Few people will be surprised by how it all unfolds or by how it all ends. This is a movie about lightweight entertainment and heavyweight fighters, not a movie about surprises.

For most of its two-hour running time, Almost Christmas is merely almost funny.

In a word: Bibbidi-bobbidi-blah.

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.

This is a movie that confuses teary with sweet. Mopey with sad. Discomfort with humor. And, worst of all, it confuses weird with odd.

For one to succeed, it should have a certain "emotional intelligence" of its own. It should have a soul. It should bring something new to the conversation. And while Eva dips a toe into those waters, it never really invites its audiences to dive in head-first.

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

Not only did Hughes shoot a handful of prominent scene-setting exteriors in the Big Apple itself, but he does an exceptional job of camouflaging his New Orleans scenes.

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.

Thank goodness for Rainey. Even when the story feels false, he never does, operating with an open-faced sense of easy honesty that is missing from much of the rest of the film.

Along the way, Bleed for This rarely, if ever, surprises. Younger -- working from a script he wrote -- never feints, never dodges, never does anything unexpected. Consequently, his film never delivers anything resembling a knockout blow.

On the one hand, there's a thrill in such experimentalism. On the other, it doesn't always deliver a fully satisfying moviegoing experience.

If not for the "Fast and Furious" franchise, Need for Speed probably wouldn't exist outside of the video game series that inspired it.

With no real beginning and no real ending, the unsatisfying "Mockingjay Part 1" is essentially all middle -- one big, stretched out, watered-down second act. The result is a handsome film, but also a talky one that takes a while to hit its storytelling stride and that, once there, repeatedly stalls to fill time.

The result is a film that is engrossing for stretches, that will raise your hackles -- and maybe the hair on the back of your neck -- especially if you believe in the vital role journalism plays in a free society. At the same time, though, it also feels a bit like a by-the-numbers affair.

I wouldn't expect many people to remember Cold in July come September, when the movie-award season gets underway. But as a guilty-pleasure May release? You could do far worse.

It won't stick to your ribs in the way, say, a shank will -- but it probably won't leave you looking for a way to escape the theater, either.

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.

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.

What the Duplasses end up with is a film that is amusing at times, a touch repetitive at others, but one that never quite shakes the feeling that it is something of an unfinished thought. And perhaps something they've also grown beyond.

It's hard to escape the feeling that Hopkins left a lot on the table -- and that there's a better Jesse Owens film to be told.

While The Last Five Years isn't a bad movie, neither does it fall into the "must-see" category.

After a "Porky's"-style segment dealing with puppy lust, the film then segues to its better second half, hitting its stride when a ball signed by the revered Babe Ruth must somehow be retrieved from behind the fence.

Never coalesces into anything memorable, much less meaningful.

The Best of Me is full-on Nicholas Sparks, through and through, checking all the boxes in the by-now well-established formula. It's just not the best of Nicholas Sparks.

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

Dialogue is often stilted (and fraught with unlikely outbursts of speechifying) and the ending hardly soars, but Cook, a near-ringer for the young Winona Ryder, has a shyly appealing personality and O'Keefe makes a villainess you'll love to hiss. [29 Jan 1999, p.L24]

Lacks any real sense of vitality. And no matter how worthwhile a film's message is, it's difficult for audiences to care if the path to the payoff so often feels like a slog.

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.

One only wishes that Ewing and Grady had chosen to dig deeper as they explored it.

While the result is an often fast-moving and very Damon-y Jason Bourne, it doesn't at all feel as original or as well crafted as the series once did.

The problem is, Draft Day doesn't really capture that sense of urgency until late in the film.

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.

Rather than focusing on the most fascinating part of the story -- that would be the establishment and subsequent dissolution of free state after which the film is named -- his film devolves into a series of belabored points, high-minded pontifications and audience manipulation.

Even with that pedigree, Ponsoldt's film doesn't snap and sizzle as much as it just lays there, leaving moviegoers who haven't been converted to the Wallace cult to long for the end of this particular "Tour."

What Monsters University fails to do, though, is to scare up any real emotion.

It's that end -- the film's final sobering five minutes -- in which Blue Jasmine is at its most effective. Credit is due there to Blanchett's table-setting performance in it and in the hour and half preceding it. It's also due to the courage Allen displays as a storyteller in ending this particular story in the way it has to end.

