It's a theme Mary Shelley brought us in "Frankenstein," which was first published in 1818. That was almost 200 years ago. And while Ex Machina replaces the stitches and neck bolts with gears and fiber-optics, it all feels an awful lot like the same story.

It's a difficult watch, with its scenes of robbery, rape, murder and assorted other personal assaults, as well as a downright agonizing portrayal of an abortion procedure. This is not a story of hope or of redemption. It is a story of cruelty and despair.

Director David Yates picks up where he left off with "Order of the Phoenix," assembling a nicely paced and artfully shot adventure.

From a filmmaking standpoint, capturing so successfully the spirit of such a multi-faceted celebration sounds like a logistical impossibility. But here it is.

From the blow-by-blow ticktock of the efforts of Secretary of State James Baker during Bush the elder’s administration to Bill Clinton’s failed Camp David summit, they push The Human Factor into surprisingly suspenseful territory, even if we all know how it ends.

It’s an impressive cinematic accomplishment and a dandy bit of storytelling to boot.

The only waste would be if people didn't go see it.

The movie documents much more than a talent competition -- it documents a political movement.

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.

Ryan Reynolds and Ben Mendelsohn, and their casting in the lead roles pays off in spades. In fact, they're the primary reasons Mississippi Grind works as well as it does.

Favreau's family-friendly fable, a blend of old-school storytelling charm and new-school animation techniques.

Baumbach, however -- while not entirely past that particular cocktail of curmudgeonly emotions -- demonstrates an ability to laugh at his own apparent age hang-ups.

McConaughey and Leto's performances are also the saviors of Vallee's film, which has a way of belaboring certain points and, in the process, robbing his film of no small amount of momentum.

There's a good reason why the true-crime film The Imposter is a documentary: If someone tried to pass off this bizarre Texas tale as fiction, nobody would believe it.

A singularly enjoyable and moving film.

It's a tremendously moving drama, filled with heartbreak, humor and, more importantly, humanity.

What we end up with is a sweet, feminist character study that shows off Weitz's deft hand as a writer while doubling as a perfect showcase for Tomlin.

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.

Calvary is most assuredly not a comedy. It is a weighty, powerful drama -- albeit one with comic moments -- that dabbles in weighty, powerful themes.

The House I Live In is not a comfortable film to consider in any respect, but without discomfort it's hard to feel anger - and without anger, it's hard to imagine that anything will ever be done about it.

Imbued as it is with a sense of discomforting truth, it is a worthwhile examination of human nature -- and one with a message well worth heeding.

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

A winner, through and through.

A movie with a message, but the subtle kind; it's whispered wisdom, wrapped up in a story of mystery, of love, of regret, of repentance and redemption.

It's R-rated because it has grown-up things to say -- things about mortality, aging, guilt, regret, and about what happens when superheroes, tired of being superheroes, start thinking very dark, very human thoughts.

This less ambitious movie will inevitably suffer in comparisons to "Secrets and Lies" or Leigh's earlier "Naked," yet on its own terms it's perfectly successful. And as always with Leigh's intimately scaled, actor-friendly pictures, the performances could scarcely be better. [22 Aug 1997, p.L26]

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.

Fueled by driving beats, irreverent humor and stylish direction from first-timer Rich Peppiatt, it plays like an edgier, modern-day answer to 1991’s similarly rousing “The Commitments,” just with Irish-language rap standing in for American R&B.

Almodovar lets his movie become boring, and insufferably so.

Doesn't boast enough universal meaning to make it truly sing.

Beneath all that genre eye candy, though, resides a smart and moving story that, after a somewhat slow-moving first hour, builds nicely to become an emotionally engaging drama.

It continuously feels less like straight-up reportage and more like a fan film, one built on equal parts idol worship and wishful thinking.

It's called Chico & Rita, but their film could just as easily have been titled "Chico & Cuba." In both cases, it's a film are about a long-lost love, and in both cases it is steeped in such a pitch-perfect sense of place -- and affection -- that you can almost smell the cigar smoke as it unfolds.

It is fast, it is fun.

