There is no character development or psychology manifested in any aspect of The Strangers.

The debut feature by writer/director Cory Finley began as a script for stage, not screen, and that shines through in the intricate dance of dialogue. There's a hint of David Mamet in his use of strictly defined silences, and flat statements as heavy implications.

It may owe much to viral shockers like "28 Days Later," but its political and personal insight elevates The Cured alongside the best of contemporary European realism.

The opening act, I’m sorry to report, is a mess.

The new Death Wish is unlikely to spark similar controversy, simply because the filmmaking is not as compelling as in the original film.

Without preaching from the pulpit, A Fantastic Woman powerfully communicates the hostility and hatred that persons such as Marina encounter simply due to their otherness. In its way, it resembles those Hollywood-era message movies like "Gentleman’s Agreement" and "Pinky," but without the self-congratulatory importance that weighs those films down with all the subtlety of an iron anchor.

Coming so close on the heels of another clumsy female-led spy adaptation, "Atomic Blonde" (which at least had the good grace to be stylish in its stupidity), Red Sparrow plummets to Earth.

The peerless crew of actors playing the party guests present stinging dialogue and reactions with the precision of expert marksmen.

The stellar cast is uniformly great, but perhaps that speaks more toward the subject matter of grief and moving on, giving everyone a showcase to sink their teeth into acting.

Why do I feel like a bummed-out tourist gone home with dashed hopes? “I was promised a new-millennium mindfuck, and all I got was this crummy pick-the-bodies-off horror.”

The film owes what charm it has to a whip-smart script (heavy on double entendres – a delight for word nerds and game geeks alike), and the chemistry between its actors.

The fact that Russians appear to have dash-cams as standard equipment in their four- and two-wheel rides is as foreign and fascinating as anything President Donald Trump could come up with.

It wants so hard to be "Pulp Fiction," but it ends up "8 Heads in a Duffel Bag."

You could say it’s toothless most of the time.

24 Frames is a classically Kiarostami work, indicative of his life’s curiosities and trademark inquiries, but far short of a culminating utterance.

Yes, Black Panther is a moment. But in 20 years' time (or 100 more Marvel films), when this moment has passed, it will still be the kind of resonant, rip-roaring crowd-pleaser to which all smart action films should aspire.

Visually, this is a charming addition to Japanese interpretation of pastoral England, with the overall vision of manor houses and rural idylls feeling perfectly bucolic. There are moments when some elements of culture or set dressing ring a little false. It's in little details.

Early Man is wanting: of a cleverer narrative, of memorable characters. It’s not bad, necessarily. It just feels like an early draft of a better movie to come.

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

The biggest takeaway from the film is that the American foster-care system has failed us all. And that’s super sexy.

Given its can’t-miss potential, you’d think this would be one kick-ass movie. So why is The 15:17 to Paris such a trainwreck?

The film’s message, which it wields like a war chain, is a timeless one: Don’t be such a dick to people because they look different from you. We all live in Bomb City: One stray match and the whole thing will explode.

The director avoids turning this into some form of misery tourism, which would be a real risk in less adept hands: yet the story is told with such a uniform tone that it’s hard to remain emotionally engaged.

You’d think the sordid history of the Winchester house would have inspired a more evocative or even entertaining haunted house story but the Spierigs rely far too much on the sort of shock-cut du jour that has become the lazy and boring norm for so many PG-13 “horror” films of the past 15 years.

The lion’s share of the work then is on Bening and Bell’s shoulders to flesh out dramatically thin characters. That they do.

Subpar special effects and a by-the-numbers final act “Yakety Sax” chase send this sad mess back to a mercifully early grave.

The Insult shows how personal resolutions may be the only recourse and pathway to personal peace.

Although it has the smell of self-importance, like a Michael Cimino movie on steroids, Den of Thieves ultimately fools no one. It’s all about the guns.