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.

Unfortunately, director Jake Szymanski's bad-boy farce from there quickly becomes a textbook example of the law of diminishing returns.

There are lulls to be had here, but there is a smattering of laughs, too -- and some pretty good ones, at that. If, that is, you'll give yourself permission to laugh at Wayans and company's lowest-common-denominator antics.

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

This unintentionally fractured ends up one big mess. It's a pretty mess, mind you -- which is fitting in a way, given the sordid affair that birthed it -- but a mess all the same.

More seriously -- and substantively -- "A Late Quartet" was a quiet but thoughtful meditation on the power, and the necessary pain, of human connections. By comparison, Quartet is a flimsy bit of cinematic puffery that takes every obvious path on its way to its even more obvious "seize-the-day" message.

So we get no zippy, Tony Stark-flavored one-liners. No comic-relief characters. No nonsense. But that means we also get no up, up and away, either.

New Orleans makes for a distinctive backdrop, but that's really all just window dressing, and it goes only so far in covering the fact that The Runner -- from its moody, electric-guitar-driven score to its faintly 1990s, Grisham-flavored sensibilities -- runs out of narrative inspiration before it crosses the finish line.

Its smattering of enjoyable moments aside, this is one of those horror films that will beg to be remade -- just smarter -- once this initial outing fades into the memories of moviegoers.

There's no sense of pacing here, as would be the case in a single feature-length narrative in which a wise filmmaker would vary the intensity level. Instead, what we get is a ceaseless visual and emotional assault. That makes for an exhausting movie-going experience. This is by no means a feel-good film. This is a feel-bad film -- and at times a feel-icky film.

The result is a film with a scattered feel. That's particularly true in the film's rushed third act, as it skips around all herky-jerky, cramming in resolutions to the various conflicts but never quite giving any of them adequate time to gel.

Thoroughly, and disappointingly, pedestrian.

For a movie like this to last, you've got to have a certain amount of pathos to serve as connective tissue between those jokes. That's where Sisters is most lacking.

Beautiful Creatures is still an unabashed imitator, hewing closely to the "Twilight" blueprint. Some might go so far as to call it a blatant ripoff, as the differences between the two are cosmetic at best.

Never elevated beyond much more than mere presidential puffery.

At some point, Lee as a storyteller must step in to move things along, to dig the rudder deep into the narrative waters and steer this ship. The destination is almost irrelevant - just steer it somewhere.

Part 2 really is a continuation of "Part 1," both from a story standpoint and from an artistic standpoint.

There's no "place" in this place, no clear destination -- and no real payoff in a film that stands a cinematic curiosity but little more.

Celeste and Jesse Forever isn't a movie many people will outright hate, but if this is the most original romantic comedy that Hollywood can muster, forever can't come soon enough.

Boudousque is young yet, and so he has room to grow as an actor, but he's got nothing but upside to him at this point. It'll be fun to watch his career grow from here.

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.

That's not to say Muppets Most Wanted is all stuffing and nonsense. The franchise hasn't declined that much just yet. There are entertaining moments to be had here, for sure.

The Croods does a lot of things well -- even if it does none of them extraordinarily. The end result is a solidly middle-of-the-road bit of animation -- but the kind that is easily forgotten as soon as something more evolved, and original, comes along.

A well-intended but scattered dramatic comedy.

It all adds up to a film that is at times interesting, and at times funny in spite of itself. But more than all that, it exudes a sense of heart-rending, chest-penetrating sadness.

Stone's characteristic on-his-sleeve political views aren't the problem with the often-sleepy Snowden. Rather, it's that his film – the lag-prone script for which the filmmaker co-wrote with Kieran Fitzgerald – really doesn't tell us much that we don't already know. That'll certainly be the case for anyone who saw director Laura Poitras' Oscar-winning 2014 documentary "Citizenfour," a remarkable bit of filmmaking.

While Washington and Wahlberg help make sure the flawed 2 Guns isn't too bad, it's hard not to think that it could have been better.

Love is Strange doesn't really have any sort of sense of urgency about it. To the contrary, it feels rather mundane, as their problems -- while both unfortunate and unfair -- feel relatively small when put in perspective.

