Despite its authentic feel for things Western, Wild Bill misses the big picture.

The climax, like the film itself, is big, loud, and looks cool enough, which is what we’ve come to expect from summer movies … but not from Robert Rodriguez.

Comes close to overdosing on bone-pulverizing kickassery at the expense of a plot that ricochets from the nationalistically fatuous to the lovestruck, farcical before shutting down completely in favor of punch-drunk loveliness.

Playing comedy, Duris is as engaging as a bowl of porridge; playing tragedy, he’s the height of comic absurdity; in scenes romantic, he’s detached to the point of somnolence.

Rosebraugh’s arguments are sound and his heart is in the right place, but his execution is self-defeating.

The real shame in the storytelling is that the people in this film are interesting and inspiring enough to warrant a real film about them.

Cloyingly melodramatic film.

A bleak, depressing film.

After two hours of Vera's pretty but wet-blanket direction, it's too late to ignite any fireworks, even in the hands of such capable actors.

The problem lies not in the plotting alone. Roth's direction does nothing to bring clarity to the story and its characters, and his blocking of the film's action scenes is downright muddled and vague.

Here, Martin and company turn the proceedings into an unfunny farce, flinging out silly jokes at the rate of an Airplane movie in the desperate hope that something will stick.

My cynical half hated it, despite the presence of Lane, who is so magnetic that she could prance around the countryside in the absence of plot and still be compelling somehow.

But Pine playing 1960s-era Shatner – sometimes subtly, sometimes not? That's a terrific gag. Really, it is. Totally inspired. It's just not enough to save this otherwise cookie-cutter bromantic comedy from being anything other than what it is: an inoffensive yawn.

You could call this film repugnant and abrasive, and Solondz would probably agree.

Hook has you marveling at the nuts-and-bolts work of producers and assistant directors, but never at the intrinsic imaginativeness of the story. It's as if Spielberg calculatedly set out to make a perennial classic -- certain folly if ever there were.

Lyne has the stylized talent of a soft-core pornographer; he choreographs his movies like languorous sex scenes.

The storyline lacks credibility.

When the film sticks to biographical and career background, it is on steady ground, but when it argues the case for one particular album, it becomes promotional rather than documentary material.

Mansome is mostly miss, and pretty thin as well.

Plenty thought-provoking, but it's not much of a movie and ultimately inspires curiosity rather than passion.

It would seem the purpose of this movie, if not to deify, is to define -- and in this it fails miserably.

Little more than a constant and occasionally pretty imaginative sex show.

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of … V8? That’s what you get when you cross VeggieTales characters with a pirate yarn.

Technically, Jihad's images and assemblage seem on par for a first-time filmmaker, though the film's message is a moving plaint.

It may tell you everything you need to know about Easy Virtue to note that Hollywood hottie Jessica Biel receives top billing over veteran Brit thesps Kristin Scott Thomas and Colin Firth.

One glance at the title shows you just where Brooks's head is these days: in his pants, specifically, in the area immediately below the belt. The one-time master parodist (Blazing Saddles, Young Frankenstein) seems so focused on this universe bounded by the ass on one end, so to speak, and the groin on the other, that he forgets to do anything at all original to spoof Robin Hood or the swashbuckling films Hollywood has made of him.

In Fatima, director Marco Pontecorvo and his team meld religious storytelling with the flourishes of a historical biopic, resulting in something both better and more frustrating than your average faith-based film.

The direction by Caruso adds little to the dynamics, although the script by Dan Gilroy offers the occasional gem. Nevertheless, Two for the Money is hardly a cineplex bargain.

It’s a tedious watch, inferior in every way to David Fincher’s slick, grinningly grim "Gone Girl." Any chance for lightning striking twice is going, going, gone.

Knights of the Zodiac has the potential of being fun, but falls short by taking itself too seriously and looking bad all the while.

It's a strictly date-night-rental affair, and if you still get Ryan Reynolds and Dane Cook confused, this will do little to help sort things out.

Even for me, an animal lover, a believer in the power of storytelling, and an advocate for meatless meals as often as possible, I just kept waiting for a revelation, or a reason (beyond the horror show footage) to care.

Not nearly as clever at taxing the audience's knuckles as its forerunner, Speed 2 still manages to stay above board long enough to merit a look-see, if only to relish the once-in-a-lifetime pleasure of Mr. Dafoe and his pet leeches.

When a cell-phone gag is the most exciting or inventive thing in a big summer dinosaur movie, you have to wonder if the species might not be ready for extinction.

