’t oversell the creepiness of a beaky plague mask – but he continues to have an inspired hand in casting his supporting players.

The Good Liar is a pleasantly playful thriller hiding a seriously shady history close to its benighted heart.

His (Spielberg) is an old-fashioned style of moviemaking that can produce soaring entertainment or, alternately, a fussed-over theatricality. Minute to minute, Lincoln moves between these extremes.

Good, manic fun plus a heavy dose of political intrigue adding up to two hours of clamorous, mind-numbing nonsense.

As long as Sing Street stays on this sweet, sentimental path, the film is an agreeable toe-tapper. Scratch the surface too deeply and you’ll find some historical inconsistencies, idealized events, and a depressing environment roiling in Conor’s familial home and nation.

At its best when it goes down to the pub and captures, quite flawlessly, the grotty intoxication of these mad, bad, dangerous-to-know Hammers fans hoisting incalculable pints.

Sex, drugs, and rock & roll is a classic formula for disaffected youth, but Danny Perez’s debut feature spins the cliche like some sort of infinitely outrageous horror-show centrifuge.

Cube is excellent as the doughy, rumpled ex-somebody who finds new life in helping to save somebody else's.

With eight segments, most directed by Fantastic Fest alumni, and a near-two-hour run time, it's a little overpacked, and it's stylistically so diverse, with each section totally independent of the others, that it can become a long trip through the woods. At the same time, its variations are a strength, with a little something for everyone.

Much of Rare Exports is seen through the eyes of its preteen protagonist, which explains some of the story's minor omissions (who, exactly, hired this nefarious multinational mining outfit and why exactly?).

This gloriously messy celebration of New Orleans’ musical legacy is a savory gumbo of uniquely American ingredients – jazz, blues, soul, rock ‘n’ roll, gospel, funk, hip-hop – generously seasoned with love and respect for the largely African-American artists who forged that heritage over the past three centuries.

The film moves swiftly and vividly, but in retrospect, numerous plot holes come to mind. Not Forgotten presents a fascinating microcosm but ultimately loses believability when placed in a larger context.

It's more fun than a poke in the heart with a sharp stick.

It is, in effect, a movie-house meta mirror, warped and weird, strange but true (except when it isn't). It's whatever you want it to be, which doesn't necessarily make it a great movie (although it contains moments of greatness), but it IS – by virtue of its premise alone – boldly unique.

The circus acts and the rehearsals, which are set to Katy Perry's "Fireworks," make the greatest use of the movie's 3-D capacities. Madagascar 3 may not rival the "greatest show on earth" but it's good enough to pack 'em in anyway.

Driving home with all the windows down, I, for once, relished the bumps on South Lamar and leaned into the curves along Pease Park and, home at last, gave my trusty, tired old Honda a grateful, affectionate pat on its overheated hood.

To its credit, Downhill strives to remain character-driven rather than devolve into a jokey take on a delicate premise.

Von Trotta's film is informative, instructive, intriguing, and polished, yet it finds no ecstasy – religious or otherwise.

Due in large part to its cultural relevance, this is also one of the few sequels that nearly succeeds in topping the original.

Jolie's explosive performance surpasses all expectations and renders the film a veritable must-see.

Trainwreck can be furiously funny. It just goes down too easy. It’s scared of its own sharp edges. The sly raging against the machine of Inside Amy Schumer has gone missing. Here, the rage, curiously, is turned inward.

Technically, I Am a Sex Addict is a stellar achievement, as it coaxes viewers to accompany Zahedi down avenues of sexual desire that have had little frank exposure on film.

What makes The Hummingbird Project so intriguing is that it explores areas of business – and of industrial espionage – so esoteric that it's hard to imagine that it's really a business model.

Excellent performances and the steadying camerawork of Haskell Wexler make Limbo a supremely engaging work, but this place to which Sayles condemns his viewers is just one rung removed from Purgatory.

In a film that otherwise prides itself on the subtlety of its anecdotal narrative and character development, the diagnosis is jolting, and about as welcome as some of the unsought counsel that streams from Marnie’s mouth.

Even though the film relies on many of the clichés of the form, Undefeated is a masterfully crafted work that honestly scores a touchdown.

The easy, fast-talking rapport between the four young women is The Sisterhood’s biggest selling point. Too bad, then, that the premise demands they spend most of the film away from each other.

