More than just the portrait of a naive young woman. It's a frightening look at Putin's warped version of democracy.

Scored by Bruce Hornsby, Lee’s film veers all over the place tonally, juxtaposing scenes of spurting gore with soothing jazz. Hess’ WASP-y mansion, with its huge photo portraits of African warriors, is an interesting study in mashing up race and class stereotypes, though the film’s rambling plot may leave your brain feeling a little mashed, too.

Essentially a feature-length commercial for both the growing sport of competitive cheerleading and ESPN2 .

The dramatic history of the Soviet space program deserves a far more competent documentary than this amateurish Dutch production.

The best dance movie since "Flashdance."

A lush, genteel romance of the Merchant-Ivory school that qualifies as a guilty pleasure -- largely because of the unexpected chemistry between its improbably matched leads, Gwyneth Paltrow and Aaron Eckhart.

Konchalovsky, best known here for "Runaway Train" (1985), takes on a difficult subject with a light mix of dark humor and pathos.

Honestly, it's still pretty hard to resist as a guilty pleasure: A fluffy date-night movie that wrung a tear or two from more than one hardened male critic's eyes, chick flick or no.

You have to hand it to Huppert. She doesn't let the hokey plot and syrupy cinematography (what's with those repeated shots of flowers blowing in the wind?) keep her from giving a profound performance.

Less an adventure yarn than a character study of two old guys with fading memories and improbable dreams.

American Animal is a wildly experimental debut for D'Elia, who uses hand-held digital cameras and lots of jump cuts. It is well-acted and features witty repartee.

Scott and Balinska are capable, but bland. The actress who gets most in the oversize spirit of the occasion is Stewart, showing more personality and comic chops than she has before.

Coogan and Isla Fisher, as his friendly ex-wife, are well-cast, if too mean and fake. But their comic talents are wasted on Michael Winterbottom’s sorry attempt at a mockumentary. Actually, it’s a bit greedy.

Superfly escapes superficiality thanks largely to strong performances from Jackson; Jason Mitchell as Priest’s workmanlike partner, Eddie, and Michael Kenneth Williams as Priest’s mentor, Scatter.

Considering that Gracie says nothing that hasn't been said in dozens of films, one does wonder whether Hollywood is being as diligent as it could be in digging up fresh story ideas.

If you can check your brain at the popcorn stand and keep your expectations low, Dark Water is an OK genre exercise that maintains a consistently creepy tone.

Like its synthetic heroine (Scarlett Johansson), the live-action Ghost in the Shell is a feast for the eyes. With its killer-robot geishas, Godzilla-size hologram ads and nearly nude fighting gear, it’s a cyberpunk wonderland — but there isn’t much ghost left in this smokin’ hot shell.

Most of the humor, though, is wan, exemplified by letters like “Dear General Lee: Sounds great! Please proceed with your plan.”

Donna Summer’s disco classic “Last Dance” does a good job of summing up Steven Soderbergh’s new movie Magic Mike’s Last Dance: When it’s bad it’s so, so bad.

[Director Kaye's] dedication to the material is admirable, but his tactic of following one dismal development with an even more depressing one comes to seem monotonous and pointless.

While Murphy never manages to make this crazy quilt dramatically credible, he does hit the mark for laughs and has written some juicy scenes for his excellent cast.

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

A thoroughly mediocre dramedy.

Creepy spirits in old-timey dress, ear-stabbing sound cues, slamming doors and bloody handprints: The horror flick Insidious isn't scared to be trite.

As always, Dracula sucks blood. But his latest movie simply sucks.

With stakes so high, the movie should pack a punch. But while it keeps its eye on the stars, its feet never leave the ground.

The shallow, derivative and contrived British heist thriller Wasteland lives down to its unfortunate name.

Markopolos repeatedly tells us he was scared for his life -- accompanied by hokey archival clips and music -- though nothing actually happened to him.

Sincerely directed by one woman (Phyllida Lloyd, who did "Mamma Mia!") and smartly written by another (Abi Morgan), the film stars an unsurpassable Meryl Streep, whose ability to empathize with her characters has never been more gloriously impassioned than it is in this titanic performance.

