Just in time for Mexico’s Day of the Dead holiday comes this gloriously colorful animated musical, which almost (but not quite) makes up in visuals what it lacks in snappy dialogue.

The documentary was filmed in the 1990s by Denny Tedesco, whose father Tommy is credited as the most recorded guitarist in history, including the instantly identifiable themes to “Bonanza” and “Mission: Impossible.”

Unspeakable brutality ensues, including a rape, a castration and cold-blooded murder. Dumont never mentions Iraq, but the parallels are clear.

The omnipresence of oddity in The Future dilutes its charm: A T-shirt creeps around on its own, a little girl likes being buried neck-deep in the backyard. Whatevs.

At some two hours, the film is 30 minutes too long. Cutting out the melodrama and sticking with the daring-do is the answer.

There's scant dialogue in Workingman's Death, but little is needed when majestic camera work by Wolfgang Thaler tells the story so well.

This Cinderella is all dressed up with nowhere very interesting to go.

Once in a Lifetime, which is being released at the peak of World Cup fever, is the sort of sports documentary that will appeal even to nonfans. It's a quintessential only-in-New York story.

Mr. Holmes, derived from a novel by Mitch Cullin, isn’t quite as deep or as poignant, but amply rewards McKellen and Holmes fans willing to go with its leisurely pace.

Those confessionals can and should deliver an emotional wallop; however, Sara Colangelo’s direction isn’t skillful or nuanced enough to give the scenes power. The speeches from actors, such as Laura Benanti, about the worst day in all of these people’s lives feel too rehearsed and polished for us to believe them.

Brief and timely, this documentary directed by Shosh Shlam and Hilla Medalia is also frustrating.

If Ruby were more of a person than a character, we might care more for her plight. But like Calvin, Kazan has written herself into a corner that can only lead to embracing the sappy romantic clichés that Ruby Sparks tries half-heartedly to mock.

A rousing, garage-band-style documentary.

It’s an entertaining melodrama of the old school that plays out with the clockwork inevitability of a “Columbo” episode.

I've seen Demonlover twice and still find the plot a challenge. I'd try again if I thought it would help.

It’s a lot of fun . . . until it becomes a mystery thriller so convoluted and tonally wacky, Angela Lansbury would have quit in a huff.

Time to Leave just might be Ozon's best work yet. He tackles a sensitive, off-putting subject with a dignity that will put viewers at ease. Poupaud connects as the dying man and Moreau is - Moreau, a French national treasure.

You won't soon forget it -- if you have the guts to see it.

Well worth seeing for its acting and its tempting cinematography. Don't be surprised if you find yourself wanting to book a vacation in Cobh.

Banal at the beginning and preposterous at the close, the British horror film Kill List jumbles together wildly incongruous ingredients to create a dramatic mush.

Both boys are good, and Kyle MacLachlan gives a tender turn as Franky’s gay dad. But the sheer amount of issues shoved in here is overpowering.

It’s an impressive first effort from Kravitz that, like the island and the women, immediately has us in its grip.

Paints a vivid portrait of a compelling young man but, perhaps inevitably, goes overboard on the deification.

A mashup of Nick Hornby and Martin Scorsese? Why not?

Even if you've never ridden a skateboard or had any interest in people who do, you'll get a kick out of Stacy Peralta's documentary Bones Brigade: An Autography.

The stunning visuals in DreamWorks Animation’s Kung Fu Panda 3 surpass the high standards set by its predecessors, but storywise, the latest adventures of goofy Po the panda break no new ground.

A physically impressive, well-acted, sometimes emotionally powerful - and mostly apolitical - re-creation of that awful day that has some conservative pundits praising Stone as some sort of born-again patriot.

Perhaps faithful to the spirit of the man, but frustrating if you’re actually curious about the facts.

Serves as a primer on a musical style that may be unfamiliar to many, while putting a human face on the problem of illegal immigrants.

Almost without exception, the men are either sickening deviants or wise mentors while the ladies tend to be kickboxing hipsters or victims of sexual abuse (many are both).

