The movie hovers in a curious paradox, coming across as both operatic tribute and horrific condemnation, but it’s never less than a nasty crime drama with plenty of grimy characters to keep the stakes compelling throughout.

Life, Animated may be the best commercial Disney could ask for, but that’s only a side effect. The purity of Owen’s relationship to the material transforms it into something more powerful than the company itself could ever accomplish.

Complicated enough to lose a casual viewer but never so convoluted that André and co. are sublimated into the system around them (which would have been fatal for a film so attuned to the relationship between personal interest and collective perception), Bonitzer’s plot spins forward at the speed of an auctioneer’s mouth until raw suspense becomes appropriately inextricable from meaningless gibberish.

Judging by Johnson's previous feature, "True Adolescence," he's better at crafting characters with credible problems than finding equally credible ways of exploring them. Fortunately, in the case of Skeleton Twins, the actors do the legwork.

What makes Mandibules so refreshing is that, just as its anti-heroes don’t care about how they are supposed to behave, Dupieux has an airy disregard for how a chase thriller or a horror movie is supposed to proceed.

While Goodman’s feature doesn’t focus our recently inaugurated president, it serves as a blunt reminder of what has happened, and could happen again, when misinformation is spread to dangerous, angry, homegrown radicals.

The Monk and the Gun is a film that understands why we still need to consider tradition — the actual definition of the word, that is — when thinking about complex political issues.

The filmmaker's first-rate access feels like a kind of desecration.

The winning cast allows Taylor to exploit the formula that the Coen brothers have made careers out of: watching lovable dimwits investigate a mystery that they’re completely unqualified to solve is always a blast.

As is clear from the very first scene, and made all the more so by the very last, She Rides Shotgun is Polly’s movie at its core, and Heger’s face — a detailed portrait of love and loss, its colors all the more radiant by how they run together when she cries — is expressive enough to make it a movie worth watching even when it feels like one we’ve already seen a number of times before.

Poignant without being melodramatic, overflowing with unforced charm, Me and Earl and the Dying Girl holds a unique appeal that's certain to last.

The directors never quite find the right symmetry between scenes of life and art with those that uncritically glorify violence.

Your Fat Friend succeeds in offering a nuanced portrayal of a writer and the views that made her beloved. But it’s hard to shake the feeling that the film actively infantilizes the very demographic that it wants to elevate.

"Citizen Ashe” is a fascinating portrait that weaves together his on- and off-court life seamlessly.

A Bigger Splash has neither a clear center nor a clear moral, and it's all the better for it. This is a film about behavior, not plot — and how people are ruled by emotion, and not logic.

The filmmaker creates a tactile universe of nostalgia and regret, heavier on suggestion than explication.

The result is not a major work, but still a wildly funny portrait that succeeds at inducing the incredulity Morris always seeks out.

So, really, what does happen when a kid detective grows up? In Morgan’s hands, something curious, laced with pitch black comedy and a major dose of tragedy, a winking sense of genre, and a stellar performance from Brody.

The first half of The Mission is triumphant, offering a multitude of thought-provoking ways to approach a tragedy. But with so many fascinating angles at their disposal, it’s unfortunate that Moss and McBaine didn’t take a bigger swing with their ending.

Long-time fans of Joplin's music will likely not find much new material to relish in "Janis: Little Girl Blue," and if the film earns any new acolytes for the songstress, it will be the result of Joplin's own charisma, not of the presentation of the film built so shakily around her.

Burton's id explodes onto the screen with a plethora of demonic mutated critters.

With Dan Deacon’s cosmic synth carrying the strange twists along, “Strawberry Mansion” works its way through an absurdist romance with palpable depth.

In Beans, Deer has transformed the most painful experience of her life into a vital human story, while holding an unflinching mirror up to the racism and discrimination indigenous communities still face to this day.

The film is an exuberant, endearing triumph, setting a standard for wit and energy that defined Hepburn and Tracy’s partnership for a quarter of a century to come.

Romería isn’t without its own unique shape, or visual vitality, or a narrative sense of joie de vivre, but it doesn’t always stand out from the pack even as Simón deserves credit for rendering her autobiography in aesthetically sublime terms.

While a bit too enamored of the foreshadowing built into its premise, Tanne's impeccably acted two-hander examines the Obamas through an infectious, talky script loaded with keen observations, not unlike the appeal of its subjects.

Bottoms is an ambitious sophomore feature from a director who is just getting started, one that can craft both a hilariously surreal teen sex comedy and marry it with one hell of an eye for action sequences.

Witherspoon excels as a committed figure battling through each rough day. So long as the action remains on the trail, Vallée stages an engaging survivalist tale that plays up the resolve on Witherspoon's face, complemented with the rich visuals of an expansive landscape.