Kidman is the only refreshing thing in the movie. Otherwise, Just Go With It is an exercise in stagnation.

Shelton's enthusiasm is remarkably refreshing, but it's not enough to mean well, and we don't know much more about these people or their world at the end than we learn at the beginning.

The movie scores some laughs, all of which come from the expert Giamatti.

If you’re the type of moviegoer who finds the idea of 19th-century characters using phrases such as "Be cool" and "You must work out" in their conversations, this is the film for you.

Although I do think PP fans will be satisfied with the finale, let’s hope this is the last redux for these pitches.

Amibitiously mediocre.

The borderline campy The Bye Bye Man is a horror movie in search of an urban legend. Based on a chapter in the 2005 collection of allegedly strange-but-true paranormal tales "The President’s Vampire," the premise is second-rate Stephen King.

Collette – usually a delight – sounds like she’s phonetically speaking a foreign language. Not even Judi Dench could sell these lines.

The Oranges has little original shading.

Higher Learning is a disappointment. What might have been director Singleton's (Boyz N the Hood, Poetic Justice) most ambitious and potentially intriguing work, wound up as his most shallow and scattershot.

It's hobbled by odd plot contrivances and some less-than-stellar acting from DiCaprio.

Before a foot of film was ever shot on Live by Night, Affleck had already made a decision that would be the film’s undoing. He cast himself as the lead.

This is no more (but no less?) than what we have rather oddly come to expect from Neeson in his late period (Taken, The A-Team).

About as pedestrian as you can get.

It's not atrocious, but it borders on it, thanks to Dennis Quaid's annoying narration and his even more irritating portrait of the self-loathing writer whose presence bookends the two main storylines.

Bruce Willis shows up, in full Bruce “yippee-ki-yay, mofo” Willis mode, to little effect, and while Hudson’s sassy camp follower is a hoot, there are just too many narratively bizarre subplots falling out all over the place.

A holiday film Joe Lieberman could love, unembarrassed by its wholesome, sugary pro-family message.

Although appealing to look at, Happy Feet Two is noisy, busy, and unable to spark much emotional involvement in the viewer other than fear for the characters' well-being and a touch of existential angst by way of a couple of krill.

Frankly, I don't like to be bullied, and bullying is exactly what Knight and Day – overly cute and overconvinced of its own cool – does best.

For each prejudice the film tries to shatter, it furthers a different stereotype.

There's little drama or sense of progression in the movie until the bombshell hits, and then it just whimpers along for another half-hour until the end.

Doesn't do much to further distinguish Lehmann's career. As for those of us waiting for the year's first worthwhile date movie, the wait continues.

Misfires on so many levels that we have to wonder if there is more than one meaning to this story's wild boars.

As delivered by the politically inclined international filmmaker Costa-Gavras ("Z," "The Music Box"), Mad City's oversimplification of the ethical issues is bound to annoy those with any first-hand knowledge of the news dissemination process and disappoint others who've come for the promise of a city whipped into a "mad as hell" frenzy.

Come What May over-romanticizes the horrific, forced French exodus.

Unfortunately for a film that has so much to say about a topic of great import, Unplugging is hamstrung by its ricocheting tone and undercut by sequences that probably provoked chuckles during the initial read-through but too often fall flat in the finished product.

The film falls just shy of both Diesel and Gray's mark.

What should have turned out as a terrific movie about the crime of spousal abuse has instead received the equivalent of a ham-handed molestation by director Mundhra.

It’s distinguishing the trickle from the treacle that becomes the problem.

John Tucker Must Die will undoubtedly fade into obscurity like so many silly and sentimental teen comedies before it.

The resultant film is all surface and plush, with nary a hard edge or demanding note. Despite the movie's well-intentioned heart, its head is out to lunch, neglecting its responsibility to provide these powerhouse actresses with a script half as smart or compelling as they.

Least Among Saints is a heartfelt if not exactly heartwarming story of two wounded males, but despite top-notch performances from all the leads, it never really brings anything new to a story that's already overly familiar.

With neither the grandiosity of pagan vision that illuminated The Green Knight, or the subversive forest horror of Ben Wheatley's In the Earth, Garland's Men is never quite a joke, but maybe that would have made it a more pointed parable.

Kiddos: I'm sighing, too, but only from relief it's all behind us now.

It's just not all that interesting to watch two pretty young things go through the muddled rituals of the pas de duh when I can, you know, do it just as poorly myself.

