The result — directed by Rufus Norris and setting words collected by Alecky Blythe against music by Adam Cork — is mesmerizing.

At its heart, this is a thrilling tribute to a modest hero who rose to an extraordinary occasion.

A dopey psychological thriller that combines elements of “The Sixth Sense” with an overbearing sentimentality, The 9th Life of Louis Drax flat-lines from beginning to end.

Good-looking but tonally dubious feature debut from Elizabeth Wood.

The film can be rough going for those who know little of Berger’s work. That’s especially true of the second part, a stupefying collage about Berger’s home in rural Quincy, France.

Two decades after his last film, the legendary Jerry Lewis performs a truly unfortunate encore playing an elderly widower in writer-director Daniel Noah’s morose and thoroughly unconvincing drama.

Beautifully photographed and acted, with a somberly affecting tone, the film, by Derek Cianfrance, is nevertheless marred by severely contrived elements.

A dull, listless, derivative chunk of celluloid lacking any spark or even basic storytelling ability.

A vague, syrupy soundtrack plays across scenes both current and past, making the whole thing feel like a bad soap opera.

A pleasingly low-key effort pitched at fans of the first couple.

It’s a blatantly terrible idea with potential for comedy, but DuVall’s sometimes amusing screenplay has trouble finding its footing as an ensemble portrait of struggling relationships.

A gooey morass of indie-movie clichés, the wacky-family dramedy The Hollars marks yet another egregiously cutesy attempt to rekindle that “Garden State” magic.

Apart from its thin characters and occasional trite moments, as well as a silly attempt to set up a sequel, Don’t Breathe is just about perfect. It’s as lean and relentless as the best John Carpenter films.

Trite and vulgar boxing flick.

While clearly on the side of the protesters, the filmmakers are still determined to explain every legal detail, and at times matters become bogged down in endless televised journalists and snappish legislators.

It’s a small movie, but in his third feature, indie writer-director Chad Hartigan proves he is a major talent, imbuing the interactions with wit and warmth and charm.

The movie’s strength is, surprisingly, the narration, spoken with gentle gravity by Moni Moshonov.

Despite a traditional-seeming quest for a suit of armor and a sword, the film’s intrinsic message is all about the transformative powers of music and love. It’s a movie the whole family can rock out to.

After an hour or so, when the would-be comedy War Dogs finally gets around to a point to focus on, it’s stale ammunition that’s been sitting in a dusty Albanian warehouse for 40 years. I assume the movie got its jokes from the same place.

There’s a fatally miscast lead (Jack Huston, you are no Charlton Heston), cut-rate special effects, reams of eyeball-glazing dialogue, and a schmaltzy “inspirational” script that pointlessly alters the story in ways that make absolutely no sense.

The first half has erratic pacing, but past the midpoint the film roars into action. Dornan is monotonous, but Murphy is intense enough for them both; side romances for the men feel phony but apparently are based in fact.

A desperado drama wrapped around a Bernie Sanders campaign speech, Hell or High Water overcomes its vapid political leanings with loads of West Texas atmosphere, smart dialogue and acutely observed relationships.

Hugh Grant is no less great (and has terrific chemistry with Streep) in his juiciest role in years as St. Clair.

A cinematic enchantment, a low-key 1970s-style kids’ movie brimming with sincerity and heart. It’s one of the best films of the year.

Seth Rogen’s raunchy Sausage Party contains occasional flashes of satirical brilliance. But in true stoner form, it also thinks a lot of stuff is funnier than it actually is.

Kinnear brings heart and nuance to a character in the terrible position of being asked to evict the mother of his son’s best friend. It’s a no-win situation in which no one is the bad guy — a gentle, intelligent oasis in this summer of heated name-calling.

Making elegant use of the austere landscape and the rugged features of star Jérémie Renier, the film shows how these doggedly practical and nonspiritual men cope with the eerie events, the cause of which is hinted at but never fully explained.

Borrowing a few tricks from Martin Scorsese, the film isn’t a slavish imitation but an engrossing and grounded drama. It’s a pity, then, that director Federico Castelluccio, best known as Furio of “The Sopranos,” can’t deliver a powerful conclusion.

Like a Pixar movie shorn of the cutesy and manipulative aspects that marred “Inside Out,” the animated remake of The Little Prince, hitting theaters and Netflix, is as fragile and beautiful as the beloved rose guarded by the wee fellow of the title.

If it has a genius for anything, it’s disorganization: What promised to be a Super Bowl of villainy turned out more like toddler playtime.

Ultimately, I found the story surrounding Equity — that it is a movie about women on Wall Street, financed largely by actual women on Wall Street — more interesting than the movie itself, but it does contain its share of memorable moments.

Bad Moms is like “Sex and the City: The Sneakers-and-Minivan Years,” a good-natured girl-power comedy that balances a bland sitcom structure with some weird and hilarious moments.

