Morgan never reaches the heights the film probably would have hit if had been directed by Tim Burton, whose style is frequently evoked -- especially Shirley Walker's playful score, which seems channeled directly from Burton's frequent collaborator Danny Elfman.

A remarkably smart and weird film, even if it's sad and sometimes difficult to watch, with jokes designed to make you cringe.

It's not exactly a surprise the makers of Reign Over Me feel compelled to manufacture a happy ending for a story that really has none. Pity.

There are some zippy chase scenes and shootouts, and tension throughout. But the characters — especially the lethargic Affleck — make for more of a C-Team than an A-Team.

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.

Anchorman 2 is like watching “Anchorman” being re-enacted by semi-professionals trying to cover up their lapses by being extra-emphatic, super-doofy: 2013 Steve Carell does a lousy impression of 2004 Steve Carell.

Not surprisingly in this tale of desperate men, the only women are top-heavy cartoon characters — literally, animated sequences illustrate Frank’s stories — or live-action betrayers, like Dakota Fanning’s Annie, Frank’s ex-girlfriend. I found the cartoons more interesting.

An unconventional movie that requires an unconventional mindset to appreciate.

At least there is a happy ending — DeChristopher, for wasting the government’s resources, properly served 21 months in federal prison. Now, he has moved on to Harvard Divinity School, where his sanctimony will serve him well.

It’s a tiresome, preachy, repetitive, disorganized and dismally unfunny attempt to appeal to Michael Moore fans. The overall temperature of their efforts is strictly room: Call this “Fahrenheit 68.”

The movie is a good 40 minutes too long and momentum ceases to build a while before it finally ends. Still, when the director’s party is raging, you’ll wish you had an invite.

Cool It -- complete with its own slide show and witty graphics -- amounts to a devastating rebuttal to Gore-ism.

Like the similar, and slightly superior, "The Conjuring" last summer, Oculus eschews the buckets of gore common to R-rated horror movies and takes a relatively subtle, psychological approach — even if the somewhat disappointing ending leaves the door open for a sequel (or three).

Less a movie than a checklist of indiecinema clichés. Youth on a journey of self-discovery? Got it. Dead mom? Uh-huh. Wounded and entitled when it’s trying to be soulful, plotless, laden with indie rock and entirely overhyped at Sundance? Checkarooney.

Posey is a delight throughout, and Zoe Cassavetes is clearly a filmmaker to watch.

With much help from an exasperated off-screen prompter - the only other performer in this small gem - Plummer's Barrymore shows flashes of glory as he delivers bits and pieces of various Shakespearean roles.

An irresistible documentary tribute that's as yummy and insubstantial as a sackful of Twinkies.

A stunning study of ennui.

Some of the year's most arresting female performances justify White Oleander, a highly episodic melodrama.

Anyone who regularly watches caper flicks will likely quickly figure out what's wrong with this picture, though the twist ending is likely to be a surprise for the less jaded.

Enjoyable if only to hear KarKar perform his mournful and personal songs, including a tender tribute to his late wife.

I’d like to see a sequel about her freshman year at college, please. There were still a few items on that list left unchecked.

The comedy is without distinction and the conclusion is melodramatic. I must note that ads for the film are misleading because they give no hint of the dark side of The Bubble.

Everyone seems to think that this crotch-rocket rumble is the equivalent of invading Normandy. "We're a band of brothers," says one racer. No, you're a band of boys, competing to see who has the longest camshaft.

Strip away the alt-country soundtrack, though, and you've got a Bette Davis fallen-woman-redeemed picture from 1937.

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

[Tatum] lets his cuddly co-star shine and wrings out a few touching moments of his own, too.

Shot in black-and-white, La Tropical serves as an atmospheric portrait of Cuba in the twilight of Castro's rule.

Such astounding computer-generated effects you'll suspend disbelief and root for the hero, a 3-inch talking mouse.

Pretty but tedious Euro-pap at its most self-indulgent.

Oddly undramatic.

A compelling look at a vexa tious question, Taking Sides is, at times, hamstrung by its own ambiguity.

The most effective moments in Taymor's gorgeous, surprisingly romantic Frida are those that evoke the visual world from which Kahlo's work was formed or the paintings themselves, often using clever animation and other special effects.

If only "reality" TV was as realistic as Quitting.

A rare dud in the Shooting Gallery series.

