The three principal actors are all pros, with plenty of TV and movie credits; and they’re charismatic enough to be good company. But the story around them keeps changing every 20 minutes and lacks payoffs. It’s like a series of uncompleted writing prompts.

The actors all look like they had a wonderful time making Supervized, but the material they were given to play is pretty dopey, and way too basic. It’s an insult to superhero fans and senior citizens alike.

While Harvey does a fine job evoking the violent, character-driven crime pictures of the 1970s, he can’t quite make Into the Ashes feel original enough to be vital.

Thirlby gives a good performance as someone who finds it easier to remain a non-person than to make any effort to fix her life. But the more Holly comes into view, the blander her character becomes.

Just like the first Iron Sky, the sequel is frustratingly unfocused as a commentary on the modern world — and even more so as a story. It has the seeds of several nifty ideas, scattered loosely, left untended.

Often, trying too hard to be edgy sails right past offensive and just hits boring. Sherman, amazingly, manages to nail both.

Bleak as it is, it’s remarkably devoid of bitterness or rancor, and even its most despairing passages are flecked with humor and hope. This is personal filmmaking with a diarist’s sense of detail and an artist’s generosity.

An unconvincing, late-breaking tragic turn; several dubious, go-nowhere supporting characters; and a blurrily provocative ending don’t help.

One of the most genuinely fear-provoking movies of the year, Luz shines for the calculated sensory stimulation it inflicts and its contained intent, as if it had been built to prove omnipresent evil lies unnoticed. It’ll render you unexpectedly rattled.

Though it takes far too long to kick into gear, Bottom of the 9th does improve as it goes along, becoming less self-serious in its second half. But the upswing can’t vindicate the rest of the film; it may be about redemption, but it’s too little, too late for the movie itself.

Rojo is a sophisticatedly entertaining reminder of our propensity for malevolent apathy.

Crosby’s spirit remains vital, and he’s determined to fly that freak flag into that good night.

Made with a restraint that enhances the heartbreaking nature of its narrative, Rosie is also fortunate in having top-of-the-line Irish actress Sarah Greene, who is wrenchingly involving as a character teetering on the edge of complete desperation.

Flay is, at its core, just an OK indie drama about a bickering brother and sister, with some blah supernatural hooey clumsily appended.

Crawl is action-packed, with impressive special effects and some jaw-dropping images of mayhem and destruction. But a movie like this demands more storytelling discipline and logistical control than these filmmakers can manage.

The well-intentioned comedy never fully comes together to make a cohesive film, but there are glimpses of something interesting amidst its flaws.

Unfortunately, it overdoes — and overplays — the strident litany of he said-she said recriminations and reprisals until the lovers get to some key truths and unexpected reactions.

Not even a winning lead performance by Andrew Lawrence can keep this film from feeling as dreary and programmatic as a PSA.

While the story’s nothing special, the world of Desolate is memorable, with its tribal rivalries and sleazy black markets. It’s a vision of the end-times that disturbingly resembles the dying small towns of America in 2019.

The mystery plot isn’t surprising enough — and it takes at least a few good jolts to create the cinematic equivalent of a page-turner.

Once the machete-wielding brutes in wrestler masks appear, though, Trespassers perks up considerably. That’s what makes this genre so perennially popular. No matter who’s cowering inside the house, the assassins at the door make their story more interesting.

The parallel story lines are both about a twisted sisterhood, and come together in a climactic church service sequence that’s equal parts disgusting and grandiose — and kind of awesome, for fans of bizarre, punky horror.

Bethany Hamilton: Unstoppable doesn’t offer the technical details about the sport that might have made its subject’s feats even more inspiring, but even someone who knows nothing about surfing can’t help but sit mouth agape at Hamilton’s athleticism, optimism and determination.

Firecrackers isn’t just a confident feature debut from Mozaffari, but a daring one, the kind of fast and furious feminine filmmaking that heralds the arrival of several exciting new talents.

