Alfred Molina gives a warm and engaging performance as an occupying British soldier.

The undeniably sweet film, based on the wonderful West End musical, fixes some of the (much better) show’s flaws, but loses its humor and energy while it wallows in sadness.

It's a hodgepodge of subplots and wildly disparate tones that even Federico Fellini (to whose "Amarcord" Labaki also owes a debt) might have had trouble controlling.

The episodic film makes valid points about the depersonalization of modern life. But the characters tend to be clichés whose lives are never fully explored.

Things go awry in the last act, as the movie stops dead for more songs and a tragic coda that seems forced and trite, rather than the three-hankie finale we've all earned. Still, Cumming is wonderful.

Scott's feature debut is beautifully filmed and offers an unexpectedly shocking ending.

Interesting enough that you wish it were better.

Though deadly serious, Christopher Smith's European-made bubonic- plague melodrama provides good value with lots of blood and guts, as well as a solid cast.

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.

Very slowly builds to a powerful climax for this arty cross between "Straw Dogs" and "First Blood."

All three segments are heavy on blame-America speeches, which may be a fair snapshot of Iraqi opinion, but it's strange how fond Longley seems to be of Saddam Hussein.

One of the pleasures of films about being stuck in a place -- "The Wicker Man" is maybe the best example -- comes from the skill with which the writers keep their protagonist locked in his box. On this test, The Last Exorcism pretty much flunks.

Indeed, for all its jokiness, this isn't the film for anyone who suffers from even the mildest fear of ugly, scuttling, jumping creatures with spindly, furry legs that have a habit of hiding in your shoes.

Sweet, often poignant little film.

You could make a worse choice for a late- summer popcorn movie than Takers, a Michael Mann-ish heist thriller with a pulse-pounding foot chase and some terrific stunt work offsetting its hackneyed plot and dialogue.

Thanks to an unexpected twist and a clever motivation lurking in the back story of the super-villain, G-Force has enough going on to more or less maintain grown-up interest, and there's plenty to please the kiddies.

Depp's nonsense-spouting Mad Hatter, decked out in a red fright wig and possibly more makeup than Michael Jackson, is an unlikely resistance leader.

The film is elegantly done, mainly because it wisely expends most of its energy on Alicia Vikander’s face.

Cusack and Cage — who don’t have any scenes together until halfway through — do their best work in years, while erstwhile “High School Musical’’ star Hudgens shows off acting chops missing in “Spring Breakers.’’

No "Crouching Tiger." It lacks the richness of theme and performance that made Ang Lee's film so emotionally satisfying. In fact, watching Iron Monkey makes you realize just how Western and literary the sensibility of "Crouching Tiger" was.

Jonze seems to be heading for a far quirkier ending than the one he actually delivers, but he does tap into the zeitgeist with his unlikely romantic fable.

It's fine for kids, though, and it doesn't try too hard.

Nobody Else But You has a great deal going for it, not the least of which is Rouve, who takes the novelist's obsessiveness, depression and general boorishness and turns it all into the source of his appeal.

The plot is neither here nor there, but you have to see this for the luscious cinematography by Chi Xiaoning, who loves shades of blue and amber.

Time has robbed Blume’s subjects of shock value, but her perceptiveness hasn’t dimmed. The movie’s sincerity carries it along, and makes this story endearing despite its filmmaking clichés.

An engaging, bittersweet tale.

This is a one-joke skit that trots in a straight line, and your enjoyment of it will depend entirely on how many times you need to see gonzo sheep rip out human entrails.

Hitler didn’t actually snub Jesse Owens at the 1936 Olympics, but the story is too good not to tell, so Race tells it anyway — adding the (true) detail that Owens was snubbed back home. By someone called “the White House,” because this supposedly truth-telling movie can’t bear to spell out the words Franklin D. Roosevelt.

Shamelessly contrived and manipulative, Tae Guk Gi packs a visceral wallop.

Nostalgia is a prime factor, yes, but the story is legitimately engrossing this time, however recycled it may be, rather than a lazy stack of trumpeted entrances and exits and half-witty asides that marred the 2019 and 2022 films.

The long-term effects of bullying are at the heart of The Gift, a dark and ultimately quite nasty psychological thriller from actor/writer/debut director Joel Edgerton, who manages to yank the carpet out from under his audience a couple of times.

Jealousy has a quiet melancholy that’s very pleasing.

Doesn't have the polish of "Ocean's Eleven" - but it does have George Clooney.

So minimalist in characterization and dialogue that the plot all but evaporates -- and so does any dramatic power.

Not many surprises are in store, but the film’s affection for the dramatist is pleasing.

Justin Timberlake shows that he can do more as an actor than just take his shirt off - though he does that a lot as well - in the irresponsible, uncommercial but surprisingly watchable Alpha Dog.

Leong’s film isn’t particularly stylish, but it makes the most of the climactic Knicks footage, as well as showcasing a sweetly goofy side of the 25-year-old, now playing for the Houston Rockets.

Its bawdy honesty eventually gives way to convention, sentimentality and a frustratingly silly ending.

Her star billing notwithstanding, Jolie has perhaps the ninth-largest part in the movie (behind seven humans and a dog), playing Cage's ex-girlfriend.

Worth watching primarily for Blunt, the delicious scene-stealer from "The Devil Wears Prada."

The best Parisian action movie of the week is District 13: Ultimatum, a serviceable thriller with a lefty message.

Even after he manages to get out of the car and slowly starts recovering his memory, Wrecked keeps you guessing.

It's a nice, mud-free way to spend a bit of time rocking out in the rain with the Scots.

The considerable charms of Miles Teller and Analeigh Tipton elevate this middling rom-com.

