Silence comes to us billed as 30 years in the making. Unfortunately, it plays like 30 years in the watching.

But a happy reunion can’t re-create the original’s spark, innocence and masterful comedy.

Those People also suffers, perhaps, from a lack of timing; Kuhn’s group of one-percenter millennials harkens back to early Whit Stillman or, more recently, “Gossip Girl.”

An overlong melodrama-by-numbers.

A sporadically amusing curiosity that falls short of effectively satirizing the public's fixation with the minutiae of celebrity lives.

The pleasant but forgettable Adult Beginners strains a bit too hard for a happy ending, and tends to lay on the schmaltz and metaphors (like the swim class that gives the film its title) with a trowel.

Beautiful camerawork, some interesting scenes, but extraordinarily slow.

A substandard attempt to outfit a World War II submarine with every haunted-house cliché known to man and filmmakers.

Would be solid family entertainment if it weren't for the funereal pacing, which may kill its appeal among young audiences.

My All American would have done better to dig deeper in its portrayal of a man who set such a high bar for the intrinsic character of a football player. Because he’s actually the kind of example the sport could really use right now.

Michael Moore makes many of the same points, with far more impact, in "Bowling for Columbine."

If Schwarzberg had chosen to concentrate on eccentrics, rural artists or people like his New York bike messenger, female aerobatic champion and California cliff dancer, "Heart and Soul" would have been a much more interesting film.

Pollak obviously had fun, but you get the feeling the best bits never made it in.

You can't fault the film's elegant look. But you have to wonder why Shakhnazarov, one of Russian's most experienced filmmakers, didn't take more care with the script.

There's not enough good material to fill the film's overlong 105 minutes. Is there an editor in the house?

The film quickly ceases to be of interest to anyone but dedicated fans. The novelty of the deliberate ugliness wears off after a song or two.

The superficial script doesn’t go nearly deep enough to begin explaining Lovelace.

To kill 80 minutes, the movie has to pad itself with several dull speeches and stagy moments. The worst? How about when the five men, who have ample reason to fear each other and are facing a life-or-death reckoning, whistle "Ode to Joy" together like a bunch of Whiffenpoofs?

The Entourage formula feels warmed-over, played-out, spent.

Genially preposterous, with stunt players outnumbering actors by something like a 3-to-1 ratio, the action thriller Crank is surprisingly watchable.

Billed as a comedy about a single dad with three girls, the movie is essentially another sudser about the plight of upscale black women in Atlanta.

Just in time for Mexico’s Day of the Dead holiday comes this gloriously colorful animated musical, which almost (but not quite) makes up in visuals what it lacks in snappy dialogue.

Excellent performances by a good cast and a fairly authentic look at working-class struggles go only so far.

The film works best when we see N'Dour onstage. He has a great set of pipes and is nothing if not charismatic.

This windy courtroom drama is punctuated by cheesy flashbacks.

Redmon makes a valid argument, but he belabors the point. Mardi Gras: Made in China would play better if it were more focused and less repetitive.

Beyond the cliched diaper-changing scenes and the oh-so-predictable romantic complications, the film inadvertently insults its presumed target audience.

Crystal, for what it’s worth, stays genuine through the increasingly viscous plot. He still has that warmth beneath his zingers that you don’t find in the frigid comedians of today. Nonetheless, we resent his movie’s aggressive efforts to force us into crying with strained, untruthful moments by the bucketful.