The jaunty, neo-noirish crime outing Lying and Stealing has its moments — chiefly the engaging performances of sexy leads Theo James and Emily Ratajkowski — but is too short on depth and logic to prove much more than a glossy, forgettable trifle.

The emphasis of Armstrong is to demonstrate that while its subject was not superhuman, he did have exactly the gifts and character the task demanded.

Meant to feel either lived-in or spontaneously passionate, these poorly written relationships don’t project the effervescence of living in the moment nor the fickleness of what’s to come.

While success is not guaranteed, Sea of Shadows dramatically demonstrates how and why the battle continues to be fought.

The more the shape of the story comes into focus in the final stretch, the less intriguing it becomes, although Eisenberg’s verbally and physically adroit performance never loses its unpredictable edge. Like any good martial artist, he knows just how to keep you off-balance.

But though the new ground it breaks is visual rather than dramatic or emotional, this is a polished, satisfying entertainment that just about dares you to look a gift lion in the mouth.

A surprisingly effective slice of dystopian noir.

The film suffers from a surfeit of characters, many of whom remain underdeveloped.

Three Peaks is a dark little family drama, a ticking time bomb of a movie that is well made but never totally satisfies.

It’s not the clumsiness of the filmmaking that rankles so much as the hypocrisy.

It may feel as if these are loosely structured vignettes, but there’s an accumulation at work — the steady drip of dimensionality that the best movies about people at their jobs know how to turn into a complete picture.

It approaches everything from suicide to Socrates with a facile touch, dealing with serious issues with an almost startling lack of depth and intelligence.

Though Skin in the Game is earnest in its attempts to shed light on human trafficking, the good intentions are buried under a thick layer of grime from its trashy script.

Schadt’s dialogue lacks punch, and his cast isn’t charismatic enough to compensate. But the bigger problem is that nothing especially tense or exciting happens after the corpse is found.

Cold Blood is well-made but hard to warm to — although it might satisfy nostalgic Reno fans, eager to see him playing a silent, hulking assassin yet again.

Because Ihlen was never the public figure that the often idolized Cohen was, “Words of Love” eventually becomes as much a documentary on him as a record of a relationship. But that relationship does have pride of place, and as described by the participants in vintage audio and by people who knew him in contemporary interviews, it does fascinate.

The spell that it casts is bright, dreamy and absorbing, but it is also in no particular hurry to come into focus, which makes its aftereffects all the harder to shake.

A few minutes of this kind of moody existentialism here and there can add flavor to a stylish genre picture. But it’s much less satisfying when the seasoning becomes the main dish.

The movie comes off as too much of a grab-bag, as though the filmmakers shot a bunch of footage with no clear purpose in mind, then retroactively tried to figure out how to fit as much of it as possible into something like a thesis.

Alicia Vikander, Eva Green and Charlotte Rampling pump some energy into writer-director Lisa Langseth’s overly static, chatty drama, but are let down by a movie that keeps promising — and failing — to blossom into something more.

In the end, the most disturbing thing about The 16th Episode is how good it might’ve been if Cohen-Olivar had figured out how to fill the whole picture with the personality at its center.

In a way, Oldman’s presence is symptomatic of a larger failing: the decision to cram together a bunch of cool but incomplete ideas rather than spending the time and money to make proper use of just one.

More popular melodrama than the usual exercise in high art, it whipsaws us with so many unexpected passions and surprising events that holding on to your seat is strongly recommended.

One of the charms of “Blue Note” is the stories the artists tell about each other.

Granting Esther the same psychological weight he grants Juan would have helped, surely. That Reygadas refuses to do so might be interpreted as a boorish lack of curiosity — or, more charitably, as an honest self-indictment, a refusal to speak for a character he doesn’t know or understand.

A heck of a story splendidly told, Maiden succeeds by combining the athleticism of “Free Solo” with the enriching, across-the-board emotional appeal of “RBG.”