So what starts out as fascinating sci-fi becomes just fi, and winds up pulp fi.

Falters seriously is its too-leisurely pacing.

Well-acted and acutely observed.

If this overcooked version of James Ellroy’s novel - inspired by a famous 1947 Los Angeles murder - is less than fully satisfying or even believable storytelling and acting, it’s still possible to get a kick out of this fever dream loaded with eye candy.

All of this is secondary, even tertiary material, even if much of it is interesting and even wrenching to behold.

What begins as an alert and witty barbed satire degenerates into a senseless bloodbath in the black comedy Sightseers.

The two lead actresses rise to the occasion when they're finally forced to confront each other at the climax.

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.

Essentially an hour-long monologue, but this talking head is so engaging that you can't blame director Lech Kowalski's camera for not wanting to stray from the late Dee Dee Ramone's party-ravaged face.

The movie is overwhelmingly positive. It would have helped if Araki's critics had more of a say.

If one enjoyed manufacturing symbols as much as Miller, one might speculate that Rose is Rebecca Miller, aching to be her own artist, and Jack is Arthur.

Not one of Hartley's most successful efforts, but it's witty, daring, different and a welcome alternative to Hollywood pap.

Possibly the most unintentionally hilarious film since Ed Wood's "Plan 9 from Outer Space," Steve Irwin's big-screen debut is destined to become an instant cult classic.

The Giver is at its best when Bridges expounds on civilization’s lost beauty and savagery; at other times, it’s strewn with implausibility: For a totalitarian society in which everyone is monitored constantly, our hero is able to sneak around an awful lot.

This chest is overfilled with exposition and physical comedy, without a doubloon's worth of the scary suspense that made the laughs in the first one such brilliant comic relief.

The insult comedy is sometimes brilliant.

A sensual performance from Abbass buoys the flimsy story.

This Michael Mann-directed film is full of Michael Mann-isms, many of them familiar from, and done better in, “Heat.”

Occasionally becomes melodramatic.

Joker starts grim and gets grimmer, as Arthur embraces his inner demons and finds they resonate with the huddled masses of Gotham.

More fun than you'd expect from an adaptation of a '60s Hanna-Barbera cartoon that was in turn derived from a comic book.

An exploration of the way the sins of the father trickle down to his offspring, is dense with quirky characters and subplots all woven into a rather heavy-handed meditation on the evils of globalization.

Stretched both timewise and for plausibility.

The performances are more than serviceable and The Fluffer is well-paced and engaging until the flaccid climax.

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

The film's attempt at a sort of beautiful anguish works best in its middle section. It takes far too long to get going, and it doesn't have much of an ending.

A thoughtful drama which sags when it tries to shoehorn its characters into by-the-numbers plot points.

The meta jokes come thick and fast - some clunk, but there's no time to mourn - and the references are far from limited to the Warner Bros. world (at one point, Bugs exclaims, "Whaddya know - I found Nemo!").

Watching three frames at once is disconcerting at first, but eventually the experience gives the film a high-tech boost.

Bears more than a passing resemblance in story and form to "The Twilight Samurai," but stands on its own as a pleasant, if unremarkable, romance.

Ed Radtke's film-fest favorite does at least boast some fine acting, excellent photography and an authentic feel for life on the highway.

This documentary, a love letter to their sisterly bond, gives a reasonably engaging look behind the scenes.

Among the year's ultraviolent pulp movies, "Sin City" was prettier and "The Devil's Rejects" more focused.

An explosion of images, mixing seedy, hand-held reality with groovy grindhouse imitations. Most of the shots are vivid, some are even thrilling.

Overlong, poorly paced and woodenly acted film.

Loving but overlong meditation on movies and the people who make them.

"Babe" was a classic because of its gentle simplicity. Charlotte's Web, with its insistently "magical" theme music, an overbearing climax and a trough full of bad jokes, is merely adequate.

The film is occasionally heavy-handed, and the priest character is almost absurdly saintly, but there is an awful power to scenes such as one in which the Europeans are evacuated on trucks.

A likably gushy celebration of female friendship, sometimes feels like a throwback to the Drew Barrymore of the mid-’90s: At times you wonder if she and co-star Toni Collette might actually break out into a lip-sync-with-hairbrushes routine.

The movie has enough big-city wickedness and merry cruelty to keep things skittering unpredictably.

Bell has added unexpected shadings to what could have been simply a sordid tale of highway prostitution, gradually revealing surprises to the characters that keep a murmur of unease thrumming throughout.

Fortunately, Winters' legendary inventiveness as a comedian has not diminished with the years.

Engaging, if sometimes obvious.

There are also food scenes that will whet your appetite. But somehow a satisfying climax never makes it out of the oven.

Bening forgoes vanity and digs into the humiliation Grahame felt as she aged out of the vampy roles Hollywood typecast her in. Bell brings a sturdy humanity to Peter, a low-key stage actor and nice guy who’s completely unfazed by their age difference.

If the movie has a star, it may be cinematographer Oleg Mutu, the Romanian who lensed “The Death of Mr. Lazarescu” and “4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days.” Even when the pace wanes, the images are still gripping.

Ron Shelton effectively ratchets up the tension without resorting to the stylistic flourishes of a more recent flick about dirty cops, "Narc."

A clever and stylish Dutch twist on the old good-twin/bad-twin plot.

By the last battle, you may find yourself hoping that at least one person escapes without being macheted to death.

This is a handsome movie, rich in period detail, but the stately pace slows to a crawl in the second half.

Meanders along in a confused, confusing way for what feels like hours.

An eccentric little comic thriller filled with enough laughs that I was mostly willing to overlook the fact that it makes virtually no sense as a thriller.

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.

Refreshingly flirts with a very un-Disney political incorrectness.