World War II dramas might be common enough, but, amid them all, Lore stands as an uncommon entry in the genre.

Complemented by striking, well-conceived visuals, in Fukunaga's hands Bronte's tale of love and woe becomes one well worth repeating.

Seeing Brannaman work in the warm, sun-dappled documentary Buck makes it clear why he was such a perfect fit for Redford's film: Few people can handle horses the way Brannaman does.

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.

Still, none of that holds back Bahrani's film from becoming a thought-provoking treatise on the self-perpetuating and dehumanizing nature of greed, which more often than not spawns desperation in others, which in turn spawns greed, which spawns more desperation, which spawns greed ...

Khan in particularly is wonderful in Batra's film, which takes the time to indulge in quiet moments that Khan expertly fills with his expressive face and sense ease in front of a camera.

Admirably, though, Gibney resists the temptation to climb on his soapbox to deliver some pointed political message. He gives his audience more credit than that.

[Pierre] owns the role so fully that it’s hard to imagine anyone else in it.

It is edifying, it is emotionally engaging, it is embraceable.

You know how people say that they don't make romantic comedies like they used to? Turns out they do. At least, director Marc Webb does -- and has -- with his clever and sweet debut, 500 Days of Summer.

The Revenant is every bit as technically proficient as Inarritu's "Birdman," a film that made critics swoon with its masterful handling of the filmmaker's daring "one-take" conceit. It manages, however, to do it without the same gimmicky feel.

Even when it is at its most esoteric, The Dance of Reality is always brimming with passion and a daring originality. That helps smooth over the flaws, such as its general staginess and his self-indulgent tendencies.

Not all of the stand-up scenes in Obvious Child are quite as funny. At least one is meant to be bad. Another is meant to be poignant but just ends up coming off as a touch weird and emotionally false.

An entertaining and interesting film, and one that speaks with a reasonable degree of credibility. And while that might not make it high art, it's good enough for me.

A Dangerous Method still feels as if it's based on a rather pedestrian narrative --and so, in the final analysis, Cronenberg's film bores.

Watching Mud unfold, one suspects that the Arkansas-reared Nichols remembers exactly what it was like to be a boy of the Southern wilds.

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.

There's humor there, but this is a "smart" comedy, which is to say it's not intended to make you guffaw.

It's one of the most engaging foreign films to come along since 'Tell No One' in 2008.

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.

Granted, it's not a movie that will stick with many viewers for any extended time after the closing credits roll. But, sort of like Pop Rocks and Coke, it's enjoyable while it does its fizzy, burbly thing.

Yes, that makes Frank weird, but it's the kind of weird I can't get enough of.

The Art of the Steal is activist filmmaking, but it's well-done activist filmmaking. And, given that the Barnes fight isn't quite yet over, it could also become the most most important kind of filmmaking: the kind that makes a difference.

The quietly moving drama Martha Marcy May Marlene must be thought of as an "arrival" film. That is, for all that it has going for it (and, it must be said, against it), if it is remembered for anything it will be for introducing a 22-year-old newcomer named Elizabeth Olsen.

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

With all of its excess, Wolf of Wall Street might not rank up there with Scorsese's best, it sure has fun trying.

The kind of indie gem that doesn't come around nearly often enough -- and, when they do, often not enough people go to see them.

So what is Bridesmaids? A boozy wedding comedy? A touching character story? A paean to friendship? At turns, it's each -- making it a wedding movie with a commitment problem and giving Feig's scattered film a rudderless quality between the laugh lines.

There must also be a spark, a sense of life, a compelling reason for being. If a film doesn't have those -- which The Invisible Woman doesn't -- well, it might as well be invisible.

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.

Sprinkled throughout, there is also a handful of wonderfully amusing song-and-dance numbers, written by Bret McKenzie.

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

Spy boasts tons of the type of low-humor that fuel so many Seth Rogen and Will Ferrell frat-boy movies. The difference here is that the laughs aren't at the expense of the fat kid. By the time the closing credits roll, McCarthy's character been built up, not torn down -- and we're rooting for her, not guffawing at her.