In its strangest, most arresting moments, Spider-Man: Far From Home doesn’t just pull the rug out from under you; it tumbles down its own rabbit hole, winding up somewhere in the vicinity of Pixar’s “The Incredibles” (whose composer, Michael Giacchino, also wrote this movie’s bustling score) and Chuck Jones’ classic animated short “Duck Amuck.”

Several engaging main characters and warm cross-generational relationships can’t quite offset patchy storytelling and uncertain aims in Back to the Fatherland.

Its madcap delirium can’t hide its insistent politics, its disdain for sham populism and its compassion for the disenfranchised. Diamantino is no less committed to these ideas than it is to its own uneven, unforgettable lunacy.

Despite its flaws, Ask for Jane is moving, especially in a time where reproductive rights are at risk in states across the United States. However, abortion rights advocates will wish the message came in a better-made movie.

It is hard to blame the audience for a movie that keeps daring us to envision a richer, funnier, more intelligent and imaginative version of it at every turn.

Sometimes the cheekiness works and sometimes the empowerment theme feels forced.

Hellsgård’s direction undermines the ritual and portent of Eva’s actions, but the excellent performances nevertheless convey their significance.

This coolly passionate film mostly deals with Stevenson’s thoughts rather than his life, providing an involving examination and analysis of the ideas (and ideals) that consume the man’s every waking moment.

As a slick, over-the-top action picture, Anna works splendidly. It features multiple jaw-dropping set-pieces, including a restaurant hit where Anna walks in with an unloaded gun and walks out after killing about a dozen thugs. The plot, while fairly predictable, is at least craftily constructed. On its own merits, this is one rollickingly entertaining film, that under ordinary circumstances Besson fans would adore.

Rifkin’s crafty determination to embellish production value constraints with campy transitions and an eerie use of colored light is commendably spirited. Ultimately, however, its aesthetic ambitions trample the substance that occasionally shines through.

It’s a workable fantasy setup that’s undermined by a seemingly deliberate lack of detail about the characters, the Club and the world at large. Midway, the story takes a potentially intriguing turn but becomes more muddled than masterly.

Into the Mirror is deliberately opaque, for better or worse, more concerned with images and mood than concrete details.

It's all very strange and more than a bit silly, but somehow — even as characters travel halfway around the world — the plot never journeys anywhere that surprising.

Fans of the real-deal Chucky movies, with their cheerfully low-rent effects and bawdy, impish humor, may well regard this slick new offering as a desecration masquerading as an upgrade. Which is not to say that this Child’s Play is entirely without its brutish, haphazard pleasures.

Round of Your Life is unlikely to result in any conversions — to faith, golf or focused driving — but at least it won’t have viewers throwing their clubs in anger.

It has a cumulative power, as Trobisch focuses on the small details, looking closely at a woman who doesn’t want to be defined by the thoughtlessly inhumane thing someone else chose to do.

This film engages and challenges the audience throughout, raising questions about the relationship between humanity and the technology we rely on. It’s an exciting film to watch, but an even better one to think about after — preferably in the company of a real, physically present person.

Only one episode falls flat, while two cruise by on style and attitude, and two are genuinely brilliant.

This is a solidly gripping and at times heartbreaking study of ordinary guys, out on the water trying to support their families, while knowing deep down — just from the shoddy condition of their sub’s equipment — that any given voyage is likely to be their last.

The film, based on Romain Puértolas’ novel, has clever touches and is consistently engaging, if meandering.

The Fear of Being Watched is focused and thorough, but it takes the time to place its events in a larger context.

Like a humble gift, In the Aisles makes up for its lack of opulence with quotidian magic.

The screenwriter, Nicole Taylor, and the director, Tom Harper, compose their story in clean, stirring melodic lines that they return to again and again, treating Rose-Lynn’s many setbacks — as well as her small, crucial steps toward growth and self-discovery — like subtle variations on a refrain.

A lovely closing story about Wyman and his idol Ray Charles speaks volumes.

The strong sensibility and the unabashed sensationalism overcome some (but not all) the movie’s amateurism. The raggedness is part of the charm, making “Killer Unicorn” feel like the filmmakers’ deeply personal craft project.