The documentary Darfur Now proves that - no matter how im portant the subject matter - following various people around with a camera doesn't necessarily make a film.

A sickening horror parable disguised as a comedy of mores, the Netherlands’ Borgman is a rarity: a genuinely shocking, upsetting movie.

It's rather sweet and life-affirming, although the transformation from sophisticate to peasant happens too conveniently and quickly.

Stieve and Glosserman may yet strike a vein: This thing screams out for a Hollywood remake with, say, writers from "The Simpsons."

An '80s coming-of-age comedy with more energy than ideas.

A star is born in In Good Company, which showcases Topher Grace.

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.

Fairly suspenseful.

I hope they have shrinks in remote Nepal, because this kid is going to need one. P.S.: The scenery is awesome.

Cop Car is an instance of what happens when an airy indie filmmaker tries to “do genre” and winds up being as convincing as John Kerry putting down his demitasse and dressing up in hunting gear.

What Werewolves Within aims to be is a Knives Out of the horror genre, with a wacky ensemble having a blast while they play enormous characters and follow clues. They do, and their antics are enjoyable for the most part. However, unlike the Daniel Craig mystery film, Werewolves can sometimes be overly spastic and annoying.

Unpretentious and often witty, it's emotional punch is weakened by spotty performances, especially from Karin Viard in the lead role.

There's some lumpy writing and uneasy acting, but it's easy to see why this charming, inventive film won prizes at festivals in Berlin, San Francisco and Newport, R.I.

An entertaining documentary.

Bank's discursive but oddly riveting documentary, Last Dance, offers a glimpse of what was probably the most important, and conceivably the most bitterly contested, collaboration in Pilobolean history.

Pointless and mind-numbing.

The story unfolds as slowly as does life in Cayeux. There's minimal dialogue and even less action.

Often charming and sweet, and always prettily photographed.

A gritty, well-acted, documentary-style drama.

There's very little doubt in my mind that somewhere, culinary legend Julia Child is fuming about being consigned to a double bio-pic with a whiny, self-centered cooking blogger.

Whedon keeps approaching ideas, but every time he does so he leaves a flaming bag of dog poop on the doorstep, rings the bell and runs away tittering.

Adding goofy uncertainty to shoulders as wide as the East River makes for a disarming hero in one of the spiffiest WWII action yarns ever to march out of Hollywood.

The three-part anthology opens with its best shot, Hong Kong fruitcake Fruit Chan's "Dumplings," photographed by the great Christopher Doyle.

For maximum enjoyment, see this on the enormous classic IMAX screen.

The movie's most exciting when the precision and jaw-dropping nerve of the gang holds center stage.

For me, the movie's high point comes when Tony auditions for a role in a Martin Scorsese movie. Tony learns not to try so hard -- a lesson that Garcia also seems to have absorbed from City Island.

Keaton's overamped girlishness, and the adolescent shenanigans she engages in, make a mockery of this overlong romantic comedy's stance as a celebration of mature love.

This isn't a performance film, and it is far from a definitive portrait of the androgynous performer.

Time for another of Steven Soderbergh's "experimental," i.e., half-assed, films.

The film works to rescue Arendt and her phrase “the banality of evil” from years of cliché, and largely succeeds.

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.

The actress is absolute bliss in her new Italian drama, The Life Ahead.

Romero's we're-all-doomed-and-maybe-we-deserve-it pessimism is so extreme he would fit right in with a real group of brain-eaters: the French.

The film keeps its focus small, but the trouble is, the characters' emotions stay that way, too.

Steve Coogan’s Alan Partridge character — a craven, narcissistic, provincial TV and radio host who has been amusing the Brits for more than 20 years — proves too much of a sketch-comedy creation to sustain a film.

Mandoki never passes up a chance to increase the schmaltz level, but that doesn't lessen the impact of this harrowing account of a hellish childhood.

Though thin on story, the film shows poise and vision, using bleak cinema-realité techniques with chilling effect. Campos promises to be heard from again.