The problem is, the closer our heroes come to their goal, the weaker the story becomes. What we're left with is a film that gets off to a ripping good start, but which -- given how little time is actually spent in the fanciful world after which the whose shebang is named -- ends up feeling like a cinematic bait-and-switch.

Disappointingly, all of "Jealousy's" promising narrative turns go nowhere. [3 July 1998, p.L28]

This would be a difficult film even for the charismatic Papa Smith to carry. That he spends nearly the entire movie in a chair doesn't help matters.

Unfortunately, Brice appears more interested in ramping up the outrageousness and keeping his audiences guessing than in crafting a meaningful story. And so while his film is nothing if not unpredictable, that comes at the cost of the sort of emotional impact for which his film seems to be aiming.

As with its gooey, smoochy predecessors, The Lucky One is, beneath it all, a fairy-tale romance, just one with modern trappings.

Those who connected with "The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel" last year or the lesser "Quartet" earlier this year likely will find things to appreciate about Williams' film, given its similar senior citizen angle and general sense of niceness and decency.

Has potential to be fun and meaningful, but it's not exactly a novel idea. In fact, it feels like a literary-minded "Lars and the Real Girl," the 2007 dramatic comedy that starred Ryan Gosling as a man who falls in love with a sex doll, and which coasted along on its charm and smarts.

One only wishes they were able to deliver these performances in a movie that felt more like a true celebration of Mandela's life -- and less like homework.

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.

Because the story is neither truly clever nor totally plausible - frequently, in fact, it's barely coherent - the film fails to deliver very many scares. [28 July 1995, p.L28]

It's not only shameless, it detracts from what this movie could have been, and still is when the self-promoting Harvey shuts up.

Dunston does all sorts of zany things in Ken Kwapis' wisely brief feature, but whether the movie is therefore worth seeing will depend on whether his monkeyshines are apt to make the viewer go ape. [12 Jan 1996, p.L24]

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.

Steadman is a fascinating talent with a fascinating process and a fascinating perspective on the world. Maybe somebody will make a definitive documentary about him one day. Unfortunately, For No Good Reason isn't it.

As a collective thing, though, those moments add up to a messy, all-over-the-map movie that toys with big, existential thoughts, but it doesn't have a coherent enough story with which to drive them home.

That's perhaps the best word to describe Baggage Claim: contrived. And predictable, as it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out which tall, dark and handsome fellow she'll end up with.

Those who like their swashbucklers to resemble, say, the farces of Jim Abrahams and the brothers Zucker, will be in good hands with David Loughery's obvious sight gags and anachronistically "hip" repartee. The only real wit in sight is supplied by Curry, who does what he can to give viewers some respite from the picture's relentlessly giddy brand of schmaltz. [12 Nov 1993, p.L25]

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.

Built on an interesting idea -- but which, unlike Strug, can't quite stick the landing.

Howard's film, particularly early on, ends up being too fast, too dense and too smart for its own good. Keeping moviegoers guessing is one thing. Keeping them confused is quite another.

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.

The violence in Homefront is violence purely for entertainment's sake.

The result is a well-executed but stubbornly formulaic crime thriller that telegraphs most of its major surprises long before they ever happen. It's not a bad movie, mind you. It's just one that will strike viewers as exceedingly familiar, and as generic as that say-nothing title.

With a scattered, meandering script, a stable of throwaway characters and an almost laughably drawn-out ending, it's all amounts to standard movie-of-the-week fare dressed up in Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes.

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.

Alas, in Cronenberg's hands, it just comes across as cold and lifeless and exhausting.

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.

Sleepwalk With Me is a decent film -- even if its not one that lingers.

The end result is still not a very good film, but it is one that boasts some enjoyable moments -- but only if you find yourself with two hours to kill.

The impressive young cast -- is mostly wasted. Teller and company, despite their proven talents, are given little of depth to do and forced to spout dialog that ranges from clunky to ridiculous.

For all of its faults, Irrational Man is a passable diversion at worst. While that's certainly not what Allen was aiming for, when you're talking about Woody Minor, it's enough. Barely, but enough.

There's hardly a shred of cleverness to be found amid all the predictabilities.

Amid it all, Snead does a nice job of laying out the history of video games. If nothing else, there's a lot of information here. But there's also a lot of information on the Wikipedia entry for "video games." All in all, I'd rather be playing "Madden 15."