Allegiance is an intermittently compelling but ultimately disappointing drama that loses track of its own point of view in favor of more generic storytelling.

Only the Young rarely coalesces into anything more meaningful than a casual collection of moments. Maybe that's the point.

It's got a strong cast and an intriguing premise that has the added bonus of real-world relevance. But, good intentions and good work aside, the film flounders before it reaches its conclusion.

Lazy, smugly self-satisfied movie.

In "Django," Tarantino is a man unchained, creating his most articulate, intriguing, provoking, appalling, hilarious, exhilarating, scathing and downright entertaining film yet.

Despite its pitfalls, this movie musical is a clutch player that delivers an emotional wallop when it counts. You can walk into the theater as an agnostic, but you may just leave singing with the choir.

It's one terrific film, as smart, thoughtful and emotionally involving as just about anything that's out there.

Bayona achieves a rare sense of balance between the big and the powerful as well as the small and the intimate in the family's survival against impossible odds, no doubt the inspiration for the title.

There will be many who won't be able to get past the language in This Is 40. There will be others who will worry that the king of callous has gone soft on them. I'm just happy to see one of this generation's most influential comic minds back on track - the laugh track.

A stirring snapshot of America from 1963 to 1968 and the many rock 'n' roll thrills, cultural and political watersheds, and whirling emotions that erupted in between. It's also deviously smart and darkly funny.

Tchoupitoulas is a jewel-bright whoosh of a ride through nighttime New Orleans.

If one is interested in seeing a Cirque du Soleil show, there are many to choose from. "Worlds Away" functions solely as some sort of bargain sampler platter appetizer, never proving it has a real reason of its own to exist.

Salles has lovingly crafted a poetic, sensitive, achingly romantic version of the Kerouac book that captures the evanescence of its characters' existence and the purity of their rebellious hunger for the essence of life.

So thrill-less, so chill-less is Jack Reacher that it is unlikely to spark interest, much less controversy.

There is something promising about the match-up of an old-school show-biz kid like Streisand with the modern, anxiously self-aware Rogen, but what could have been the multigenerational Thunderdome of Jewish Humor instead turns out bloodlessly disappointing.

One reason Boal makes such a potent combination with Bigelow is that her directing style moves us right along. She is so good with both action and creating a convincing look and feel for the film that the time it takes to get up to speed with the complicated plot does not feel like a problem.

A perfect storm of a motion picture, with an icy, immaculate director unexpectedly taking on deeply emotional subject matter.

At its most straightforward, the film is an effective drama about a 10-year-old city girl's eye-opening summer in the rural Midwest.

There isn't much of anything here that hasn't been done elsewhere, but as the film rolls merrily along it reminds why wedding comedies are such ripe targets.

Charismatic performers Lizzy Caplan and Alison Brie lend the lightweight rom-com Save the Date more than its fair share of watchability. But the film is never truly interesting.

There are moving moments as Cornish channels the slow self-enlightenment necessary for Ashley's character arc. And the actress is particularly good in the scenes with the promising young Hernandez.

Directed by Ra'anan Alexandrowicz and winner of the World Cinema Grand Jury Prize at Sundance, this is the second superb Israeli documentary (after "The Gatekeepers") to come to town in less than a month and deal fearlessly with an aspect of that country's legal and political system.

Cumming is the linchpin, and the actor does an exceptional job of moving across the vast galaxy of universal emotions about partners and parenthood. He takes us to the heart of the matter in ways that matter most.

Whether it's following the protests of a deceased firefighter's sister or tracing a humanity-restoring biography of vilified developer Larry Silverstein, Hankin's evenhanded film builds a concise, enlightening account from a decade of confusion.

While the action is brisk, the film never feels in a hurry. Walken and Pacino amble through their paces. Arkin ups the adrenaline any time he's around, and he is not around quite enough.

The result is a film that is solid and acceptable instead of soaring and exceptional, one unnecessarily hampered in its quest to reach the magical heights of the trilogy.

These folks, who were also extras in "The Soloist," largely discuss their tough pasts and thorny presents with haunting candor, strength and grace - words that also apply to this vivid cinematic portrait.

Though its early sections feel repetitive and self-congratulatory, the documentary's tension builds in the way director Mary Liz Thomson uses archival material, much of it from TV news.

That's not to say Heleno, with its magnetic energy, sensual re-creation of 1940s and '50s Brazil and bold storytelling lacks punch; the movie is nothing if not watchable. But, by presenting more surface than depth to De Freitas' womanizing, arrogance and volatility (an implied closeness to his unseen mother is about as far as the film digs), it largely feels like an arm's length effort.

They all share their amazing war stories and life memories with great humility and warmth.

Unfortunately, the athlete himself simply isn't much of a presence in this documentary, even as the film aims to celebrate him.

Underlining it all is the exuberance and charm of the two main subjects, who make this world seem disarmingly innocent.

