Half-written, halfhearted and half-witted, it is characterized by the film’s marketing team as an homage to the best of 1980s cinema. Instead, it plays like an empty-calorie parody of the worst of the era, a rudderless cinematic pastiche that passes off random 1980s references as punchlines and which — in spite of its “Frankenstein” concept — never quite comes alive.

In Quiz Lady, the sum total is a heartfelt but uneven shrug that probably should have been better than it is.

As telegraphed by that inexplicably vanilla title, Domont’s film spends much of the previous two hours vacillating between unembraceable and downright boring.

What we’re left with is a well-crafted genre thriller that is ultimately tripped up by its art house aspirations.

While Nattiv’s film is a heartfelt tribute, it feels like a mere Polaroid snapshot of a woman who deserves a full panoramic portrait.

It has its scares — but it all also feels exceedingly familiar, right up to the obligatory set-up for what the studio clearly hopes will be a sequel.

In short, this version of Barrie’s classic tale — which is all about the joy of childhood and the pitfalls of adulthood — feels awfully grown up at times.

Tempting though it might be, it’s not fair to say Ritchie’s film gets lost in translation. But by the same token, when it’s all over, it doesn’t quite feel as if it has entirely lived up to its covenant with audiences.

An oddly inert and even old-fashioned yarn, one that sleepwalks for long stretches, defusing much of the drama of what is an undeniably fascinating true-crime story.

Jordan manages to squeeze a decent amount of drama from the obligatory third-act showdown, but even then, his reach exceeds his grasp, with a display of misplaced arthouse ambition.

The result is an exhausting and ungainly mish-mash of a movie that pretends to have something to say but doesn’t really. Similarly, it doesn’t know what it wants to be or — consequently — who its audience is.

To be fair, del Toro’s “Pinocchio” does, indeed, get a lot of things right. It’s got a nice sense of humor, for example. It is ambitious. It has heart. Where it falters, however, is in its near-total absence of charm.

it plays more like a drama kid’s fever dream. Overly self-aware, unfailingly melodramatic and very, very pleased with itself, it’s not half as clever — or a third as entertaining — as it seems to think it is.

If your definition of a good story is one that keeps you on the hook, wondering where the heck this particular journey will take you, then French Exit certainly qualifies.

If nothing else, Cherry proves Holland has a lot more to give us when his web-slinging days are over.

If there’s a knock on the first Coming to America, it’s that its two-hour running time often felt a touch padded. But that’s better than the entirely forgettable Coming 2 America, which is pretty much all padding.

Raya isn’t without its formulaic plot points, predictable turns or lazy dialogue. Still, on the whole, it’s a reasonably diverting family-friendly showcase for Disney’s characteristic blend of humor, heart and artistry.

Palmer is a tiny film, but it’s got a big heart, and that helps make it a pleasant and uplifting diversion at a time when many of us could use one.

It’s a movie with the sort of resonance, thoughtfulness and universality that audiences of all descriptions will enjoy — and, more importantly, connect with.

There’s more than enough deranged originality there — and Christmas spirit, when all is said and done — that it gets the job done, in a cheap thrills, guilty pleasure kind of way.

Frustratingly, whenever it begins to get going and pulses begin pounding, Harper brings things to a screeching halt by introducing flashback sequences to tell us the backstory of Jones’ invented character.

It does enough things right, and generates enough powerful moments, to make it an effective social-justice drama.

A freshly drawn slice-of-life drama inspired by Perrier’s own real-life experiences as an online “cam girl,” it deals with decidedly uncomfortable subject matter — the introduction of a 19-year-old young woman into sex work — but it doesn’t approach any of it with judgment or shame.

An admirably full portrait of a film that reflects, with thrilling discomfort, the darker recesses of our minds.

As pleasant as the Downton Abbey movie is, it’s hard not to wish for something more substantive, more memorable.

Don't get me wrong: Gyllenhaal is a great actor, one who exhibits a rare blend of strength and pathos. But not even he can elevate that kind of lazy writing.

An amusingly meta B-movie send-up that -- largely thanks to its deadpan sensibilities -- manages to offer an entertaining riff on the zombie comedy, even if it doesn't particularly contribute anything ground-breaking to it.