Part eco-doc, part legal-doc, it is a troubling, real story -- and a well-told one at that -- that is inspiring and infuriating all at once.

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.

Taken all together, Branagh’s film is in its own special way like a cinematic equivalent of the Irish brogue that fills it: It’s lovely, it’s lyrical and it’s next to impossible not to be swept up by its charms.

Those who sit through its talky, belabored first half will be rewarded first and foremost with the finest fight scene of any "Avengers" film to date, one that doubles as a satisfyingly popcorny start to the summer season.

In fact, "restraint" is the word that best characterizes DuVernay's film. This isn't a movie filled with overt action or outbursts of melodrama.

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

So, yes, Land of Mine is a World War II movie -- but it's not likely a World War II movie you've seen before.

As character studies go, Monica is an especially timely one, determined to contribute to the current conversation about acceptance and understanding. At the same time, beneath it all lies a more universal concept.

With each new scene, Schumer manages to offer wonderful little surprises. It wasn't long before I found myself excited at the beginning of each new sequence in Trainwreck, just to see how Schumer would make me laugh next.

The real highlight, though, is the music by Robert Lopez and Kristen Anderson-Lopez.

Still, there's more here to like than to dislike in what ends up being a feel-good movie about a feel-bad topic, a la "Little Miss Sunshine."

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.

Filmmaking is a product of the heart and the head, at least when it's at its best.

It doesn’t talk down to its young audience or hold up its teenage characters’ perceived imperfections for ridicule. Rather, as Hughes’ movies were so good at doing, Bottoms meets its viewers on their level, connecting with them and laughing with them about the absurdity of the modern adolescent experience.

There are other movies out this year that are more technically ambitious than Wild (I'm thinking "Birdman.") There are others that are wider-reaching in scope and sheer audacity (the 12-years-in-the-making "Boyhood"). But there aren't any others that offer the power and profundity of Wild. This movie is a gift. It's also a journey.

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.

Burning Cane is all about Youmans and his uncommon vision, which would be impressive coming from a filmmaker of any age. Making it all that much more exciting is the fact that this is just the beginning.

What Nolan has created with Inception is the rare movie that is bound to improve with repeated viewings, both as a means to drink in its brilliance one more time, and to see what sly clues might have flown under your radar the first time around.

While Villeneuve’s film boasts a certain trippiness, for the most part it lacks any sense of joy, adventure or fun.

Rush is just that -- a rush, and a film that is sure to get audiences' engines going.

This is nothing if not an important film. It is important for the bullied to see, if for no other reason than to realize they aren't alone, and it is important for the bullies to see as well as for the parents of both groups so everyone can understand just how devastating the problem is.

Best of all, Disney seems to understand the limits of a preschooler's attention span.

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

It also is a film that does the impossible: It lubes its audiences' mental gears and sets them to spinning without insulting anyone and without issuing threats of eternal damnation. Subtlety, thy name is Vera. Can I get an "amen"?

Unfortunately, for the bulk of the film's running time -- its first two-thirds or so -- Davis and Heilbroner oversaturate viewers with scene-setting material, describing the climate for gay men and lesbians in the 1950s and 1960s.

An exceedingly well-assembled genre picture, a spell-binding, edge-of-your-seat thriller.

It's that sort of singular imagery that ultimately rescues Lowery's film. Yes, it's a flawed movie, but it also is a downright lovely one.

Heartwarming, beautifully shot and more English than a basket of fish-and-chips with a side of mushy peas, it’s an easy-to-watch, easy-to-love crowd-pleaser.

Not only does Invictus tell a remarkable story of a remarkable man, but it also illustrates how sports can be a salve to a wounded community. And that's something New Orleanians can certainly appreciate.

As far as 'toons go, it's probably most reminiscent of Pixar's "The Incredibles," given that both are stories about superhero teams. There are also echoes of "How to Train Your Dragon" in the flying scenes, featuring little Hiro perched atop Baymax's back. But even then, Big Hero 6 still feels like its own, distinct creature.

That is the kind of celebrity travelogue we could use more of — because, unlike many of its predecessors, this is a trip worth taking.