Frequently hilarious, occasionally sweet and often graphically violent, Pineapple Express may not be the greatest stoner movie ever made, but it will do perfectly well until we get another hit of Harold and Kumar.

The crowd-pleasing St. Vincent provides Murray with his first comic vehicle in years. It’s a tour de force and a cause for major celebration.

Has relevance in the world as we now know it.

There is hardly a moment during this overlong, stunningly smug exercise in moral self-satisfaction when you actually care about a character, real or invented.

Beautifully photographed by Dean Semler, Appaloosa is the best Western since "Open Range" and shows there's still life in this most unfashionable of genres.

The script, narrated by Queen Latifah, is so embarrassingly dorky (it was co-written by Kristin Gore) that it's like Fred Rogers gone hip-hop.

Julian Fellowes would have been far better off writing another relaxed Christmas special to satisfy fans.

Fascinatingly, many of the interviewees disagree vehemently about Holmes' personality: some of his co-stars and colleagues found him repellently abusive and selfish.

Spectacular special effects and sets.

Most troubling is just how easy it is to sell nuclear secrets with the help of large corporations and the acquiescence of governments.

Ultimately, though, the lively whirl of debauched, drug-fueled parties and toffee-nosed exchanges between heiresses and aristocrats fails to mask the essential hollowness of the narrative.

Sometimes teeters on the verge of going completely over the top, but it's mostly saved by its own self-awareness.

The flick brings two hours of great big sloppy buck-wild laughs by morphing into a cross between "Meet the Parents" and "Some Like It Hot."

Boasts dynamic performances by the two leads, as well as tight directing (a lot happens in just 82 minutes) and eye-pleasing cinematography (by Alain Marcoen, who also lenses for Belgium's acclaimed Dardenne brothers).

It's always enjoyable watching Depardieu and Deneuve, but they deserve better material than they've been given by Techine.

DiCaprio and Connelly give off the sexual tension of pickled herring.

Swank's character, Erin Gruwell, is a real educator who, in the years following the Rodney King riots, coaxed her students into writing about their bullet-riddled lives.

Starts out as a hilarious take on cop-movie cliches, then turns into Will Ferrell's own "Capitalism: A Love Story."

As much fun as it is, this all-star tribute is awfully one-note, never questioning Gordon’s seemingly casual habit of befriending only the ultra-famous.

Kelly & Cal is at its best when focused on Lewis and Weston.

Is it an essential continuation of the story of Russell Crowe’s fallen fighter Maximus? Eh, not really. A likable diversion, the film is not as epic or weighty as its acclaimed predecessor.

Irresistibly warm and surprisingly realistic.

Though the filmmaking is not terribly exciting, Fela’s life and music are.

The story is nothing if not uplifting, but it unfolds in a conventional, uninspired documentary style better suited to the small screen, where it soon will reside. Wait.

Butler’s pretty bad — not horrible — but the movie itself is quite watchable, if a lot bleaker than your average disaster flick.

This is the kind of movie that gives art-house movies a bad name. Seeing as it’s about lobotomies in the 1950s, it is also ripe for “ice-pick- through-the-eye” jokes about the pain of watching it. But I would never stoop so low.

The failed attempt at cleverness in Lanthimos’ movie is that nobody is actually kind here; they are inordinately cruel. There’s nothing wrong with that — so is Richard III — but these exploits are not particularly entertaining or profound, only random and repetitive.

My main beef is with Spielberg’s choice to leave out his own work, both as producer and director: “I didn’t corner the ’80s market,” he told Entertainment Weekly. But yeah, he kind of did.