A clever setup that harkens back to “You’ve Got Mail” and “The Shop Around the Corner” doesn’t quite pay off in India’s warm-hearted comedy-drama The Lunchbox.

A cheaply made, occasionally repetitive, but passionately argued documentary.

It’s photographically yummy, heaving with sun-dappled vistas and four-star dining. The boys float around a bit in the sea and enjoy homemade pasta while trundling out their impressions of, say, Marlon Brando.

Ninety percent of the movie is a very pleasant watch. All “My Old Ass” needed was a few more conversations with Elliott’s family and friends to provide more closure for her and the film.

The last half hour devoted to the Big Game, staged by a crew from NFL films, is genuinely rousing and inspiring. That's where Friday Night Lights finally shines.

Musician Bones is believable as the luckless tourist in lime-green shades, and the musical soundtrack, including songs by Bones, is infectious.

Dark, depressing drama.

The beginning and end are classics.

It’s a sprawling plot that consistently teeters on the edge of unwieldiness, but Affleck’s assured directing, gorgeous cinematography by Robert Richardson and a who’s-who of Hollywood’s best character actors keep it mostly on track.

It’s basically a narrative spin on Alex Gibney’s 2013 documentary “The Armstrong Lie,” only with less cycling footage. This is a plus for those of us easily bored by such things (so many interchangeable mountain passes and neon jerseys!), but there isn’t a ton of new material here.

The plot doesn’t entirely escape formula, and the ending is jagged and forced, unable to commit to either hope or gloom. But for at least part of its length, My Brother the Devil brings refreshing changes to a genre badly in need of them.

Hustle & Flow promises gritty street drama but delivers "Pretty Woman" with crunk instead of Roxette.

The kind of sentimental, upbeat and inoffensive children's entertainment parents always hope their kids will like.

Very funny. It's also heartbreakingly sad.

Harrelson's charming flamboyance - seen to great effect in "No Country for Old Men" - is a great fit for Carter, who carries no small amount of self-loathing under his carefully coifed toupee.

Uneven, self-conscious but often hilarious spoof.

Demolition, written by Bryan Sipe is, like director Jean-Marc Vallée’s previous films “Wild” and “Dallas Buyers Club,” a tale of interior repair sought through obsessive and near-penitential acts, but it’s stranger and at times more interesting than those other two.

Despite the pace, though -- pedal, have you met my friend metal? -- Ninja Assassin still has some of its best stuff left at the end, when the master returns to demonstrate his extra-special, super-most-deadliest technique.

The movie could have used more of the band's music and less talk.

The gags run thin after half an hour or so.

Well-intended and often poignant film that, unfortunately, too often bogs down in too much talk by its participants.

Could have been a spiky culture clash. When it tries to shock us with its alleged realism, though, it is entirely a bore.

It's all a gorgeous error, a bonfire of overreach.

Entertaining and heartwarming -- especially when Mirren sweeps into scenes with acid observations that fail to disguise a heart of gold.

Disappointingly routine kidnapping thriller with soap-opera trimmings.

It’s fine, if not a little too long at two hours — but for “Breaking Bad” fans jonesing for something, anything, connected to the chronological timeframe of their beloved series, it should do the trick.

Swift, confident, and exceptionally nasty, this Argentine film bears roughly the same relationship to the Martin Scorsese of “Goodfellas” that Brian De Palma does to, well, all of Hitchcock.

Much time is spent on inter-museum wrangling, and the personalities aren’t vivid enough (as they were in “The New Rijksmuseum”) to build tension. The interest lies in the close look at the strange vision of this great artist.