I found myself falling for it, hard. It's Trevorrow's feature debut and we'd like to see more, please.

Although it’s a pleasant and handsome endeavor, Mr. Holmes hasn’t the consuming drive and sense of inexorability that marks the award-winning "Gods and Monsters."

Its cheeky, good fun is what makes Psycho Beach Party an enjoyable, if weightless, romp.

This a deeply humane and affecting movie, surprisingly gentle in spite of its black-comic tinge, and without the slightest hint of schmaltz.

Echotone is scattered, for sure (the sound ordinance battle is poorly handled), but as an anecdotal account of Austin in the first decade of a new century, it's rarely anything less than compelling.

An impactful film, one that’s made for the season of giving, if giving means never giving up.

These days, it's dark everywhere. Which makes Slade's wild, often exhilarating neo-Western ride into frostbit vampirism something of a respite, albeit one awash gore.

Authenticity is strangely lacking in Laurel Canyon, although Cholodenko’s exquisite eye for framing remains uncorrupted. Laurel Canyon is often visually captivating.

This kind of a dance film lives and dies by the routines, and this one wins: Mixing elements of gymnastics, karate, and break with the almighty step – an exceedingly polite term for what is really an awesome stomp.

Take from the film's racial commingling what you want. Much of this may be old hat, even corny, and potentially offensive, but I haven't laughed out loud this often at a movie in ages.

If it's not perfect, it still gives pleasure to the eye.

Not in recent memory has a movie so short – 90 minutes on the nose – been so stagnant and stubbornly slow to build. And that's exactly the point.

If you are a fan of Gibran’s work, this film is recommended for those sections, just be prepared for some schmaltz to go along with the transcendentalist philosophy.

Throughout, the documentary is fun and engaging, even whimsical when using (to good effect) illustrations and Gilliam’s own storyboards.

Knight, coming from a born animator’s background, retrofits the intergalactic Sturm und Drang for a more humanistic tone that manages to be both more entertaining overall and moderately Spielbergian (he continues to executive produce the franchise) in this tale of a girl and her big, lovable, lemon-colored E.T. It’s a kinder, gentler Transformers movie for the holidays. Go figure.

It's hard to imagine how anyone could remain dry-eyed while watching the scene in which John Q. tries to cram in a lifetime of fatherhood advice in a goodbye speech to his son.

It is certainly competent, lovely to look at, but leaves little lasting impression.

As Owens, relative newcomer Stephan James delivers a stirring performance, and as his coach, comedian Jason Sudeikis turns in a solid and smirk-free performance.

It’s a little bit silly – as is Dafoe’s Kentucky-fried cowboy mechanic named Elvis – but silly is fun. In fact, one wishes it were sillier still.

Still, it's worth checking out if only to see Kidman immolate everything else on screen through sheer sexy charisma. Tom who?

It is a sweet, simple movie with a sweet, simple message: that children see the world differently and have much to teach the people who love them.

Shyamalan's premise is a lulu, to be sure, but if you can manage that precious, tentative suspension of disbelief, you'll find Unbreakable a rewarding meditation on the nature of heroes, both comic book and otherwise.

Far more engrossing are the long, dialogue-free stretches that fix on, say, bobbing feet or curled fists on a speed bag. The soundscape, too, is endlessly fascinating, a layer cake of squeaks, grunts, gasps, and rattling chains that, combined, catches a rhythm that sounds an awful lot like song.

Although Scott Frank's screenplay has more than a few holes in it...they're forgivable, mostly because this movie is so utterly likable. Little Man Tate is a small movie by industry standards, but it nevertheless stands pretty tall.

Meet Me in the Bathroom is like a well-curated sampler CD of the scene. It's cool, but you'll be left wanting full albums of the bands you liked anyway.

In the end, Forces of Nature is a creampuff of a film, it being a scrappy romantic comedy of the purest stripe, what's so wrong with that? Not a thing.

Washington is always superb when playing characters with a surface calm, but a boiling-over interior. Here, as the protagonist, he steers a vivid course through a seamy world.

Elemental is thoughtful, visually interesting, and emotionally compelling, even if it doesn’t all gel together all the time. When the clunky story falters, the vision and dedicated vocal performances of the cast carry it through, and give Elemental real heart.

In the dark of the theatre Fracture keeps it together – mainly through the sheer will of Hopkins and Gosling.

Definitely a film that marches to its own drumbeat.

