Director and co-writer Athina Rachel Tsangari wants viewers to fill in the blanks.

A throwaway film that in all the worst ways give summer movies a bad name: told by idiots, full of sound and fury, and signifying nothing but first-weekend grosses.

Maggie’s Plan is an ensemble piece, with Maya Rudolph, Travis Fimmel, and a magic, romantic New York rounding out the cast. They’re all great, but it’s Gerwig who’s just so damn gosh-wow.

Longtime World of Warcraft players should and likely will storm the cineplex gates, burn the castle down, and salt the earth (and screenwriters) from whence this abomination sprung. Me, I’m going to chill out and download 1982’s top-notch "The Sword and the Sorcerer."

The deal-breaking problem with these films – among so, so many problems – is this: They don’t f--king ground the magic in any sort of reality, but rely on CGI for their showstoppers.

Refreshingly, there’s nary a cheap scare manifested in this Conjuring, although the unspoken corollary to that is that The Conjuring 2 just isn’t very scary, or even unnerving.

No groundbreaking cinemagic there, but Out of the Shadows’ oddball moments keep things weirdly surreal throughout.

Hard truths: Popstar’s jokes land pillow-soft.

Me Before You isn’t going to win any awards for sophistication in storytelling or direction, but it tenderly reproduces the book’s most iconic scenes, and their tearjerking effect.

"The Cross and the Switchblade" it’s not; this is the reality of Ukraine today, and Crocodile Gennadiy is a badass man on a mission … from God.

It’s a movie from which you can’t look away, no matter how hard you may try.

Sunset Song is not one of Davies’ most expressive or artistically successful films, but I’m very glad for the opportunity to have made the acquaintance of Chris Guthrie.

Shaw works mostly because Samantha Montgomery is such a compelling and likable character, that you want – nay need – her to succeed, and that is Haar’s ace in the hole.

There might be a glimmer of a theme in the film concerning faith, but it all drowns in too many tangents and dull minutiae. Recommended for die-hard fans only, Australia's Lost Gold is not worth its weight in much of anything.

What wicked good fun it is watching this bad girl do her worst.

Apocalypse never rises from the sum of its parts, becoming another bloated summer spectacle that rides the rail between fan service and coherent story. You can probably guess which side it eventually crashes on.

Often impeded by ham-fisted, inspirational dialogue, The Idol is not likely to earn Assaf more worldwide admirers, but for those who are already in his fan club, this film will be received like a bonus gift.

Allen’s film is as much a self-reckoning as it is a cautionary tale for other spiritual seekers, and as such it offers invaluable insights into how cults – and especially cults of personality – function and grow. “Namaste,” for the record, is also an anagram for “Me Satan.”

While the underdog element of this tale is emotionally gratifying, it’s the humanity on unadorned display here that will move you beyond words.

This return to Wonderland is a dull outing, about which it can be said that Alice doesn’t live here anymore.

Overall, The Lobster packs a wicked punch, eviscerating modern romance in surprising and evocative ways.

Last Days in the Desert is a Jesus story that plays well for the nonfaithful who nevertheless appreciate the example of Jesus and his teachings.

As a mood piece, A Bigger Splash leaves a lasting impression.

I’m not sure I’ve laughed harder all year than at Gosling in a bathroom stall, accidentally dropping a lit cigarette down his pants leg.

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.

Maybe it’s supposed to be the enlightening tale of one bird’s self-redemption from neurotic negativity, but I just wanted to punch this film in the snout.

It’s like being haunted by outsized chimney sweeps that never bathe. And for the most part, it’s about that scary.

While the Occupy Wall Street rage supposedly fueling this thing is flimsy, what’s left is still solidly entertaining.