It's charming, in its own little way, but really, this film has as much substance as a Cirrus cloud, despite fine turns from Boyle as the family patriarch and Warden as Godfather Saul.

A crowd-pleasing portrait of boys-who-will-be-men-who-will-be-boys.

It wouldn't feel out of place on a double bill with "Dangerous Liaisons," given Breillat's unrepentantly nihilistic attitude toward the battle of the sexes in which all are pawns, every knight is errant, and the only queen is Queen Bitch.

If you can get past the ick factor inherent in these suddenly adulterized relationships –- and there’s really no way this film should have received a kid-friendly PG rating –- and latch on to the film’s wealth of metaphor, you’ll surely have something to discuss over coffee post-screening.

The filmmakers insert their own bulldozer midway through the story, rendering the metaphoric literal and the literal absurd.

Brothers is too depthless to dredge up any tears.

Some chronicle is better than no chronicle, but the past exists only in the retelling; how history is written is as important as the story itself. Don’t these survivors deserve better?

Even though Stardust is not coated in gossamer, the film still has some glittery moments.

What starts out promisingly enough continues considerably beyond the end of the world and wears out even the most determined Wenders fan.

Magic Farm feels more like a work-in-progress than a final draft.

Ultimately offers some ironic amusement but wallows too long in the sins of its father.

He seems to be everything anyone might want from a pope, and this commissioned film seems to be part of the PR campaign to spread that particular gospel to the world.

Three films in, and Soderbergh's Ocean's franchise has settled into a kind of hipster equanimity – happy to live in that loosely defined territory where art meets commerce and story blends seamlessly with cool.

If you’re expecting "Paddington"-level profundity and whimsical adventure you’re going to be sorely disappointed.

The twist – and it’s a smart, effective one to be sure – is that this time it’s not a bunch of beergasming dudebros making life hell for the Radners, but an off-campus sorority led by Moretz’s feminist-slash-party powerhouse blonde, Shelby.

Surprisingly, Countdown works best when it operates less as a Nineties horror homage and more as a modern horror-comedy.

Venokur's candy-colored world and wild menageries of animal drivers, most especially Shale and MacDonald as expectant parent seahorses, pop out of the primary-colored backgrounds with glee and charm. And even if the route to Zhi and Shelby's first kiss and Archie's inevitable defeat is pretty linear, it's a diverting joy ride for the littles.

What the movie lacks is spark and sizzle. There's no palpable chemistry between Lopez and male lead Ralph Fiennes, plus the script by "Working Girl" scribe Kevin Wade is workmanlike in the extreme.

Mickey Rourke's narration provides an appropriate level of drama and importance as it details the men's training, adversities, failures, and triumphs.

For all the film’s rallying efforts, its meandering structure and absence of a central driving character results in a film about genocide that is, as unbelievable as it sounds, kind of boring.

Venom: Let There be Crazy, Stupid Love isn’t a great movie, but it doesn’t matter because it’s just big, dumb, romantic fun.

Reeves sticks out like a bad grape in an otherwise acceptable harvest. Having taken this role to broaden his acting horizons, his gain is the film's loss.

This is an action flick for those who like form over substance in their popcorn movies which explode onscreen every summer.

It gives the creeping sensation that this is going to be a talking-heads documentary, which Greenwald delivers in spades.

The screen version feels like a rewrite made to make the tale more palatable to the "mindless moviegoing masses," which prompts the question: Is the film a truer vision of Baitz's tale of an uncompromising man or a version in which the truer vision was compromised?

Regardless of whether Cry Macho merits a rating of good, bad, or ugly, Eastwood’s mere presence, despite any perceived physical frailties, can’t help but dwarf this slenderest of movies.

This footage is essential to this film, allowing us to view Marianne as a solo human being and not just as a muse to a great man. It is she who first noticed the figurative beauty of a nearby “bird on a wire,” not he. Yet this is also how the movie fails. Praiseworthy for finally providing some three-dimensionality to the figure of Ihlen, the film doesn’t go far enough in examining the plight of the muse.

Good Burger is not fully cooked but it provides a taste of things to come.