Drab, despairing and pointless.

The dance routines are so hilariously spectacular — and the film is such good-naturedly inclusive fun — that you may not miss the absence of anything resembling dramatic conflict in what’s close to a feature-length concert film.

A pretentious, unsatisfying and ultra-slow-moving thriller.

Rulfo adds punch to his material with speeded-up visuals and an eye-popping, six-minute helicopter shot of the entire 10-mile project - which alone is worth the price of admission.

Like the prototypical "Shine," this is a film that romanticizes mental illness.

Well-acted but a bit creaky.

A by-the-numbers follow-up to the highly successful 2005 feature that was no great shakes to begin with.

Billed as a dramedy, the film has plenty of “WTF” funny moments, but it’s always laughter tinged with darkness.

Now, here’s the trilogy’s second installment, in which the jolly Austrian makes it clear that women of a certain age do not have his permission to overdo it with religion, either.

Like a cubic zirconia knockoff of a priceless diamond necklace, this female “Ocean’s” update looks the part but just ain’t got that sparkle.

I'm not, finally, sure what Leigh is saying - but she is a filmmaker with a voice.

Just as my mind was floating back to the summery movies directed by Eric Rohmer, Marie Riviére -- a Rohmer favorite -- shows up as a mysterious woman on the beach. Surely, Ozon had Rohmer in mind when he co-wrote and directed this lovely film.

Meet American Beastly, perhaps the most bitter studio film of the year.

The supporting voices are sublime. Alongside Hudson are Audra McDonald, Tituss Burgess and Broadway’s Hailey Kilgore and Saycon Sengbloh. But the music, absent a believable 1960s sense of place or real concert atmosphere, doesn’t rouse so much as please, not unlike the familiar movie it’s a part of. Respect settles for being respectable.

With Paul Newman gone, you couldn't ask for a better senior-citizen representation of Butch Cassidy than Shepard. In his best performance since "The Right Stuff'' turned him into a reluctant movie star, Shepard makes Blackthorn worth seeing.

The best end-of-August movie I've seen in years.

There are moments of brilliance, like a claymation sequence that manages to simultaneously send up '60s holiday cartoons and "Ghostbusters'' (with Frosty the Snowman instead of Marshmallow Man).

Surprisingly smart and satisfying.

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

The Backyard will affect you. If you were depressed about the future of America before, you'll be doubly depressed after seeing this film. Pass the Prozac.

Kids will get off on Bugs! and then go home and have nightmares. Adults who accompany them may have to fight off sleep before they get home.

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

Bale, one of the most intriguing actors of his generation, plays a young man rebelling against his liberal upbringing with a mix of bemusement and lost-puppy anguish, making this film as much about mothers and sons as struggling couples.

The sensitive subject matter is handled discreetly by writer-director Chin-yen Yee, who never lets the story sink into exploitation or finger-pointing.

It’s slightly tough to get onboard with the regal Naomi Watts sporting badly sprayed hair and frosted lipstick; surely there are more flattering shades at the Walgreens?

Shouldn’t Moore run his yellow crime-scene tape around the White House instead of Wall Street? Anyway, President Obama said this month that in cases where the government has fully sold its TARP bank holdings, it has gotten back its money plus 17 percent. Damn those capitalist barons, breaking into our treasury and filling it with their filthy money.

Secretariat ultimately delivers where it matters, in the home stretch.

Why has She chosen to end her young life with a senseless act of mass murder? We never find out - which is a good thing. Too much information would only get in the way and lessen this compelling film's evocation of dread.

Given the scarcity of movies about lust from the female point of view, this is kind of a bummer.

The story lacks focus. The senses blur as wives and ex-wives come and go, and Harry regularly falls off the wagon, only to reform the next day.

Tedious left-wing documentary.

For my money, Furious 6 is more fun than “Skyfall" and a lot more fun than the deadly dull “Star Trek Into Darkness,’’ both of which ask you to take their silly plots way too seriously.

Khaou’s film features masterful performances from Whishaw and Cheng, whose dialogue is somehow intensified, rather than diluted, through the third-party voice of the translator. But some emotions, the film suggests, are impossible to adequately articulate in any language.

Tina Fey is adorable as a gulag guard who yearns to sing, but even better is Ty Burrell as a Clouseau-like Interpol inspector.

