The dark is not threatening, and metaphorical darkness is even less so; as a result this movie is not particularly scary.

Lola Versus arrives with a pedigree that suggests it should be better than it sounds. It isn't.

The bright spot-and what saves Greenspan's debut feature from being nothing more than a long tedious draft of an ordinary craft brew-is James Liston's cinematography.

The storytelling falters throughout and The Eagle, despite its grandeur.

The melodrama is tiresome, overwrought and clichéd.

While in many respects Spoken Word is adequately specific, it's still not very deep.

Silent House is undeniably built on its "one-shot, real-time" gimmick. And while it works reasonably well - especially in the first half of the film - it's still just a gimmick trying to gussy up a common horror flick.

More so than his other documentaries, Nygard remains in the spotlight from start to finish as he traveled across the globe to seek answers from various religious leaders. It's one thing to fail as a doc showman but by the film's end you feel like you have no answers to any of his questions.

Rather than take a broad-brush approach director Muntean boggs us down in the detail of an adulterous affair. There are some similarities with his previous outing "Boogie" in that the main character is a man having a premature mid-life crisis.

A formula picture made by someone who doesn't even believe in the formula - he knows it all has to work out, we know it all has to work out, and he can't even muster an ironic wink for our trouble.

Mercy can be described as a moody picture that traffics in variations of only one mood or sentiment: self-pity.

A feast for the eyes, Mysteries of Lisbon deals with 19th century passions, love affairs and escapades on a broad canvas. It might have made a lovely TV series, parsed out over several weeks, but at one sitting it's a challenge.

Beyond the Black Rainbow is the kind of movie whose cool-looking trailer entices you to midnight screenings, but the film will bore you so profoundly you'll fall asleep halfway and wake up disoriented during the closing credits.

Nobody here brings their A-game, denying us the pleasure of what Adams and director Anand Tucker could create together.

Ultimately, however, the movie is about the fact that there was a civil rights movement at all, and incidents like the murder of Dickie Marrow necessitated that movement--deep into the 1970s and beyond.

Auds will be wise to the contrived metaphors and realize there's not much going on below the surface except stock discourse.

Likely to disappoint both literary aficionados and action-thriller fans, the film neither captures the creepy atmospheres of Poe's influential writing nor works on its own.

Fun Size isn't good enough to ascend to those John Hughesian ranks, and its small holiday window means it won't scarf much box office. But at least first time feature director Josh Schwartz can expect a minor slumber party hit on DVD.

It's only sporadically amusing and it's certainly not original.

In 1994, 16-year-old surfer Jay Moriarity braved the biggest waves ever seen off the coast of Northern California. His biopic, Chasing Mavericks, gets that fact right but changes everything else about his life in order to bowl audiences over in a saccharine tsunami.

See What I’m Saying is at once heartbreaking and irritating, enlightening and boring, but frankly not aesthetically well made in any particular way.

Notwithstanding Steven Soderbergh's name among the nine credited producers, this is strictly mid-level assembly line product, designed to ride entirely on the modest marquee value of second-tier or past-prime stars.

Devotees and the curious may find it mildly diverting, otherwise this effort is not for the faint-headed.

Brotherhood moves fast, but it can't outrun its superficiality.

No one is expected to take any of this seriously, so Schwentke keeps things light: light on big laughs, light on unique action set pieces and light on any sense that these game but retired spies are too old for this crap.

Genre movies like The Warrior's Way are all about pleasing core fan boys. While the film claims dazzling visuals, Lee fails to deliver the type of never-before-seen martial arts fights fans demand.

Even Reese Witherspoon, whose adorable scrunch-face projects the romantic travails of lovelorn women everywhere, looks unsure of herself.

A thing of endless contrivances. Jolie's phony plotting and graphic depictions of sexual assault and murder are transparent attempts to bluntly convey the war's atrocities.