Basically it's an acting exercise - a one-set rendition of that old stage and movie standby, the ex-convict struggling to go straight who's tempted to attempt one last score.

Occasionally funny but more often hackneyed, schmaltzy, predictable and overdone fairy tale that seems longer than 100 choruses of ''Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious."

The seething passions of Flaubert’s characters are absent, except when Rhys Ifans (as a greedy merchant) or the splendidly ruthless Marshall-Green are in the room.

Centering around a stoic woman who elbowed her way to the top of her field in a world of men in tweed suits, only for it all to be put at risk, the plot has heavy shades of 2022’s “Tar,” which is a much better movie.

Its characters are likable enough to settle in with for a pleasant hour and a half.

It’s not without its quirks (and occasional pacing issues), but Sister Aimee is a true original — apparently, just like its namesake.

An utterly clueless, relentlessly grim and rambling action epic guaranteed to displease devout Jews, Christians and Muslims alike, amuse atheists — and generally bore everyone.

What you get instead of soccer is almost two hours of late-stage syphilis.

Medina has taken a series of vignettes and fashioned them into a feature film as aimless as Luciano’s life. There’s no buildup or payoff; still, Hendler’s laid-back performance makes Medina’s film worth seeking out.

Really it's just a trashy bid to be the "Scarface" of Mesopotamia.

Grindelwald gives us a proper villain and a purpose for this series of — gulp — five eventual movies.

Finally, someone took the source material at its terribly written word and stopped treating the whole affair so seriously.

80 for Brady would be close to worthless were it not for the prodigious talents and chemistry of its marvelous cast.

If you’re into seeing Johnny Depp and Robert Pattinson play truly despicable government officials, have I got a movie for you!

Don’t be fooled by its awful title. The Spy Who Dumped Me is the rare secret-agent spoof that doesn’t double-O-suck.

It’s a compelling story, and Minac has told it before, notably in 2002’s “The Power of Good: Nicholas Winton.” This new documentary seems aimed at a classroom audience.

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.

Disney's disappointing Atlantis, sadly, is a lot like much of the studio's recent animated output: eye-popping visuals and great vocal characterizations sunk by a dead-in-the-water script.

Osment, playing a fatherless 14-year-old, has entered the sort of awkward adolescence that afflicts so many male child stars - and seems utterly intimidated by his esteemed co-stars.

Can that achingly abstract thing called love be captured in a beaker or dissected like a frog splayed on a slab? That's the belabored premise of this dorky, clinically structured romance cooked up in the Sundance Institute's screenwriter and filmmaker labs.

Spits out enough scares and twists to maintain our interest, but the film's psycho-sociological layer is almost as cheesy and unconvincing as its low-rent action scenes.

Tai Chi Zero is loads of fun to watch, especially a battle in which watermelons, bananas and other fruits and veggies serve as flying weapons.

Certainly nails the era, right down to a lengthy pan across a none-too-appealing dinner buffet.

The film slowly builds up to Justin's first appearance at Madison Square Garden, where his show sold out in 22 minutes.

A love letter to the technology and movies of the 1980s as well as celebrating the DIY ethos of the YouTube generation.

As a full-length feature, Casa is simply a funny concept that starts to go stale around the 10-minute mark.

Sensory gluttony is reason enough to see a movie, and few epics overstuff the eyes like this one.

Bears all the signs of having been composed by an inferior race of alien screenwriters from the Hackulon System.

A testosterone- and cliché-fueled epic that will have some hoping for sudden death as it stumbles toward the three-hour mark.

Overlong and not well-acted.

There is, of course, a maximum of blood and gore. Sometimes the director's ideas work; often they don't.

The Spanish Inquisition was better summed up in an eight-minute musical number by Mel Brooks than in the entirety of Goya's Ghosts, an across-the-board disaster from one of my favorite directors, Milos Forman.

Sweet, often poignant little film.

An engaging documentary.

Apart from some irritating and redundant camera tricks early on in the film, director Blair Treu plays it white-bread straight, delivering an uncommonly inoffensive, after-school-special-style teen flick.

Tendency to pretentiousness.