The script is really the heart of the problem.

In the end, while both of these performers look great together, they really don't seem to belong together. And that's the biggest hitch in Hitch.

Solid 007 entertainment -- not as bad as some of the recent Bonds but not as spunky as some of the series' originals.

A mess, albeit one with occasional flashes of brilliance.

It's an existential, Kafka-esque nightmare with no real resolution, although if you've been biding your time waiting to see some high-strung, ham-handed bickering on-screen, this is your A-ticket.

Still, every generation deserves its own coming-of-age cinematic snapshot; if this is that, though, things are tougher than I thought.

Breakdown further illustrates the axiom that every truly original movie must be remade again and again until it achieves a state of sublime, all-encompassing idiocy.

That it has so little new to say, and replaces spirited fantasy with an overbearing glumness, is just disappointing.

I'm not entirely sure, but near as I can tell, this adaptation of Augusten Burroughs' memoir of family dysfunction finally and irrevocably lost me right about where the cat ended up in the stew pot, stirred with maniacally morose glee by Paltrow.

While Ferdinand isn’t a train wreck by any means, it does come off as an also-ran in a year now dominated by the truly marvelous "Coco."

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.

Notably, Phantom Boy treads territory that’s similar to much of Hayao Miyazaki’s work, with a main character seeking the otherworldly in the face of a terrible reality. Missing, though, is the narrative and emotional cohesiveness that would likely have led to Felicioli and Gagnol’s film being a more engaging and memorable work

It's hard to imagine anyone ---coming away from Hanging Up with any sense of revelation, soul-enlargement, or even the simple pleasure of a compelling tale well told.

The gifted veterans, Redgrave and Stamp, manage to imbue their characters with personalities and physical bearings that transcend the stereotypical. But there’s little else that separates a film like this from the sing-your-heart-out self-actualizations of a teen show like "Glee."

Likely to be remembered more for its method of manufacture and release than for any inherent qualities of its own. It will also become one of the many fascinating footnotes in the always provocative career of Steven Soderbergh.

All of this culminates in a film that is equal parts silly and nationalist. If you find yourself nostalgic for the bloodless mode of America vs. The World action movies that populated the 1990s, then Vanguard is for you. And if you’re a Jackie Chan completist, the mediocre nature of the film is at least partially offset by his heartfelt rendition of the theme song and an A+ collection of outtakes that play over the end credits.

If nothing else, this adaptation of Peter Mayle's umpteenth ode to livin' la vie en Provence will make you wonder about Ridley Scott and the directorial aging process.

What we're left with -- Kubrick or no -- is a muddled, messy disaster of a film, something that seems more like a drastically edited miniseries, cut down to incomprehensible levels with whole sections missing.

Worst of all, as much as this will be a welcome escape for small kids (and a distraction for parents), it's a frustration that Kendrick is back in this kind of easy, cookie-cutter, disposable frippery.

Opus is an attack on media mouthpieces and mindless sycophants, but its barbs only scratch the surface before the inevitable mayhem takes over.

There’s a difference between being transgressive and offensive, and that, in a nutshell (or roasted chestnut), is the difference between Bad Santa and Bad Santa 2.

It's big, it's loud, it's dumb, and all things considered, it's not completely un-fun.

Mancini's character boils down to a lot of self-loathing and unresolved mommy issues – which is as tedious as it sounds.

The bland script and direction are spruced up by a likable cast.

If you enjoy an occasional taste of mental junk food, you might find Las Vegas Vacation worthy of a springtime dollar-cinema visit. Otherwise, hold out another decade for sexagenarian Chevy in Palm Springs Vacation.

The film might have been redeemed by Ardant's performance as Callas. But for a rare glimpse of the diva's ferocious appetite for life, however, this French actress seems all wrong for the part.

The Sword Art Online – Progressive films were intended to give fans something new, something a little more meaningful, and while Scherzo doesn't completely deliver, it's at least intriguing enough to make you think, "Well, maybe one more level."

Who do you cast when you've got a mid-tier supernatural thriller that needs a low-key but charismatic, talented but not showboaty, and recognizable actor to play one of the leads? Guy Pearce, of course, and without him under Peter's decidedly unpriestly demeanor then middling supernatural chiller The Seventh Day would barely raise a flutter of attention, never mind a spirit.

Williamson's directorial debut is a sad affair, devoid of shocks, surprises, or even his clever trademark diologue.