Yes, it's flashy. But it's not flashy enough. It's got its moments of humor, but it's not funny enough. And it flirts with cleverness, but -- you guessed it -- it's nowhere close to being clever enough.

Consequently, while it's stocked with moments of heartfelt appreciation for the craft, it plays more like a 17th century soap opera than anything else.

Spencer makes sure few people will ever forget Ma. She’s the primary reason this genre exercise works to the extent that it does, taking what easily could have been an early-summer eye-roller and turning into a genuinely enjoyable guilty-pleasure thrill ride.

It's an oddly inert film that suffers from its lack of focus on the stories that stand as Tolkien's chief literary contributions.

What we end up with is a film that contains many fine moments -- the young Bolden's discovery of rhythm, an imagined discussion on musical improvisation between Bolden and clarinetist George Baquet, a look at racial politics of the day -- but those moments don't quite coalesce into a consistently satisfying whole.

A solidly intense creepout. Granted, it doesn't do anything to rewrite the horror rulebook in any significant way. This won't be remembered as a horror classic by any stretch. "The Exorcist" it is not.

As an unapologetic genre exercise, it's also fairly harmless, painless stuff. Thanks largely to the work of its cast, which does more with Tracy Oliver and director Tina Gordon's decidedly uneven, underdeveloped script than anybody has a right to hope for, Little ends up being mostly enjoyable in its own lightweight, empty-calorie and entirely unexpected way.

But even if moviegoers' eyes will roll from time to time, Aftermath is so nicely acted, and so handsomely shot, that those eyes won't likely look away.

I'm not sure how much of The Dirt is good, old-fashioned hyperbole. Good lord, I hope a lot of it is, although I'm sure the band -- the members of which wrote the book on which the film is based in addition to serving as co-producers -- would swear everything in it is true.

Any character study must also bring us, and its main character, on a journey. And that's where Gloria Bell, for all of its assets -- and for all of the critical acclaim being heaped upon it -- ultimately stumbles.

While director Rupert Wyatt's film has a handful of things going for it -- alien invaders, bursts of action, sociopolitical subtext, a stern-faced John Goodman -- it is missing one key element: a soul.

It's undeniably a B-movie in disguise, leaning heavily on formula and well-established movie tropes to tell a familiar story.

Director Robert Rodriguez and his crew do a magnificent job of world-creating, thanks to impressive technical wizardry. Actress Rosa Salazar also brings the lead character to life with sweet (though lethal) charm...It struggles under the weight of the rangy, multi-pronged narrative before effectively cheating moviegoers by leaving them with a cliffhanger ending.

Jon S. Baird's lovingly crafted film is much more "fine" than "mess."

That's not to say The Last Laugh is a flat-out terrible movie, necessarily. It's just a tame, unimaginative one -- a low-budget cinematic shrug that has nothing new to offer.

In this new “Grinch,” it’s hard to escape the feeling we’re being offered a serving of the same old roast beast -- and a decidedly fatty serving at that.

An effort to spin high art out of a guilty-pleasure cult classic, this new Suspiria is -- like the original -- off-the-charts bonkers. But it’s also off-the-charts unpleasant, a cold, hard-to-embrace slog made up of mostly of stomach-turning moments of body horror interrupted by long stretches of stylish but mind-numbing pretension.

A mess of a gay best friend, played brilliantly by Richard E. Grant in what is easily one of the year’s most enjoyable supporting performances. He steals every scene he’s in, injecting the film with a needed dose of lovability that carries it through its narrative lulls.

While the improvised interplay of the talented cast -- especially between Hart and Haddish -- help keep things moving along, watching Night School ends up largely being an exercise in waiting for something genuinely inspired to happen. It never does.

As for that murder scene, it's undoubtedly the part of the film that will get people talking the most. Clearly and meticulously taking its cues from the widely circulated photos of the crime scene, it is dramatic, it is attention-getting and it is memorable. It is, in other words, everything that the rest of Lizzie is not.

While the film is ostensibly about nutria, the real stars are the locals who help tell the story -- and who, by displaying their grit, their smiles, their dialect, their pride -- transform the film as much into a South Louisiana ethnography as an environmental call to arms.