Some of the language is smart, sinister and ironic in just the right ways, particularly when Addison, Eric Bana's serial-killing mastermind, delivers it. In other cases, the dialogue is so ludicrously off - either unnecessary, or unnecessarily misogynistic if a cop is doing the talking - that it's hard to believe the same person wrote it.

Romance and capers exist in Lay the Favorite, they just aren't played well.

In some sense, California Solo is like meeting an engaging stranger: At first there's a certain air of enigmatic mystery that makes you want to spend time with them, but eventually things turn awkward and you just want to get away.

Quartet is very much a performance piece, which plays to Hoffman's strength - as an actor he knows when to allow this excellent ensemble breathing room and when to tighten the belt.

At some point you hope the actor (Butler) will find a movie that will give him the right material to make hearts truly beat faster. Until then, it appears we'll have to settle for films with more flaws than his characters.

Though he has competition, especially from the folks playing the visiting royals, Murray is very much the reason to see "Hyde Park."

Romantic but pitiless, fearlessly emotional as well as edgy, Rust and Bone is a powerhouse.

The provocative noir experience that Talaash promises, with its jazzily scored, moodily lighted opening montage of a Mumbai red-light district at night, is nowhere to be found once this meandering mystery begins.

"Addicted" proves a strangely sad yet wildly compelling cautionary tale.

Dragon has enough interesting left turns in style, mood and psychodrama to make it stand out.

With its stock characters and low-expectation high jinks, the German import What a Man could have been fabricated on the Hollywood rom-com assembly line.

The movie's intended audience will likely be satisfied by its parade of gory mayhem, cheap thrills and groan-worthy dark humor. Everyone else: You're on your own.

Melton and Dunstan have created little more than a hollow shell for an empty box.

The movie creates something of the sensation of huffing industrial solvents - in a good way! - a waking-sleep zombification that can't exactly be described as pleasurable but definitely has an odd, distinct power.

Director Feng Xiaogang captures the epic scale of the exodus as well as the often-harrowing details, yet emotional connection proves more elusive.

It projects equal parts fury and despair as it reveals how a particular group of individuals was caught in the unforgiving gears of the criminal justice system.

The writer-director becomes so intent on hammering home the parallels between economic decay, political disappointments and petty criminals, there is nothing soft, or subtle, about it. He should trust his audience more.

A documentary potent enough to alter how you see the world.

Hitchcock puts major league star power at the service of its peek-behind-closed-doors premise. But whatever that relationship was like in real life, this is one cinematic portrait of a marriage we could have lived without.

Writer-director Michael Walker keeps a firm grip on his smart material, offering up big laughs, lots of recognizable behavior and, in the end, a wistful glimpse at life's inevitable priorities.

A revealing, disturbing look at how political and corporate forces have seemingly undermined the freedom and safety of our nation's equine population.

The before and after imagery of Balog's project speaks for itself, with the power and strange beauty of the evolving landscape strong evidence that something is indeed happening, now and fast.

While a foreign regime exerting its emergent power over America certainly has a familiar ring to it, if anything, this new Red Dawn is a movie in search of its moment.

There is a lot to savor in Rise of the Guardians, but sometimes too much of a good thing can be exhausting.

There are always moral crosscurrents in Lee's most provocative work, but so magical and mystical is this parable, it's as if the filmmaker has found the philosopher's stone.

The easygoing charm of Funeral Kings and its impulse toward honesty over overstatement robs the film of true dramatic tension, and a number of story lines - involving drugs, rivalry, love interests - are left somewhat unresolved.

What the film lacks in biographical depth, it makes up for with stirring visuals (including effective bits of split screen, time-lapse photography and animation), a vibrant score and an infectious, in-the-moment spirit.

It's terribly long and repetitive for so delicately dreamy a diptych, and at times the modern-day story feels like little more than a drawn-out apologia for the wandering male gaze.

The movie contains enough fresh insanity and inventive visuals to make it an amusing cyberpunk extravaganza for most of its protracted running time.

The feature debut from Irish writer-director Ciarán Foy, Citadel attempts to transform mundane anxieties into the stuff of a horror film. But the initial tension of the premise dissipates like a slow leak.

Silver Linings Playbook is rich in life's complications. It will make you laugh, but don't expect it to fit in any snug genre pigeonhole. Dramatic, emotional, even heartbreaking, as well as wickedly funny, it has the gift of going its own way, a complete success from a singular talent.

In Holy Motors Carax insists on our other selves. His daylong ride is a wary celebration, a joyful dirge that's served up in concentrated form by a roving band of accordion players. It's all in a day's work.

The film has a freshness that would never lead one to think it was directed by an 80-year-old while at the same time it has a sureness of tone, a certainty about itself even at its most audacious, that comes from the hand of a seasoned master.

In the end Anna Karenina lets you down - visually stunning, emotionally overwrought, beautifully acted, but not quite right.