Wood and Page generate a believable, prickly sibling closeness in Rozema’s unhurried but harrowing micro-portrait of how easily civilization could crumble.

Indignation is devastating, haunting and important.

The sharpest, wildest and most unpredictable thriller I’ve seen this year.

Much time is spent on inter-museum wrangling, and the personalities aren’t vivid enough (as they were in “The New Rijksmuseum”) to build tension. The interest lies in the close look at the strange vision of this great artist.

I love the series, but Jason Bourne is the worst of the five.

Two dull people have a dull love affair in Summertime, a French drama that drags on like an August afternoon.

The simple, highly effective gimmick of this straightforward shocker is a malevolent clawed spectre named Diana (Alicia Vela-Bailey), who only appears in the dark.

It’s an ambitious, often arresting film, but it lacks cohesion, and the seesawing plot and motivations seem more indecisive than mysterious.

Feels both deeply rote and way overpacked with characters.

On the whole, it’s a pitch-perfect love letter to “Ab Fab” devotees. As for newcomers? My advice: See it after a couple of Stolis, darling, and you’ll be just fine.

They should have called it “Star Trek Into Drowsiness.”

Cheesier than a Kraft Singles truck but half as subtle, Dinesh D’Souza’s documentary Hillary’s America: The Secret History of the Democratic Party is an attack on all things Democratic whose many valid points get buried under bluster

A scrapbook of bits from better Allen films that builds up to a hearty shrug.

Outlaws and Angels isn’t perfect — Murray mumbles into his beard way too much — but Eastwood sure is at ease with a cowboy hat and revolver. Clearly, she’s studied with the best.

Doremus can’t quite make the emotional breakthroughs rewarding enough to justify the slow buildup, but the icy beauty of the film makes it worth watching.

Frank’s work is phenomenal, but his longtime editor and collaborator Laura Israel seems determined during the course of her documentary never to give you a moment long enough to contemplate it.

Overall, though, Paul Feig’s (“Spy”) reboot of the 1984 classic is a goofy, big-hearted romp.

The Infiltrator satisfyingly builds to an improbable but ripped-from-the-headlines climax.

At the end the film turns into an infomercial for President Obama’s Iran deal, but Gibney delivers plenty to think about — and fear.

Janet McTeer, Octavia Spencer, Diane Kruger and Jane Fonda brighten the screen momentarily, all in too-small roles.

For John Cusack in Cell, the bad news is that his phone just ran out of juice. The good news, sort of, is that those who are on their phones were just attacked by a piercing signal that turned them into flesh-munching zombies.

As filthy as the back of a sanitation truck — but it has heart, too. Most of the comedy is funny, some of it is hilarious.

Hollywood has been yukking it up over North Korea and its comical-looking leader for some years now. There’s nothing funny about either, and Mansky shows why.

Albert Brooks shows up as a red-tailed hawk whose desire to help clashes with his killer instincts; Dana Carvey is pitch-perfect as the ancient basset hound whose back legs are in a wheelchair.

Captain Fantastic isn’t only one of the year’s best movies, but one of the best cast and best acted, right down to the smaller roles.

A dismal, low-energy affair.

Tarzan does little to adapt to modern times. Perhaps most punishingly of all for Skarsgard’s “True Blood” fans, it fails to ever put our hero in a skimpy loincloth.

The Purge: Election Year imagines that, right now, laws are being ignored, people gun each other down with impunity and the death toll is horrendous. It’s too bad the title “Chicago” was already taken.

Life, Animated oversimplifies the situation, contriving to use endless clips from Disney movies to make a case that movie magic really can better people’s lives. Unfortunately, by the end of the movie it’s clear that Disney can’t help Owen negotiate sex, breakups or many other challenges he faces as an adult.

The actors bring emotional authenticity to the aftermath of trauma, but despite that and the handsome cinematography, there is also a persistent phoniness.

A visually dazzling summer treat.

The first “Independence Day’’ was a lot of fun, with a great lines and cutting-edge special effects. It was much imitated, so the sequel plays like a faded, eighth-generation copy with a cast that’s shooting blanks when it comes to humor.

Written and directed with compassion by Noah Buschel, the film is a low-key chamber piece better suited to television. But don’t let its restraint fool you: As unshowy as it is, The Phenom has an impressive collection of tools.

Free State of Jones is enticingly difficult to chart. It’s anti-war, anti-plutocracy and anti-racist, but it’s also pro-Bible, pro-gun, anti-tax and sympathetic to the poor whites who usually get tagged as racist. Its hero is an avowed Republican named Newt.

Daniel Radcliffe continues to propel himself further from his Harry Potter past, this time via straight-up flatulence: Swiss Army Man nearly makes up with juvenile glee what it lacks in plot and coherence.

Quotable, controversial, anarchic, charismatic and handsome (in an ugly way), the zany avant-garde rocker Frank Zappa had everything one needs to be a star, except talent.