Even if Demange has a tendency to go on too long about details that don't really matter to the narrative while shortchanging those that do, he peppers White Boy Rick with enough resonant moments, and flashes of humor, to keep it on the rails, chugging forward to the inevitable train wreck.

In addition to being the rare modern romantic comedy that manages to nail both the "romantic" and the "comedy" with equal aplomb, Juliet, Naked is also a wonderful, welcome late-summer fling, the kind that can be enjoyed with no regrets and no apologies before harsh reality resumes once more.

It's still, however, a long way from the Hundred Acre Wood that most "Pooh" fans remember so fondly.

Like the work of Callahan, Don't Worry, He Won't Get Far On Foot is dark, it is irreverent, it is often willfully offensive. But there's also an admirable frankness at work there, an honestly that helps keep things rolling forward -- even when its own wheels occasionally get stuck in the sand.

Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again is not a Meryl Streep movie. She's featured prominently on the movie's posters. She's all over the trailer. But no matter what the studio wants you to believe, the above-the-title star of 2008's original "Mamma Mia!," and the most celebrated actress of her generation, gets all of about five minutes of screen time in the sequel.

Fuqua's storytelling here isn't as expert and efficient as McCall is when he's forced into action, but it's good enough. Bottom line: He and The Equalizer 2 still deliver on their promise of a badass Denzel doing badass things for all the right reasons.

Admittedly, I'm in the minority here, with many other critics swooning over First Reformed and the big questions it raises. Regardless, the biggest question I had after watching it was simple: What the hell did I just witness?

This isn't a movie that pretends to be profound. It's meant purely as B-movie entertainment, and -- also like the "John Wick" films -- it's fully aware of that.

Most real horror fans, however, will likely be left wondering where the heat is.

Granted, it takes a while to get to that point. Nearly an hour, in fact. That's owed to Zvyagintsev's penchant for long, lingering shots, which emphasizes mood over kinetic energy, and which also at times creates a drag on the narrative. That mood, however -- tragic, hopeless, heartbreaking -- is expertly created.

You won't feel like a hostage watching it. But don't be surprised if you feel a little as if you're doing homework.

Camp's handsomely shot new Benji manages to find that sweet spot between wholesome and enjoyable. It is cute without seeming desperate, nostalgic without feeling dated, values-based without being preachy, and sweet without being (too) cloying.

While those flaws might conspire to keep A Fantastic Woman from being unassailably fantastic as a whole, there's no denying that it is fantastically timely, and touching to boot.

With lesser performances, its rangy story could have easily gotten lost in its own histrionics. As it is, though, they elevate Cooper's script, helping to make Hostiles better than it might otherwise have been.

We've seen unhinged Nicolas Cage before. For the most part, we like unhinged Nicolas Cage. But in the darkly comic horror satire Mom and Dad, Cage gets the opportunity to take things to a whole new level. Of course, he takes it.

One of the most pleasant surprises of this year's jam-packed holiday release schedule, and easily the season's must-see family film.

Even when he isn't at the top of his game -- and in Wonder Wheel, he certainly isn't -- Allen's films still tend to have something intriguing to offer.

Not only does Franco entertainingly capture all the attendant insanity -- as written about by "The Room" co-star Greg Sestero in the 2013 book on which The Disaster Artist is based -- but he has fun with it. He also, however, takes the opportunity to dig a little deeper and find the humanity at the root of it all.

Much of Sweet Virginia suggests a deep Coen brothers influence. But when it is pulled off as well as it is in Sweet Virginia, there's no shame in that.

It's interesting to ponder how well Roman J. Israel, Esq. would have worked had Washington passed on the role. Thankfully, we don't have to ponder too long -- because Washington, indeed, took it, and he is terrific.

That humor, like the film's moments of drama, tends to be measured rather than over the top -- but on the whole that's a good thing. It suggests a filmmaker who knows the value of restraint, which is a rarity, particular in a first-timer.

Unwieldy and awkward. If you want to like this story, you'd better expect to have to work for it.

A surprisingly embraceable courtroom drama.

In addition to being a fast-starting and smartly cast sports drama built around picture-perfect period flourishes, it's also a movie with an undeniably timely message to deliver.

