It's nonstop chaos, and the everything-and-the-kitchen-sink style of comedy is taxing despite the frequent moments of pure comic genius.

Ms. Elliott's film is, in part, an effort to reverse his slow slide into obscurity. On this level it's an unqualified success.

You’ll leave the film wondering why you've never seen a TV ad for an electric car, or why GM is all about selling Hummers these days.

The longer it goes, the more True Mothers gets weighed down by its melodrama. Kawase is just hopeful and soft enough to keep her film glowing, but it doesn’t quite stick the landing, and is a bit frustrating with its blatant red herrings.

Chills to the bone -- and beyond, but for pure excitement it's best not to look far beneath the surface.

Meet Bill is a typical storyline given new life by an overabundance of antic energy.

Surprisingly well-crafted for something as aggressively dumb as this, the real surprise is the cast.

Po (Black) may be an animated panda bear, but make no mistake: Deep down he's really just a nerd with a pop-culture obsession.

The bulk of the documentary observes Pipkin as he traverses the world showing us a score of examples of solutions that are presently working.

Square peg, round hole. That's what the twentysomethings who drift through Margarita Happy Hour are like.

While never taking credit away from the other rescuers who also risked life and limb, The Rescue comes back to the bunch of self-described oddballs who got the kids out.

Even at its most contrived, the filmmakers believe in this project so passionately that its atmosphere seems absolutely real.

An undeniably novel film that nevertheless lost its novelty for me around the time the Shakers washed up on American shores (that’s about an hour in?), The Testament of Ann Lee still had me in its grip every time a musical number rolled around, which is often enough.

It's always odd to see Robbins, a political activist in his own right, playing at villainy, but here he descends into the role so thoroughly that the lopsided smile becomes less a notation of cockeyed boyishness than a treacherous Cheshire smirk.

There may be two genres at work in The Invisible Man, but there’s only one Elisabeth Moss, and her performance makes Whannell’s film worth discussing far beyond the realm of the title character.

There’s much to enjoy, even if the funny bits don’t add up to Spinal Tap greatness. And the titular anthem, performed in a star-studded closing jamboree, has a wickedly funny payoff.

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

The delectably atmospheric Asylum remains gothic to its morally maggoty core.

Equity is a movie about working women that was made by and financed by women, providing a backstory that’s almost as interesting as the movie itself.

With its understated moral power, generous spirit, and bracing flashes of dark humor, Titanic Town offers a fresh, subtly illuminating take on an ancient sorrow.

Homer's rendition of "spider pig" is comedy gold.

Giamatti is masterful.

No matter the movie's pitfalls, Ray, we can't stop loving you.

Borrowing tonally from the likes of Kill Bill, Jennifer’s Body and John Dies at the End, its message is strong, but, despite its merits, the journey for this hyped gaslighting nightmare is generally lagging.

Whenever War Dogs plods, close your eyes and count the seconds. Hill’s next deranged little giggle will be along shortly to pick you up.

Hallström's latest is fine but unambitious, content with what it is – an arthouse trifle for the masses.

As an experiment in mood, as a love song to Paris and to the French New Wave, as a fun, flirty little number, Charlie provides a giddy satisfaction.

Like the character of Rocky, it's got heart to spare, and is by turns one of the sweetest of the sweet-science pictures as well as one of the most doleful. Fighters fight, it's what they do. And Balboa, god bless him, fights on.