It’s too bad there’s already a movie out this week called “The Shallows”; it would work so perfectly for the new film from Nicholas Winding Refn (“Drive”).

You may or may not connect Brinkley to a certain presidential candidate, but, either way, this is one of the most entertaining documentaries to come along in some time.

The girl kept talking and strategizing as heavy string music played on the soundtrack. This was doubly weird because: a) it made me feel like the bad guy; and b) life doesn’t normally have a soundtrack. Somehow the bitch got hold of a flare gun. Ever had a flare gun fired into your hide? Unpleasant.

The considerable comic talents of Alison Brie (“Community”) are squandered by this exhaustingly quirky indie romance.

There’s such a genuine sweetness to Johnson you can’t help digging the shtick.

If it’s possible to make a morally old-fashioned film about teen orgies, writer-director Eva Husson has done so with Bang Gang, a quietly chilling look at the sex lives of a group of bored high-school students.

This loopy absurdist comedy is the final work of Andrzej Zulawski, the famed Polish filmmaker who died in February.

If there has ever been a better voice performance in an animated film than Ellen DeGeneres’ in Pixar’s wonderful sequel Finding Dory, I sure can’t think of it. Her tour de force even surpasses Robin Williams in “Aladdin.”

Imagine “Moby-Dick” rewritten in crayon, and you’ll get the idea.

Pace and mood are equally glum, and so much information is withheld that the twisty relationship can’t build much tension.

Sharp, funny and as mesmerizing as the master’s notoriously languorous suspense scenes.

This erotic noir is about as substantial as one of its female lead’s string bikinis, but it’s an enjoyable trifle nonetheless.

Jude Law gives arguably the worst performance of his career as Wolfe in Genius, the ham-fisted directing debut of noted British theater figure Michael Grandage, bombastically adapted by John Logan (“Gladiator’’) from a biography by A. Scott Berg.

No, Warcraft isn’t a ridiculous mess; it holds together on its own musclebound terms. It neither tries to be jokey nor undercuts itself by being unintentionally funny. And it offers a bit more complexity than some other nonstop action flicks adapted from video games. It’s a real movie, just not a good one.

The Conjuring 2 belongs to Wilson and Farmiga as the sincere, loving, slightly square Warrens, with Wan tightening the screws for a rousing series of cliffhangers that should have audiences screaming. Expect another sequel for sure.

Thaddeus Bradley, narrating in tedious metaphors about how “there’s always more than what’s on the surface.” That’s one claim this shallow sequel simply can’t back up.

Unfortunately, his machine fails en route; way more unfortunately, he comes up very short compared to Mark Watney, the red planet-stranded astronaut played with such humor and energy by Matt Damon in last year’s “The Martian.”

The climate-change documentary Time To Choose makes the disaster movie “The Day After Tomorrow” look like a model of judiciousness and restraint.

Solomon and Genovese remind us that all witnesses can be unreliable, in one way or another. The emotional impact comes from the gentle way the film reveals Kitty Genovese as a loving, vibrant person, and not as a symbol.

A movie that sets out to make boy bands look silly. The conceptual error is obvious. There’s low-hanging fruit and then there’s fruit that’s already on the ground, rotting underfoot.

This unambitious Michael Bay-produced version doesn’t seem interested in cleverness, cravenly settling for the usual generic CGI shtick.

Unfortunately, this ultra-glossy romantic drama derived from a best seller twists into very dark territory — a drastic tonal shift that neither its stars nor debuting director, Thea Sharrock, a respected stage veteran, manage with dramatic credibility.

A refreshingly positive ode to the power of the Internet to bring far-flung artists together and change lives in the process.

The film is impeccably shot and paced, but the radical real-world implications of Wise’s agenda are never fully explored.

You certainly get your 20 bucks worth of spectacle out of Alice Through the Looking Glass. So breathtaking are the landscapes, so whimsical are the creatures, so marvelous are the marvels that I wanted to give a standing ovation to whoever signed the check to pay for all this. Expensiver and expensiver!

Mostly, though, it’s the same old story: Bad mutants versus good mutants, with the fate of us humans — mostly off-screen, disturbingly expendable — hanging in the balance.

The dark side of pregnancy and motherhood has long been fertile filmmaking terrain; this queasy, quiet horror film tips its hat, inevitably, to the genre’s standard-bearer, “Rosemary’s Baby,” but comes up a bit short.

Maggie’s Plan isn’t perfect — the threads of its plot are sometimes a little too loosely knit — but Miller’s clearly got her finger on the pulse of the New York intellectual comedy.

Too bad the film around Brody is fairly by-the-numbers, with a mean-spirited kicker that doesn’t imbue much originality to its imperiled-female plotline.

Kaili Blues has the kitchen-sink feel of a new director eager to try every art-film technique in the book, but the film’s beauty and inventiveness are riveting.