An embarrassing misfire...feels like a long, slow TV pilot about L.A. twentysomethings, only it lacks the polish and wit of your average sitcom.

The cryptic finale raises more questions than it solves. But She's One of Us is such a fine work that answers aren't necessary.

Why doesn't anybody just buy a gun? I guess the female characters spent all their money on tight tank tops.

Less fun than any circus movie I've ever seen - and I've seen lots. Maybe they should send in the clowns.

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

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

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.

‘A brave man and a brave poet.” That’s Bob Dylan talking about Lawrence Ferlinghetti, poet, painter, publisher, anarchist, civil libertarian — in this lively documentary by Christopher Felver.

Except possibly for a superlative supporting performance by Hugh Bonneville of “Downton Abbey,’’ Clooney’s low-key directorial effort is not quite an Oscar-caliber movie, though it’s got a great cast, a worthy theme and plenty of things to reward adult moviegoers.

Remarkably dull thriller.

From bad to worse - Even in verse - The Producers moves like a hearse -Mildness and blandness -Mugging like madness - Who knew that "Rent" would win this fight? - Murdering a genre's just not all right!

Lathan, who has had a long and fruitful career as an actress in TV shows like “The Affair,” does well in her first go as a director. She has just enough visual flair so as to not overwhelm the rich characters and vibrant place.

Hess' deadpan dorks are strange, really strange. As in the Christopher Guest movies, there is a distinct comedy architecture you recognize from the opening minutes.

In the end, this relentlessly nihilistic crime-caper thriller adds up to less than the sum of its impressive parts.

Its message is sugarcoated in a schmaltzy, clichéd story line about Smith's conflicts with streetwise black minister (Jeff Obafemi Carr) - and sabotaged by hackneyed dialogue, sluggish pacing and a listless performance by Smith, who only springs to life when he's singing.

It’s a heavy lift to find any single thing that happens here remotely plausible, and ultimately it almost seems a horror movie misinterpreted as a romance. File this one under “The Fault in Our Screenplay.”

I had the sensation of sitting through a fourth-grade school play that contained no children of my own: the very definition of a nightmare.

Rarely since the tale of the Corleones has a movie presented such a compelling, sympathetic portrait of a criminal lowlife.

A cheesy affair with no big winners. Especially the audience.

The emotional honesty of [Lane's] performance provides a foundation that supports this shaky and often unbelievable Italian-set hybrid of "Shirley Valentine" and "Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House."

Despite his innate appeal and nimble line readings, Grace can't surmount the deficiencies of the underdog character screenwriter Victor Levin ("Mad About You") has saddled him with.

What's Vincent to do? Will he come out of the closet? Will he lead the swim team to victory at the big match? Will he find happiness with Noemie? Does anybody care?

A devilish updating of Verdi's "Rigoletto."

Wavers uncomfortably between satire and dime-store existentialism on the big screen. It's sort of as if Charlie Kaufman rewrote "The Fountain."

The indie road movie Janie Jones is billed as "inspired by the true story" of its writer-director, David M. Rosenthal. Impossible. No one's life is this boring.

Safe House may strike you as a brilliant movie, provided you've seen fewer than, say, 10 spy thrillers.

It's perhaps unsurprising that Love - and her late husband, Kurt Cobain - even manage to steal the show in a documentary about Schemel's life.

Chism’s characters are pleasingly odd, and though she can’t string much of a narrative together — there is a stop-and-start quality to the picture that grows tiresome — a few of the set pieces are funny.

Winslet and Brolin have wonderful chemistry together, and Reitman makes well-worn metaphors like steamy weather and pie making (the film has been embraced by the American Pie Council) seem newly invented.

Sweet and funny — largely thanks to James Corden in the lead role — it’s never particularly surprising.

Hate to say it, but this film ain’t half the satire it could have been.

RoboCop is topically up-to-the-moment but stylistically it’s retro. Far from using the story as an excuse to string together cheap thrills and blowout spectacle, its hero has all the heart of the Tin Man.

Ultimately, though, Saint Laurent is beautifully dressed with little substance, which doesn’t do much to subvert a prevailing stereotype about the industry as a whole.