For a film with such volatile subject matter, the performances are subdued and naturalistic. Fire burns with a rare flame.

Most importantly, Sherman and Abbasi deflate the myth that has dominated the last decade, that somehow Trump is some kind of aberration from the historical Republican Party, perverting it to his will.

Trekkies is a hilarious work, mining the psychology of the average and not-so-average Trek fan, and coming up with the answers to all your burning questions about the show and its devoted following.

Fraser, Martin, and the rest of the flesh-and-blood characters look like they’re having a ball, which translates instantly to the audience as well.

There's a deep, bone-weary melancholy to the proceedings, offset by the mad parties and vicious displays of machismo.

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

Arguably better than the last five Eddie Murphy films taken together, The Nutty Professor still seems to be playing down to its audience much of the time, though you'd never know it to hear the gales of laughter erupting at the screening I attended.

Holdridge is clever enough to keep his characters from slipping into outright narcissism, or when they do, he's familiar enough with the art of mainstream moviemaking to balance the exhausted with the ecstatic.

Lymelife arrives with an impressive pedigree but, unfortunately, little originality.

Besson's visuals are, as always, vibrant and decidedly European. He fills the frames with odd-angled shots and alarming riots of color that catch you off-balance.

The quest for sexual happiness is a radical notion in these repressive times, as well as a legitimate basis for storytelling, but Shortbus doesn't quite delve as deeply as it ought into its characters' emotions.

The film is an intelligent study of the will to live. It's so strong that even a suicidal man rises to the occasion.

When it comes to buddy comedies, The Long Dumb Road isn’t exactly forging new territory. It’s a bit like "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" refitted for the 21st century, yet it’s grounded in a nostalgic sense of kismet that predates using an app to order rides from strangers.

As a character-driven narrative, it's a hollow beast, too often pedantic, that smacks of good-guy agitprop, shrill when it should be subtle and shrieking when a whisper would be far more unnerving.

I’m not sure The Bad Guys is something kids on the younger side will enjoy, as the action and humor seem aimed at a slightly older, 10-and-up crowd. Still, there are some good lessons to be learned here about staying true to your friends and not judging someone on the way they look – a lesson we all, not just the kiddos, need to learn.

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

Wisely, writer/producer/director John Scheinfeld mostly keeps to the sound capture of his subject and a little soundtracking on Alpert’s storied imprint with Jerry Moss.

The gags are quick and barbed, but the wire seems blunted by the essentially one-note gag storyline.

This is not some whacked-out drug trip movie, or scolding afterschool anti-drug special. This is anti-psychedelia, grounded in the strangeness of true life.

The overall vibe is JV-squad swashbuckling, evoking "The Goonies" and the "Indiana Jones" films for a tweens-and-under demographic, and all without the exhausting quippiness of the "Lego" franchise.

Falling somewhere between the horrors of Three … Extremes and the beauties of Eros, this triptych of short films set in and underscored by the titular megalopolis is a gorgeous, sprawling mess.

The movie's light, easily forgotten and very good for a few laughs. I sure hope that eating thing comes true.

Let's just say if you liked the last one, you'll like this one, too. Otherwise, you'll discover that it's time for Drebin, Nordberg, Capt. Hocken, and the rest to finally retire their badges.

The signature refrain of "Hollywood Ending," with its high-kicking energy and table-punching emotion, is just irresistible. It's the sweet that balances out the bitter of a film that makes it clear that this won't all end well. Anna and the Apocalypse is like biting into a candy cane and getting jabbed by those sharp, sugary shards.

Two-and-a-half hour slice of unmitigated depression.

Though the third act ends surprisingly, if not anticlimactically – truth is indeed stranger than fiction – the film can’t resist one final finger wag, this time from the esteemed barrister (a likable Fiennes) who brilliantly mounts Gun’s legal defense by barely raising that finger.

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

The obvious thing is to say that Keep the River on Your Right has unfortunately bitten off more than it can chew -- but not more than we can digest.