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.

The end result feels like only half a movie. That half -- the technical half, with Wong's stylistic flourishes and the film's lush technical elements -- is a heck of a film. The rest of The Grandmaster, however -- the storytelling -- is anything but grand.

This is what makes Anderson's film so infuriating. It's so damned irresistible -- until it becomes so damned insufferable, getting lost in a marijuana fog of poorly explained plot developments and indecipherable twists. Still, it's hard to look away for fear of missing some other equally inspired flourish.

"Second Best" might not be second-rate, but neither is it the match of the first "Best Exotic Marigold Hotel."

The problems here are more with the story, which, even at just 89 minutes, feels a touch repetitive at times.

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

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.

What you won't find amid the clashing cutlasses and flashing foils, however, is anything resembling a rapier wit.

This is not a feel-good movie. This is the frigid, hard-to-embrace cinematic opposite of a feel-good movie, in fact -- all wrapped in one long, dark metaphor for depression.

But its behind-the-scenes satire of the peccadilloes of "serious" French filmmaking eventually turns downright pedantic, while the backstage intrigue (much of it hinging on a female staffer's romantic designs on Maggie) is surprisingly tame. [25 July 1997, p.L31]

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.

Najafi's R-rated London Has Fallen doesn't target the genteel viewer. Rather, it aims squarely for moviegoers who like their action bloody, their fights brutal, their body count sky-high.

Designed to lead viewers on a latter-day vision quest, "Little Buddha" instead offers only mystical mumbo-jumbo. And poorly plotted mumbo-jumbo, at that. [27 May 1994, p.L32]

As a result, while the film is certainly intense at times, it's not some sort of Sam Pekinpah blood-fest.

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.

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.

Still, as Death of a Superhero plays out, it's hard not to shake the feeling that this is ground we've trodden before.

Some of those detours are fun ideas - like Marty's O. Henry-esque tale of the Amish psychopath. Mostly, though, they feel out of place, like so much filler that distracts from the half-developed main story. Call me crazy, but I need more from my movie.

This is the sort of movie that Charles Bronson would have made back in the day, and indeed a shot of Johnson standing in a sporting goods store, contemplating a wall of shotguns as he gets ready to get busy, could have come from any "Death Wish."

What he ends up with is a film that boasts undeniably intriguing parts, but that -- unless you've just eaten some magic mushrooms of your own -- just doesn't gel as a whole, unified moviegoing experience.

The stakes in this latest, disappointing Harry Potter wannabe never feel as high as they should, or as important as its characters seem to think they are.

Pros and cons aside, Sinister has the benefit of arriving in the thick of Halloween season, right when movie-goers are most hungry for a few scares. And they'll get them from Derrickson's film, too.

Unfortunately, Franklin isn't quite as successful at capturing the depth of the traditions for which Anaya's source material is so well known.

John Wick makes a few feeble attempts at witty repartee, but, in the end, Leitch and Stahelski's film feels like an unintentional parody of itself.

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.

Two Days, One Night offers a look into the lives of the everyday workers of the world -- the ones for whom a thousand-euro bonus (about $1,100 U.S.) can solve a heck of a lot of problems.

None of that is to say that Thor: The Dark World is a bad movie, necessarily. I would never speak ill of a man with a giant, magical hammer. At the same time, hammer or no hammer, it doesn't quite nail it, either.

Unfortunately, like the Poison song says -- and, in many ways, like the decade itself -- it ain't nothin' but a good time.