Treads water.

It’s a low-key rest-stop story that appreciates life’s banalities and the struggles of ordinary people.

Bursting with the usual colorful pop music numbers and lighter-than-a-soap-bubble quandaries, the film is a typical Bollywood entry, not likely to win over many new converts

Gogol Bordello plays a mix of punk rock and Gypsy music that recalls the work of the Serbian No Smoking Band. Onstage, Gogol Bordello puts on a visually outrageous show that one member describes as "kick-ass."

But exciting as La Scorta might be, it is at heart a conventional thriller that breaks no new genre ground.

Be warned that Wolf Totem, featuring one of the final scores by the late great James Horner, is probably too brutal for younger children and more sensitive animal lovers.

For its wicked innocence, this is the finest rock movie since "Almost Famous."

Although the script works in a couple of pages of collegiate-level ethical debate about "the question of German guilt," what the movie is really interested in is the question of German sex. So think of it as "Schindler's Lust."

By the time White gets around to condescending remarks... the film has become a sort of BBC "Hee Haw," meant to reassure Brits and New Yorkers that the South is indeed a land of pistol-toting, Jesus-praising gap-toothed freaks.

Even though you definitely don’t leave contemplating the narrative, the detailed and authentic ‘80s aesthetic conjures a spell.

While he takes an evenhanded approach, the filmmaker appears on camera far too often and goes off point as frequently as Moore.

Sure, it’s got its horror aspects. But for my money, this movie belongs alongside “Secretary,” “Ginger Snaps” and “Thirteen” in the family of deliciously dark female coming-of-age stories.

There is no tragedy without character, yet the way The King drapes heavy situations around its feebly imagined personalities suggests a tire thrown around the neck of a poodle.

Love is the weak link in this clumsily titled rom-com, which plays a bit like a hipster infomercial for Austin, Texas.

Baseball movies tend to be lyrical, deeply felt, aggressively metaphorical and (consequently) terrible, but Trouble With the Curve has something most others lack: Eastwood's superb, cruel sense of humor, which reaches all the way back to "Every Which Way But Loose."

The prize for most sick-making movie I've ever seen goes to . . . that Driver's Ed film I saw when I was 16. The psychological thriller Hard Candy is right up there, though. I didn't know whether to applaud or barf.

Goes down smoothly.

This promising premise is turned into basically an overgrown TV movie.

The sharpest, wildest and most unpredictable thriller I’ve seen this year.

It’s Olsen’s emotional frailty that helps pump up a bad movie into a mediocre one.

It’s kind of cute but mostly just awkward, somewhere between watching bros who slept through French class trying to work their game in Nice and endless CBS sitcoms about nutty guys ruled by exasperated, boring women.

Represents a kind of progress. Where once only a few ultra-talented, lucky black filmmakers got to make big studio movies, now we have standard-issue Hollywood schlock that happens to be made by, about and for African-Americans.

A serious, wrenching and oddly poetic documentary.

Harris, a talented comic actress who looks more like a real person than a Hollywood facsimile of one, makes every scene she's in shine.

An intensity of purpose and a patient, suspenseful directing style make the B-movie Universal Soldier: Day of Reckoning superior to most of the big-budget action films I've seen lately.

The embarrassing drama — offensive, clunky, poorly written — sullies Eastwood’s storied legacy, and makes great actors such as Bradley Cooper and Dianne Wiest come off like amateurs.

Tired? This series is as exhausted as Shrek after a day of baby wrangling and diaper changing.

A fresh, fast and funny little fable.