Who says you need a big crew and tons of money to make an enjoyable movie?

Though this is the rare documentary that admirably admits recording "reality" on film actually shapes how people behave under the camera's gaze, I think Eleven Minutes is going to appeal mostly to hard-core fashionistas.

There was a time when the climate-change alarmist movement was like a guy with a megaphone at your ear, but now it’s more like a squirrel at your shoelaces.

Hitler didn’t actually snub Jesse Owens at the 1936 Olympics, but the story is too good not to tell, so Race tells it anyway — adding the (true) detail that Owens was snubbed back home. By someone called “the White House,” because this supposedly truth-telling movie can’t bear to spell out the words Franklin D. Roosevelt.

The result is no masterpiece, but neither is it a disaster. In its steady great-books way, the film is often truthful and moving.

What's best about the film are its quick jumps from one depravity to the next as jazz rambles on the soundtrack: Youth is a candle to be burned at both ends, with (as it was once said about Bob Dylan) a blowtorch in the middle.

The Israeli feature For My Father is a rarity indeed: A sweet, sentimental movie about a suicide bomber.

Cancels itself out by being too campy to take seriously and too tragic to laugh at.

Heller’s enjoyable film is not the cringe fest you walk in expecting it to be, even if the premise will be a hairy leap for some moviegoers.

Director Zack Snyder's cerebral, scintillating follow-up to "300" seems, to even a weary filmgoer's eye, as fresh and magnificent in sound and vision as "2001" must have seemed in 1968, yet in its eagerness to argue with itself, it resembles "A Clockwork Orange."

Wants to be an epic in the mold of "Saving Private Ryan," but it's hindered by its modest budget.

A shameless heart-tugger from France, The Chorus leaves no cliché unturned.

Director Shawn Levy’s laugh-a-second movie is easily the best Marvel has delivered since 2021’s “Spider-Man: No Way Home,” and provides similarly nostalgic pleasures in its whiplash-inducing number of retro cameos — none of which I’ll spoil, for fear of my own life.

The story meanders from competition to competition (up the ramps, down the ramps) and seems like it could end at any point. The characters are similarly underdeveloped.

An above-average and sometimes surprising kid movie.

Preposterous, slipshod, unfunny and emotionally null.

As portrayed by Anna Mouglalis and Mads Mikkelsen, Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky weren't exactly Rhett & Scarlett.

The star is Luke Benward, a dead ringer for the young Kurt Russell.

Far from a touchdown, but you gotta give points to any movie where a character describes its climactic game as a "muddy snoozefest."

“Risky Business” it’s not, and Delevingne is no Rebecca De Mornay.

A flawed labor of love that's definitely worth a look.

Fake-sounding dialogue, some over-deliberate performances and five amazingly trite linked stories.

The movie isn't bad, only scattered and incomplete.

There are affecting scenes, and not all of Cacoyannis' additions to the Chekhov text detract from the effect of its moving brilliance.

It's the addition of Depp's corrupt CIA agent, Sands, that really makes this violent, over-the-top action film, with its maze-like plot, sing.

Hocus Pocus 2 is also awful to the core, but charmless and too low stakes to keep our interest.

The subject is touchy, but Gund handles it with taste and compassion.

The clichéd, heavy-handed script lets them down.