Wilson doesn’t have the emotional heft, or the narrative arc, of Johnson’s last film, but it does remind you how much fun it is to watch Harrelson. In real life, Wilson would just be a straight-up a - - hole.

An occasionally revealing glimpse inside the mind of Chapman before, during and after the assassination.

Any prison-break yarn that includes Arnold Schwarzenegger delivering the line “You hit like a vegetarian” is OK by me.

Becomes more and more confused, unpleasant and preposterous.

It's the audience that gets punk'd in this crass and sloppy comic recycling.

Sex Drive has shaky moments, and its smutty gags aren't edited so much as slammed together.

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.

Staggers between flaccid satire and what is supposed to be madcap farce.

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

You do have to give Starbuck credit for engineering perhaps the largest group hug ever put on film.

“Twelve Final Days” is a tender, mellow film that delves inside the head of a deeply enigmatic figure as he asks the relatable and terrifying question: “What’s next?”

The only thing that's shocking about Death of a President is how boring it is.

This spring, boredom has a new name: Lucky You. In the poker flick, an announcer calling a climactic poker match uses a Texas hold 'em term frequently, saying, "And the flop. And the flop. And the flop." This movie reviews itself.

Little more than a supersized version of the popular PBS animated series that's stopping briefly in theaters en route to its natural habitat -- video.

While Clooney and especially Blanchett give solid performances, and McGuire plays effectively against type, the movie is best appreciated as an exercise in vintage Hollywood style.

Though the movie has some engagingly quirky moments, everything falls into place far too easily for much suspense to build, and the romance between the two leads seems as contrived as everything else.

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.

The talented quartet saves the movie, but making it great would take a rewrite.

Too bad it lacks a substantial story to go along with the kick-ass combat scenes.

As you might suspect, the 2012 dialogue is pure Velveeta.

The Neighbor No. Thirteen forgoes the manic violence of the Korean revenge stunner "Oldboy" in favor of leisurely paced suspense with sudden bloody outbursts.

Showing the personal toll that produces a star in any field could be a soggy, predictable drag, but the documentary A Man's Story never slides into easy sentiment or bromides.

What makes Sing 2 enjoyable are the tunes. And writer-director Garth Jennings assembles a characteristically quirky mixtape.

Does offer solid laughs, engaging performances and a captivating setting.

Barely enough chuckles to keep from running out of gas. Yet it's the sharpest-looking movie shot so far on digital video, outdistancing even "The Anniversary Party."

Apart from the slightly sanitized look of Reagan-era Harlem, this raw ghetto drama rings true, from the smooth dialogue to the unaffected performances of the central actors.

So serious-minded it occasionally teeters on the brink of absurdity.

Patton Oswalt makes an amusing cameo as a Klingon-speaking cop, and Toni Collette is her usual graceful self as Wendy’s harried counselor, but in all this is a half-baked effort at humanizing autism — at its best when Wendy’s at her computer channeling the Vulcan voice of Mr. Spock, that intergalactic hero who was always so puzzled by human emotions.