The filmmaking style is practically nonexistent: interviews and static shots of the performers onstage. They are thoughtful and often funny, especially Mat Fraser, a British man whose arms were damaged by Thalidomide, and Julia Atlas Muz, the off-stage partner with whom he often performs.

The style and tone of writer-director Dan Scanlon’s movie has elements of DreamWorks’ “Shrek” and “How To Train Your Dragon” mixed with the siblings-with-secrets aspects of Disney’s “Frozen.” But Onward is better for the change-up. That stylistic and narrative departure gives us Pixar’s most heartfelt story in years.

J.Lo has delivered an over-the-top song-and-dance camptacular, both gravely serious and deliriously funny, providing one cuckoo moment after another.

Starts slowly but builds, Hitchcock-style, to a terrifying crescendo. And don't fool yourself into thinking you know what's going to happen.

This is a single story that feels like a handful of sketches in need of more connection.

White trash meets white collar in Extract, Mike Judge's workplace comedy -- which contains more reality than the last five documentaries I've seen.

It’s never too early to introduce your kids to the magic and emotion of the monster movie.

Role Models isn't a classic like "Superbad" or as hilarious as this summer's "Step Brothers," but it's excellent fun for males in the mental age bracket of 14 to 22, which is most males.

An intermittently interesting drama.

The documentary Giuliani Time, which seeks to knock our former mayor off his pedestal, hits him with all the force of a wadded-up Kleenex. Those who hope Rudy Giuliani never returns to public life must be getting panicky.

There are a handful of moments to entrance a non-fan. When the musicians and singers assemble to sing “Proserpina,” the last song McGarrigle ever wrote, with its haunting refrain (“Come home to Mama”), the effect is transcendent.

It's what Hollywood calls a 'tweener - not quite edgy or artistic enough to satisfy the art-house crowd, but a tough sell for family audiences because of its extensive subtitles, two-hour-plus running time, and a (tastefully rendered) male rape scene.

Jacobs keeps the action moving rapidly and gets solid performances from an ensemble cast, especially the rumpled Reilly.

Thanks largely to the feisty Deutch, Buffaloed is a fun time, even if it’s about everybody’s least-favorite kind of phone call.

Cox brilliantly underplays Avery, Sizemore is perfect as the arrogant dad, and the three boys (Noel Fisher, Kyle Gallner and Shiloh Fernandez) are right on pitch. Red the dog's pretty wonderful, too.

A reminder of just how good Hollywood storytelling can be.

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

The setting for "17 Girls" is a French seaside town with a gorgeous beach. Aside from that, what you have here are the ingredi-ents for a Maury Povich show.

Director Mikael Hafstrom - the gentleman responsible for last year's Jennifer Aniston bomb "Derailed" - keeps us guessing as he confidently builds suspense.

Like its monstrous hero, The Incredible Hulk gets the job done with minimal artistry and a lot of noise.

Jackman’s turn doesn’t have an Oscars wow quality; nor does the movie itself. The script’s zingers can occasionally come off as store-brand “West Wing.” But it’s a fun, endlessly fascinating watch in which the big questions outweigh the tiny problem.

Sundance Mopey Alienation Flick No. 4,228 is For Ellen, an empty angst-athon that proves 90 minutes of close-ups of Paul Dano looking wounded can be even less interesting than it sounds.

Familiar and predictable enough, especially if you have seen Hollywood serial-killer thrillers like "Se7en."

Movies about addicts are a dime a dozen, but Cocaine Angel does its own thing, mixing humor with bleakness and resisting the too-common urge to romanticize addiction.

Has its share of clichés and contrivances. Fortunately, compensation is provided by strong performances by veteran actor Vincent Lindon as the coach and newcomer Firat Ayverdi as the refugee.

Fighting arrives fully charged by the charisma of its star, Channing Tatum, who has landed the lead in the upcoming "G.I. Joe."

Adult World proceeds by fits and starts, but fans of Cusack won’t want to miss his performance as the petulant poet, whose resistance is inevitably worn down by his persistent fan.

Most of DC Comics’ dreadful movies deserve to be violently squished, but not Blue Beetle, a refreshingly spry new film featuring the lesser-loved, bug-shaped superhero who’s been crawling around in some form since 1939.

This movie is basically “Spinal Tap” minus the jokes. Two of the band members have the word “Metallica” emblazoned on their clothing. Metallica — it’s the band that has to remind fans whom they’re watching!