The dialogue remains spotty and sappy, the effects still haven't caught up to modern-day standards, but "Twilight's" popularity is such that even when it falls short, it doesn't seem to matter.

Two things to keep in mind when considering Barrymore, starring Christopher Plummer as the great John B: It was brilliant as a one-man stage show; it was never a good candidate for film.

The worthy, potentially exciting subject matter would certainly have lent itself to either a straight-on documentary or a seriously budgeted narrative feature. Instead, producer-director-editor Tristan Loraine (he also cowrote the dreadful script with Viv Young) clumsily tries to meld the two approaches - minus the big bucks.

Despite the familiar setup, this is no "Same Time, Next Year," what with its hot-sheets trysts, full-frontal flashes and frank language. But the brief - sometimes very brief - encounters glimpsed here between the film's leads and sole characters (billed only as "Man" and "Woman") are inventive and telling.

While his breakthrough documentary, "Dogtown and Z-Boys," cracked open the window on a largely unknown world in vibrant and visceral ways, Bones feels like an epilogue.

Visual sumptuousness trumps the coldly erotic dastardliness of previous incarnations, but where this version feasts is on close-ups, with exchanges between pairs of eyes - the predatory versus the hesitant, the manipulatively comforting opposite the blindly vulnerable - that recall the silent era.

Perhaps Switch's greatest strength is in giving us enough information to try to come up with better questions of our own.

It almost seems like harder work somehow to get this many comedians together and then turn out a movie that is only so fitfully funny.

It's a character study about faith in connectedness, with an unforced love for cross-generational companionship that's special indeed.

This highly polished costume drama is exceptionally well-made and a model of intelligent restraint, but it is also unapologetically earnest and a bit on the bloodless side.

An agreeable visit with comedy titans who clearly cherish the opportunity to regale their peers with war stories and opinions about the state of comedy today.

There is nothing bravura or overly emotional about Spielberg's direction here, but the impeccable filmmaking is no less impressive for being quiet and to the point.

In Skyfall, Mendes has given us a thrilling new chapter in a franchise that by all rights should have been gasping for air - which really makes him the hero of this saga.

Vividly captures a year in the life of eastside Detroit's Engine Company 50.

As a flashy, country-hopping ridealong with a style icon, it will appeal to fashionistas, but you won't learn much about the high-end world of clothing design beyond its ability to stretch someone's schedule to the breaking point, and land that someone a gig outfitting Jamie Foxx and Will Smith.

Feels like a failure on all fronts - unpleasant to look at, needlessly in 3D, drearily unfunny and worst of all an incomplete portrait of the person to whom it is ostensibly paying tribute.

The pervasive historical reenactments and voiceovers, however, while clearly well-intended, often turn this otherwise vital film into an uneasy hybrid of authenticity and artifice.

In each story the imagery dazzles at first, then becomes somewhat dreary; Ocelot's storytelling never quite matches his visual abilities.

The story becomes more ridiculous as it escalates, the film's over-determined ecological focus undermining any real horror movie tension. Levinson's casting choices are off-the-mark as well - star Kether Donohue is just plain bad.

Temple is dependable if uninspiring, and Keough has yet to develop much in the way of screen presence - in the film, her short dark hair and doughy features look sculpted to maximize her resemblance to her grandfather, Elvis Presley.

Though not without its mini-heartbreaks and melancholic turns, North Sea Texas explores emergent sexuality and first love with a refreshing optimism.

It all adds up to create a dicey morality tale that's as improbable as it is strangely believable.

Make no mistake, Vamps is mostly a misfire, but Heckerling still shows enough flashes of wit and wisdom that she remains hard to entirely dismiss. Don't bury that coffin just yet.

The movie's subversive sensibility and old-school/new-school feel are a total kick.

In its ability to let us hear firsthand what life-and-death combat does to the human body and spirit, this film has few peers.

If the movie doesn't entirely get past its hard-to-buy premise, director Paolo Sorrentino does have the courage of his convictions, not just embracing every contradiction but spinning many of the story's contrivances into moments of strange, aching beauty.

Zilberman's minimalistic approach fits the idea of the film better than it fits the actual film. It leaves this melancholy mood piece with some beautiful moments, but unlike Beethoven's work, A Late Quartet ultimately feels unfinished.

This is when the movie earns its hushed exclusivity and kitschy title, when we see an art form bridge generations with a strange mixture of grace, joy and melancholy.

A wildly whirling martial arts spectacle with an endless array of exotic knives, a penchant for Zen philosophizing and an unquenchable thirst for blood. It may just be one of the best bad movies ever.

A solid, often engrossing film that doesn't engage us overall the way Denzel Washington's work does.

There is a flamboyance to some of the imagery - Heather and her demonic doppelganger embrace on a flaming carousel - but no exuberance, no sense of wonder, fascination or enjoyment. Everything feels like a throwaway.

Enjoyably dishy documentary.