Hardly a deep examination of gender relations or character, but in its unsentimental way it's a tender and charming story of friendship and tolerance.

A lot more stupid action - and a lot less heart - than the character-driven original, as Stuart ends up rescuing Margalo from Falcon.

The gritty photography is a perfect match for the film's harsh realities, the script is taut (not a word or motion is wasted) and the acting is raw and realistic.

Schrader's strongest movie since "Affliction," is another meditation on American masculinity powerfully told with great wit and style.

It's a typical Solondz sad-sack tale, but this film seems to be disgusted by its own characters, which isn't true of the director's best work ("Happiness," "Welcome to the Dollhouse"). We don't need to like Abe, but it's unsettling to feel the director might actively dislike him.

Pink Ribbons, Inc. viewers looking for an evenhanded discussion may be disappointed.

If the sequel is a notch less than its astounding predecessor, that’s because — like Adonis Creed does during moments of doubt — the filmmakers are overcomplicating things.

Although “Ben” can get a little sentimental at times, Roberts and Hedges are a team to root for.

The overall film is a mix of “The Thin Blue Line” and Costa-Gavras’ “Z.” At times overemphatic (no one will ever accuse Gitai of holding too much back), this docu-thriller is also agonizingly suspenseful, despite the foreordained conclusion.

It’s too bad that Keaton plays Kroc as a grasping, alcoholic sleaze as he builds the McDonald’s brand into an all-American empire, but I forgive the movie’s cheap shots because this is one of the most thorough and satisfying depictions of business — everything from quality control to cost-cutting and branding — ever put on film.

While not totally original, transitions to live action with real guts and reinvention.

At age 76, Loach also decided to offer his characters, and audience, some hope — at the bottom of a glass.

All of the characters in this story of love, guilt and redemption feel like real people, facing real dilemmas, and you truly care about what happens to them

If you're wondering why this movie must stretch past two hours, it's because it takes that long to read every item in the cliché dictionary.

Through it all, Clayman struggles to keep himself, and OC87, on track - and it's easy to cheer his ultimate triumph.

In the end (which continues into the credits), I was left thinking McDonagh can do better than this, and yet I was slightly more agog with admiration than peevish with frustration. Most of all, I wanted to see the film again.

The franchise’s greatest transformation yet: He’s made a pretty good movie.

Dog Days has much in common with "Code Unknown" -- both dart among several characters who may occasionally cross paths.

Solid family entertainment, a handsomely crafted and well-acted new film version of Natalie Babbitt's classic 1975 children's book.

Gorgeously detailed animated adventure.

Elstree 1976 is an amazing experience. I’m shocked that a documentary revisiting the making of “Star Wars” could be this boring.

Fly Away is more situation than story, though, and the Germann character's welcoming, almost saintly vibe doesn't fit.

A documentary that uses against Atwater images of lynch mobs, decades-old racist comments of his onetime boss Strom Thurmond, and a clip of Bryant Gumbel calling him "the architect of the evil campaign."

In other words, this punkish, sleek film about beautiful kids wallowing in purloined Prada could have been written by a grumpy 65-year-old white guy in gabardine, provided he had a sense of irony. The Bling Ring is the bridge between Coppola and Bill O’Reilly.

The Report, true to its no-nonsense name, does the admirable work of trying to interest viewers in the way that bureaucracy can be used to hide the most terrible truths. Alas, the movie gets as buried in paper-pushing as its characters do.

More likely to play well with older children, due to its split-up story line, Ocelot's creation is like nothing else they are likely to see animating the multiplex.

More amusing than laugh-out-loud hilarious, but is never boring.

Chastain and Wasikowska take center stage while Hiddleston flutters around like one of Allerdale’s huge black moths. Watching the women square off within del Toro’s eye-popping, painterly palette is a feast for the eyes, if not particularly substantial fare for the mind.

The new movie, directed by Joe Wright and written by Dinklage’s wife Erica Schmidt, ranks with the most lifeless adaptations. Even the swishy dances are a downer.

A sun-splashed noir that loses its appeal in the last act.

A visually dazzling summer treat.