It triggers a sense of awe, for the pure, natural beauty it allows us to witness; for the raw, ruthless power it captures; and for its towering display of artistry.

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 not that Climax is a poorly made movie. It's that it's an abjectly mean movie. Some would try to excuse it as arthouse cinema. In reality, it's frighthouse cinema. And that's not meant as a compliment. The ultimate message, at least in this case: Just say no -- to Noé.

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

Like Paddleton itself, Romano's performance isn't flashy. It isn't dripping with self-awareness or desperation. Rather, it's quietly, subtly beautiful. And it deserves to be seen.

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.

Mary Poppins is Mary Poppins; magic is what she does best. And magic is precisely what she delivers in a film that is -- since we're borrowing so much from the 1964 original -- nothing short of supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

We get what is easily the most personal and intimate film of Cuarón's career to date. His Roma is a movie with a clear and distinct setting but one that boasts universal appeal. It's also built around a relatively small, narrowly focused story -- but one that deserves to be seen on as big a screen as possible.

Lanthimos' wildly entertaining film arrives as a wickedly funny and masterfully assembled blast of fresh air.

Ali and Mortensen are both fantastic in their respective roles. Every bit as important is the surprisingly charming script, which uses humor to soften its touchy subject matter.

Lucas Hedges is terrific in the lead role of a sneaky movie that, rather than preaching and shouting, becomes something uplifting, something hopeful, something moving and something important.

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.

Gritty to the point of sleazy, the noir-tinged Bayou Caviar shows flashes of visual flair, and Gooding -- who wrote the screenplay in addition to directing and starring -- demonstrates he’s still got the sort of screen presence and million-dollar smile that made him a star some 27 years ago. Beyond that, however, Bayou Caviar is a thoroughly nasty and messily plotted affair, a straight-to-VOD crime drama that slips and slides around in its own ooze for at least 20 minutes too long.

The result is a simple film -- one that doesn’t try to do too much from a story standpoint, perhaps to its detriment -- but one that has a definite sense of time and place. Every step of the way, it feels honest and genuine. In this case, that makes all the difference.

Here, Lowery isn't trying to convince us of anything, other than the fact that he's got a dandy of a story to tell. Then, he proceeds to deliver it.

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.

In addition to being the most accessible and purely enjoyable of Lee's film in years, it's also one of his most important.

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

A sweet, thoughtfully composed story, and a darn fine film, to boot.

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.

A memorable emotional journey -- and reminds us once more why Granik is such an intriguing filmmaker to watch.

What McDonald ends up with is a film that serves both as tribute and as cautionary tale, and one that functions well as both.

While it has its moments of passable action -- ends up feeling every bit as toothless as its dinosaurs are toothy.

Fred Rogers dared to make a case that all children are precious and that there might be more productive ways to entertain and educate them than with popguns and pies in the face. More importantly, he decided to do something about it.

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?

The new Superfly is, simply, a terrible movie. It is slick, and it boasts action, hot tunes and style to spare. But beyond the polish that a deep-pocketed studio backer can buy -- in this case, Sony's Columbia Pictures shingle -- this is a shamefully hollow movie that fails on multiple levels.

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.

While those aforementioned blockbusters offer a welcome dose of escapism, The Rider traffics in something considerably more affecting: authenticity.

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

By the time Tully hits its homestretch -- and its nicely played third-act revelation -- it all ends up making perfect, beautiful sense. In the process, Tully becomes the sweetest, funniest, most insightful portrayal of post-partum depression you're likely to see for some time.

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.

While Isle of Dogs can be enjoyed simply for its surface pleasures -- its unique story, its singular voice and its gorgeous animation -- there are elements there that will appeal to those who want to dig deeper. That includes an argument in favor of an aggressive and adversarial press, as well as a fairly glaring distrust of government.

I keep finding myself wanting to compare it to 1964's "Dr. Strangelove," Stanley Kubrick's Cold War comic masterpiece -- which, as any movie buff will tell you, is exceptionally high praise. In this case, it's also warranted.

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.

To be fair, though, even if all three actors had brought their A game, the half-baked story behind When We First Met is so formulaic and so uninspired that it would still be a forgettable film.

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.

Perhaps most interestingly, Gillespie's film is also in its own way, about all of us and our fascination with the Harding saga to begin with, boldly holding up a mirror for us to gaze into. What we see isn't exactly comforting. It might not even be correct. But it is certainly something to ponder.

A wonderfully weird love story that plays like an adult fairy tale, it's a fantastical delight -- and the kind of movie that deserves all the accolades it will most certainly receive this award season.

Stands as the best of this year's movies about Dunkirk.

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.

A meticulously shot and sharply written character study, it plays like a blend of the Coen brothers and Quentin Tarantino, borrowing its subtle philosophical core from the former and its sudden bursts of violence and blood-spattering vitriol from the latter. It's also a great film, an entertaining and thoughtful examination of one woman's journey into darkness, as well as a study of the corrosive nature of anger and hate when left unchecked.

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.

People had to see "Psycho." To this day, it stands as an Everest of big-screen suspense, having not just changed the way we watch movies, but also the way we make them.

Killing of a Sacred Deer -- which most assuredly couldn't have sprung from the mind of any other filmmaker -- will deliver a moviegoing experience that is impossible to forget.

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

By the time All I See Is You works its way toward what should be an emotionally charged conclusion, most reasonable audiences will have likely already checked out. All they'll see is their wristwatches, as they count down to when the whole misjudged exercise is over.

Sometimes it's stupid-funny, but mostly it's just plain stupid. And sloppy.

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.

Mostly it's a celebration and a song of hope that maybe the ever-quickening world will see the error of its ways and once more embrace the staccato song of the humble typewriter.

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.

Even if a filmmaker is dealing with familiar themes, when he or she fills in the blanks as sweetly and amiably as writer-director Geremy Gasper does in Patti Cake$, any desire to pick things apart all but vanishes.

Josh Safdie and Ronald Bronstein's story has no apparent qualms with throwing various far-fetched twists at its audience, but the film's overall tone -- which is rooted in a sobering reality, as opposed to the glorified outlook of so many other crime dramas -- lends it a sense of thoughtfulness and emotional resonance.

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 is engaging, it is intense, it is beautifully shot and it thrusts viewers credibly into the horrifying action from the very first frame -- and doesn't relent until the very last. This being Nolan, he also overcomplicates what is essentially a fairly simple story.

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

There's little refreshing or charming about it.

Certainly one of the more engaging and alluring films released so far in 2017.

A subtly innovative blend of cars, guns, music and old-school cool, it's also one of those increasingly rare creatures in Hollywood: an undeniably original movie.

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.

An undeniable charm emerges in writer-director Azazel Jacobs' film. And so, rather than being anywhere near as smothering as it sounds, it all springs appealingly to life.

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.

Like everything else associated with it, the drama of Graduation is decidedly low-key. While that occasionally costs it a sense of forward momentum, it doesn't hold the film back from its ultimate goals. In fact, it contributes to it in some ways.

A very human story and a very well-told one -- which, in the end, makes it very hard to forget.