It’s the sort of cat-and-mouse game that recalls certain elements of such disparate films as John Boorman’s "Hell in the Pacific," Larry Cohen’s screenplay for "Phone Booth," and, one key line in Dan O’Bannon’s "Return of the Living Dead," believe it or not.

She Said is a respectful, serious-minded effort that works so hard not to sensationalize the material, it works against its dramatic impact.

Director and co-writer Athina Rachel Tsangari wants viewers to fill in the blanks.

Has the look and feel of Euro-Altman (vastly superior to Euro-Disney, mind you).

Refreshingly, this isn’t so much a found-footage movie – although it was backed by "Paranormal Activity" overseers Blumhouse Productions – as it is a completed faux documentary, complete with onscreen titles and a cripplingly hilarious end-credits sequence featuring Tyler being Tyler.

Léger and Robichaud’s update is mostly successful in filtering the intent of the original for modern sensibilities, not least in the plentiful sex scenes.

I continually found myself longing for the sheer intensity of the director's past glories, like Jaws, or even Duel. Spielberg seems to be trying so very hard for that elusive “Gosh, Wow, Sense of Wonder!” that it all looks strained in spots.

Viewers should be warned that Irréversible means what it says: Your experience of this movie can not be forgotten once the die is cast.

This crazy-gleeful adventure jumps between grisly and cartoonish.

Perhaps the most satisfying aspect of this film is its lack of tidy closure. As in life, compromises are reached and battles continue.

Certainly merits attention, although it shouldn't be mistaken for one of Eastwood's greatest works.

This documentary is the sort of film that will leave both young and old(er) film fans grinning like the boys (and one girl) who dreamed the whole fantastic, mad scheme up in the first place.

Sturgess, saddled with a caddish character, is less compelling, but he does provide the film's only spot of unloosed, raw emotion. Everything else feels too precisely and too compactly assembled for much impact.

Although the conclusion is heavily sentimentalized, Stone finds the common ground Americans can rally around for relief from the devastation: We are, in the final analysis, good people.

End of Watch is more than the sum of its parts, though; it ends on a downbeat note, but that's something I've come to expect from Ayer.

Paris, 13th District never quite provides a good enough reason to smoosh two of Tomine’s stories together.

Robinson keeps Jennifer 8 moving right along, alternately dropping clues right in our laps and tossing in a red herring or two, but it's the dark town running like a black thread throughout the whole film that keeps your nerves jangling.

The latest installment in the Austin Powers series has stopped making much sense at all, but it sure gets its giggle on, and good.

Boys adventure stories are a dime (store novel) a dozen, but girls adventure tales are rare things indeed.

Refreshingly unsentimental and straightforward.

This young actor is good, very good in fact. Watching him become beautifully alive in Viva is this little gem’s greatest pleasure.

The character of Valentin is immediately recognizable to anyone who's gone to more than 20 films in their lives -- charming, cuddly, hellbent on making his world tolerable -- but to his credit both Noya and Agresti don't overplay their hand.

At once eerie, picaresque, evocative, and utterly alien to the reality most viewers inhabit, Into Great Silence is a daring and breathtakingly constructed documentary dream. So much so that the more restless among us may find themselves nodding off.

Brandon Lee's swan song is a kinetic, pounding, adrenalized feast for the senses, if not the psyche. Bursting with startling images, eclectic staging, and gorgeous neo-gothic set design.

It’s a fascinating ticking clock, and it works because Oyelowo leads the way as the brokenhearted survivor.

With Turistas, Stockwell dives head-first into a veritable riptide of churning, vicious exploitation cinema, and the result is surprisingly effective.

Just Another Girl on the I.R.T. ultimately offers a welcome glimpse of one of the individuals behind the sea of faces racing by in the subway cars -- the kind of face and individual that Hollywood customarily has never given a second look.

Despite featuring emotionally static characters who undergo no personal development and having the structure of basic robbery-and-chase setup, Bullet Head is the kind of action film that throws mindlessness to the dogs.

Interstellar is riddled with ridiculisms; the but how comes … never stop. And yet: Nolan, a notoriously chilly filmmaker who’s never shown much faculty with matters of the heart, is pinning that heart squarely on his sleeve.

There are moments in the bleak social commentary of The School Duel that make it clear that satire is dead. Or rather, that the extremity of what is happening in American culture is so grotesque that it’s almost impossible to push into the realm of absurdist commentary.