Still, while it wouldn't be correct to characterize Home Again as a formula film, it's generic enough that it somehow feels formulaic. Consequently, "Home Again" never distinguishes itself as anything but a predictable and thoroughly ordinary film, just with lots of fancy window dressing.

It works well as a just-for-fun exercise that benefits from a nice sense of rhythm, a great cast and an overall sense of light-heartedness.

Once it gets going, it boasts a steady intensity and unflagging momentum. That's complemented by a pervasive creepiness that can be counted on to keep audiences laughing nervously through their fear.

The bottom line is that, while Kidnap isn't without its hiccups, it's another fun bit of Berry badassery -- and certainly better than the film's rocky history to this point might suggest.

Far more often than not, Lee's talented ensemble -- who really do look like they're having a blast together -- generate more laugh-out-loud moments than lulls, all of which help make Girls Trip work nicely as a mood-elevating mid-summer diversion.

It does double duty, working equally well as a superhero movie and as a teen comedy.

That's no small thing: to leave viewers with unanswered questions but still make them satisfied they've gotten a full movie experience. But there it is.

The core of The Mummy is built around a mostly fun, fast-moving vibe, while its malformed midsection seeks to undermine anything good it has accomplished.

Thanks to Gere -- and occasional flashes of gaudy but well-deployed visual style from Cedar -- those contrivances never threaten to overtake the rest of the film.

As with everything in which he appears, Schreiber is one of the best things about the movie.

The wholesomeness and embraceable spirit of Their Finest will likely strike a chord with the sort of moviegoer who is drawn to such a film. But that doesn't mean it's as good a film as it could have been.

Free Fire frequently becomes a messy blur of ricochets and one-liners. Fortunately, the cast is appealing enough -- and the characters interesting enough -- to use those one-liners to maximum effect, thus holding things together reasonably well.

Against all odds, Gifted nicely accomplishes what it sets out to do.

"The Lost Village" is pure Saturday-morning stuff. And that's both a good thing and a bad thing.

It is a reasonably clever, fairly high-concept 'toon that boasts a satisfying emotional component.

If nothing else, the dramatic comedy The Last Word provides one thing: It gives Shirley MacLaine a great role in which to sink her teeth. That turns out to be a gift not only to the Hollywood veteran but to audiences as well.

It's more than a little ironic, then, that the one thing missing from director Craig Robinson's often-amusing, frequently episodic film is just that: a resonant emotional core.

As she tells that story, Asante gets a little lost in the weeds here and there in the political machinations, which don't always make for a riveting narrative and tends to slow the film's forward momentum. Even as it does, the love story between Seretse and Ruth serves nicely as the film's foundation.

It's a heck of a cast, although the hands-down scene-stealer is John C. Reilly, in a gem of a comic-relief role that, in the interest of remaining spoiler-free, is probably best undescribed here.

John Wick: Chapter Two is still an exceedingly dumb guilty-pleasure film, with its high body count, shockingly bloody violence and creative comic-book carnage. But that hotel, known as The Continental, and the structure it provides the film, goes a long way to helping John Wick: Chapter 2 become its own distinct, ultraviolent thing.

There are things about it that will catch the eye, that will pique your interest. Just don't make the mistake of expecting a big payoff.

If Split does one thing, it's to show that "The Visit" wasn't a fluke. If it does another thing, it's to make me intrigued to see what he has in store for us next.

Just as importantly, though, is the tone of Melfi's film...which blends humor and emotion into the proceedings, to heartwarming effect.

The sum total is no more filling than the popcorn you'll overpay for upon entering the theater. But, like that popcorn, Sing has empty-calorie, crowd-pleasing appeal.

Tyldum's "Twlight Zone"-tinged action-romance is a mass-appeal crowd-pleaser, the kind of made-for-the-holidays movie that holds a little something for everyone. Even better, being neither a sequel nor a remake, it's got something few sci-fi films do nowadays: originality.

Visually and tonally, Miss Sloane -- like Chastain's one-note performance, in which she does little but bark and glower -- is slick but soulless, a film that takes itself far too seriously and misjudges how smart it really is.