It's a comfortable and tidily assembled story of human perseverance in the face of adversity. Which is yet another thing about which the Irish know a thing or two.

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.

If viewed as a literal narrative, the post-war German drama Phoenix, with its implausibilities and contrivances, works only so well. If viewed as an allegory, on the other hand, it ends up as something else entirely -- something intriguing, complex and altogether moving.

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."

While Nourizadeh's just-for-fun head trip is no more ambitious than its long-haired pothead of a main character, it delivers on its sole goal: to entertain and to surprise.

Straight Outta Compton doesn't shy entirely from the uglier side of the N.W.A. story, including the claims that their music and their lifestyles glorified thug life, perpetuated gun violence, advocated drug use and reveled in misogyny. Instead, Gray's film owns it.

As is the case with "Amy," there's probably no way any of us could ever truly understand Brando, who often seemed to be living on a different planet than that occupied by the rest of us. But with its anguished first-person voice -- and its permeating sense of sadness -- Listen to Me Marlon comes as close as one imagines is possible.

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.

Simply, this is a story that needs to be told, one that proves that sometimes the past shouldn't be relegated to the past. It also makes The Look of Silence an unassailably essential and necessary film.

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.

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.

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.

While Infinitely Polar Bear makes an admirable argument that mental illness is something to be managed rather than dreaded like a death sentence, it's hard not to feel as if Forbes' film perhaps paints too rosy of a portrait of what can be a devastating condition to families.

Southpaw has at least one thing its predecessors don't: It's got Jake Gyllenhaal in the lead role, and that makes a big difference.

Pixels is a slice of pure, frivolous entertainment that doesn't try to overreach.

A satisfyingly fresh take on a character we all only thought we knew well.

A well-conceived superhero romp in its own right, and one that stands nicely on its own six legs.

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.

If there's a voice of wisdom and hope in Kapadia's film, it comes from 89-year-old crooner Tony Bennett, whose duet with Winehouse on "Body and Soul" was reportedly her last studio recording before her death. "Life teaches you how to live it," Bennett tells Kapadia's camera in what ends up being one of the film's ultimate morals. "If you can live long enough."

It's just plain less -- less than what sci-fi fans are probably hoping for, and less than what it could have been.

There are a number of laughs to be had in what ends up being an uneven but surprisingly likeable dose of low-calorie nonsense.

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.

Inside Out isn't just a movie. It's a doctoral dissertation on human psychology, with a bit of therapy on the side. Miraculously, it's fun, to boot.

A bronto-sized slice of big-screen entertainment buoyed by dazzling visual effects and intense action, and a film that plays like part adventure movie, part monster movie and part thrill ride.

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.

Niccol's film won't likely achieve the high-flying box-office success of "Top Gun," but it is similar to that 1986 film in that it will likely get people talking after the closing credits roll.

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.

Vinterberg's Far From the Madding Crowd is a lovely adaptation. What's more, it's downright entertaining.