It’s good that Wayne takes some chances with a familiar genre, but his excessive fragmentation effectively turns this movie into a 90-minute trailer.

Most of the first half of director Ellie Callahan’s supernatural thriller Head Count feel like a waste of time, made all the more frustrating once the movie starts to improve.

Daughter of the Wolf could’ve used a jaw-dropping set-piece or two (or three or four), but Hackl does at least embrace the challenge of shooting outside in the cold, and the movie’s moderately better for it.

The movie too often plays like a regional theater production of “Goodfellas,” marred by some hammy dark comedy and off-the-rack tough-guy dialogue. The passion of the people behind this project is evident, and appreciated.

Displaying writing barely apt for an outdated sitcom, ludicrously trite dialogue, prosaic execution and overacting galore, this pseudo-romantic all-nighter unsuccessfully attempts to wax poetic in regards to second chances, Catholic guilt and personal reinvention.

Star Fryogeni, who bears a striking resemblance to Frances McDormand, appears in almost every shot, and she carries the film with a bravura performance of a woman at her wit’s end.

Even if slightly overwrought, the storyline functions as an amusing dual coming-of-ager.

To have the towering Morrison, now 88, willing to face your cameras — head on, in fact — and tell her story as candidly, heartily and humanely as she does here, is a singular gift that keeps on giving throughout the film’s two captivating hours.

What “Edge” is especially good at is detailing how Costa gradually began to see things differently, to see the corruption investigation as an attempt by the oligarchy to reassert itself, to take power via a kind of legislative/judicial coup because it could not do so by the ballot.

A detailed and affable exploration of this world, This One’s for the Ladies is so unabashedly sex-positive you just might want to find the closest all-male revue.

Directors Sheena M. Joyce and Don Argott could have easily ditched the stagy narrative bits (and behind-the scenes chats with the actors) and relied entirely on the vast amount of fascinating, well-assembled archival footage that, along with recent interviews with the late DeLorean’s children, co-workers, lawyer and other observers, nimbly recount the renegade’s complex, tabloid-ready adult life.

For the Birds is kind to its subject, while recognizing the harm she’s inadvertently doing. Animal hoarding is far more complex than most would imagine, but this film handles it with care.

Smith has crafted a visually and artistically compelling portrait about a distinctive figure in a pivotal and exciting time.

Funan is a stunning piece of animation in which the beauty of the visuals and the horror of the situation are inextricably intertwined.

The Reports on Sarah and Saleem snaps, crackles and pops. A taut and compelling Jerusalem-set melodrama, it effectively intertwines the personal with the political in a way that is only enhanced by that city’s fraught atmosphere and cultural dynamics.

One could imagine a context in which some of this belabored mayhem might be funny, maybe a dinner-theater stage with lots of booze and a strong audience-participation element. Seen from the vantage of your living room, however, the spectacle of Aniston and Sandler bumbling their way through one strained, busy set-piece after another becomes a deflating, even depressing experience.

Plus One might be a romcom squarely from the dude’s point of view, but Erskine is the real breakout star here. She’s raunchy and funny, giving the film a loose, wild feeling in its best moments, though it’s too often predictable in its larger beats.

The quasi-credible friendship that develops between Emily and Harry gives way to a less plausible romance. But the winning, sympathetic Keaton and an enjoyably puckish Gleeson largely sell the contrived setup.

The film is a tough, vital lesson in love, valor and compassion.

You can share Jarmusch’s despair — I certainly do — and still find its expression here too tired, bloodless and self-satisfied by half.

American Woman at once reveals its soft underbelly while landing a surprisingly effective punch to the gut — largely thanks to Miller’s deft performance.

Favored with copious amounts of footage shot during the voyage, as well as Genovés’ collected data and writings, Lindeen forged a riveting and illuminating study of the unscrupulous endeavor.

The film surprises with the amount of genuine emotion it generates with its focus on love, loyalty and what matters most in life, to humans as well as toys.